Somewhere in the armpit of the continent
High summer. Somewhere dusty and pointless. The kind of place where even the flies looked like they regretted being born.
I was sprawled in the back of a stolen cart, sweating like a goat in silk, with watermelon juice dribbling down my chin. The sun roasted the horizon. My thighs stuck to the wood like we were cursed lovers.
The Dragon sat nearby, flicking seeds with the precision of a cranky god. He looked majestic, of course. He always looked majestic. Even when doing something as undignified as spitting pips into the sand.
"You're telling me," I said between bites, "you've never had watermelon?"
He shook his head. "It always looked… common."
"Common?" I nearly choked. "It's red, it's sweet, it's full of juice and hope and summer! It's not common—it's divine. It's practically a goddess's tit in fruit form."
He raised a brow ridge. "You're sticky."
"I'm radiant." I slurped another bite, the juice dribbling down my wrist. "You, my scaly friend, have lived a thousand years and never tasted this joy?"
"No one ever offered," he said. "And stealing fruit felt beneath me."
I stared. "Beneath you? You've vaporized monks for misquoting poetry. You've torched cities over tax discrepancies. But melons? That's where your morals kicked in?"
He took another slow bite. Then licked juice from his claw. "They are… quite good."
"Quite good?" I flung a rind at him. It hit his shoulder with a slap. "That's like calling me 'moderately tolerable.'"
"I've said worse."
"I've heard worse." I grabbed another melon and cracked it open on the floorboards. "You're eating at least half. Then we're turning your future lair into a melon farm."
He blinked. "We don't have a lair."
"Yet."
A lazy breeze passed. Somewhere, a beetle gave up on life.
I rolled onto my back, belly full, cheeks sticky, hair glued to my face. "I could die like this."
"You nearly did," he noted. "That merchant had a spear."
"And I had tits."
"You screamed."
"He screamed first."
He snorted. A rare sound. Almost fond.
I tossed him another wedge. "To stolen fruit and bad decisions."
He raised it in mock salute. "And to the idiots who left it unattended."
We ate. We sweated. We stuck to things.
And for once, it didn't matter where we were going.