Chapter Seventeen
Rux
Rux was determined he wasn’t going to fail like his mates.
Wednesday afternoon, he ordered a cappuccino and leaned against the counter while Sam worked the espresso machine. “Random question. What do you like on pizza?”
Sam glanced over, surprised. “Pizza?”
“I’m just curious. I’ve been trying to figure out if pineapple actually belongs or if that’s just edible chaos.”
“Oh, definitely chaos.” Sam grinned. “I’m pretty traditional. Margherita, or maybe mushroom and garlic if I’m feeling adventurous.”
Rux filed that away. Traditional tastes. Garlic. Mushrooms.
Thursday morning, he came back for a latte. “Chicken or beef?”
Sam blinked at him through those glasses. “For what?”
“I’m settling a debate with my housemates.” Rux kept his expression casual. “They think chicken is boring.”
“Your housemates are wrong. Chicken’s great if you cook it right.” Sam handed him the latte. “Though I guess it depends on the dish.”
“What’s your favorite chicken dish?”
“My mum used to make this lemon and herb thing with roasted vegetables.” Sam’s expression softened. “I’ve tried recreating it, but it never tastes quite the same.”
Lemon. Herbs. Roasted vegetables. Memory of his mother.
Rux wanted to promise he’d recreate that exact flavor, that he’d spend days getting the recipe just right until Sam tasted home again. Instead, he said, “Cooking’s like that sometimes. The secret ingredient is usually someone else making it.”
Sam laughed. “Exactly.”
Thursday evening, Rux returned for a third time. Maya gave him a look that suggested she knew exactly what he was doing, but Sam just smiled in greeting.
“Do you have any allergies I should know about?” Rux asked while Sam prepared his order.
“That’s a weird question.”
“I was just wondering. Mabon’s got a thing about shellfish. It makes him paranoid when we eat out.”
“Oh.” Sam relaxed. “No, I’m fine with everything. Well, I mean, cilantro tastes like soap to me, but that’s not an allergy.”
No cilantro ever.
“Good to know.” Rux accepted his coffee. “Though now I’m wondering if Mabon’s shellfish thing is real or if he’s just pretending to get out of sushi nights.”
“Is he the type to fake allergies?”
“He’s the type to spend twenty minutes researching the optimal way to fold a napkin, so honestly, anything’s possible.”
Sam laughed. “That sounds about right. He spent ten minutes last week taking notes about a proper pour-over technique.”
They were talking about Mabon in an endearing way, like Sam knew them, understood their quirks, and accepted them.
Rux’s dragon rumbled with satisfaction.
“I should let you close up.” Rux glanced at the darkening windows. “Thanks for humoring my weird questions.”
“They weren’t that weird.” Sam wiped down the counter. “Though if you come in tomorrow asking about my favorite color, I’m going to start getting suspicious.”
“Blue,” Rux said without thinking. “You wore a blue jumper last week, and you kept adjusting the sleeves like you were comfortable in it.”
Sam stared at him.
Damn.
“I mean,” Rux backpedaled. “I notice things about people. It’s a weird habit.”
“Right.” Sam’s voice came out soft. “Noticing things.”
Rux fled before he could make it worse.
In the Range Rover, he pulled out his phone and typed everything into his notes. Margherita pizza. Mushrooms. Garlic. Lemon chicken. Roasted vegetables. No cilantro. Comfort food. Mother’s recipes. Blue.
The menu was taking shape in his mind, filled with courses that would tell Sam everything words hadn’t managed to convey. He just needed Sam to accept the invitation first.
/~/~/~/~/
Friday morning, Rux spread his notes across the kitchen island and started planning.
The menu took shape course by course - each dish a translation of what he’d learned, what he’d observed, and what his dragon desperately wanted Sam to understand.
Antipasti - bruschetta with heirloom tomatoes from Urien’s garden, garlic, and basil. Fresh mozzarella. Nothing complicated. Traditional, like Sam preferred.
First course - wild mushroom risotto. Earthy, rich, the kind of dish that said I put in the effort.
Main - lemon and herb roasted chicken with vegetables. Rux had already texted his cousin in Brighton for her family recipe, the one passed down three generations. He was determined to recreate that taste of home Sam had mentioned.
But he also prepared alternatives, just in case. A pan-seared salmon with dill cream sauce in case Sam wanted fish. Then he added a handmade pasta with sage butter as a vegetarian option. A Margherita pizza with extra garlic and mushrooms, because Sam had smiled when he’d mentioned it.
For dessert he went with dark chocolate torte with raspberries. Then decided to make a panna cotta with vanilla bean and a lemon posset that would taste like summer, so that Sam would have options. It was too much food for one person, but Rux didn’t care.
Saturday morning, he took over the entire kitchen. Mabon wisely retreated to his office. Urien brought in fresh herbs from the garden and then disappeared into the conservatory.
Rux worked methodically. He had stock simmering for the risotto, chicken marinating in lemon juice, garlic, thyme, and rosemary, a pizza dough rising on the counter, and torte cooling on a rack while he whisked cream for the panna cotta.
The kitchen smelled incredible - garlic and herbs, chocolate and citrus, butter and wine.
His dragon hummed with satisfaction. We’re taking care of our Treasure.
By four in the afternoon, every dish was either complete or ready for final preparation. Rux had timed everything to the minute. The chicken would need forty minutes once Sam arrived. The risotto, eighteen minutes of constant stirring. The pizza, twelve minutes in the oven if Sam wanted it.
Mabon appeared in the doorway. “This looks…”
“Don’t.” Rux pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Don’t say anything that’ll jinx it.”
“I was going to say it looks perfect.”
“Oh.” Rux set down the spoon. “Okay, then yes, it’s perfect. It has to be.” Because the dinner was his last chance.
If Sam didn’t understand after Urien’s garden, Mabon’s attempted grand gesture, and now the meal designed specifically for him - then they’d have to tell him everything.
Rux checked his phone. He still needed to deliver the invitation.
/~/~/~/~/
Saturday evening, Rux stared at his phone for ten minutes before Mabon physically took it from him and pressed dial.
“Stop overthinking it,” he muttered.
The phone rang twice before it was answered.
“Hello?”
Sam’s voice was slightly breathless, like he’d just come in from somewhere.
Rux’s carefully rehearsed speech evaporated. “Would you come to dinner?”
“Rux?”
“At our estate, tonight. Would you…I made…” Rux tried to get his fumbling words out. “Would you come to dinner. At our estate. Tonight?”
Rux could hear Sam breathing on the other end, could picture him adjusting his glasses the way he did when he was thinking.
“That seems very formal.”
“No. I mean, yes. But not…” Rux gripped the phone tighter. “It’s just dinner. I cooked. I wanted…we wanted…” Every word sounded wrong.
His dragon snarled. Tell him. Ask properly.
Rux closed his eyes. “Please. It would mean a lot.”
“Okay.”
Rux’s heart stone throbbed so hard he nearly dropped the phone. “Okay?”
“Yes. What time?”
“Seven? I’ll text you the address. Or I can pick you up if you want. I don’t want you to feel…”
“Seven’s fine. I’ll drive.”
“Right. Yes. Good.” Rux was babbling now. “Do you…is there anything you can’t eat? I mean, I asked before, but I want to make sure…”
“Rux.” Sam’s voice carried the hint of a smile. “I’m sure whatever you made is wonderful.” The line went quiet for a beat. “See you at seven.” The call ended.
Rux stood frozen in the library, phone still pressed to his ear, while his dragon roared with triumph. He said yes. Our Treasure said yes.
Mabon appeared in the doorway. “Well?”
“He’s coming.” Rux couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. “He said yes.”
Urien materialized from the hall. “When?”
“Seven.” Rux checked the time. “That’s ninety minutes. I need to finish the chicken. And set the table and…”
“We’ll help.” Mabon was already moving toward the dining room.
Rux’s dragon settled, finally satisfied. Their Treasure was coming to their home.
/~/~/~/~/
Rux pressed his forehead against the library window, watching the empty drive. It was six-fifty-eight.
His dragon paced inside his chest, restless and agitated. They’d waited a century for their Treasure. Another two minutes shouldn’t matter, but it still felt like forever.
Mabon straightened Rux’s collar for the third time. “Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not…”
Headlights swept across the gravel.
Rux’s heart stone blazed so bright he pressed a hand to his chest, willing it to settle. Through the window, he watched Sam’s compact sedan pull up beside the Range Rover, looking comically out of place against the estate’s sprawling facade.
Sam killed the engine but didn’t immediately get out.
“He’s nervous,” Urien murmured from somewhere behind Rux.
“So am I,” Rux admitted.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so uncertain. Dragons didn’t get nervous. They took what they wanted, hoarded what they valued, and protected what was theirs. But Sam wasn’t a thing to be taken.
The car door opened. Sam stepped out, smoothing down a blue button-up that made his eyes look impossibly warm even from this distance. He wore blue. Rux’s chest tightened.
“I’ll get the door.” Urien moved past him, heading for the front entrance.
Rux stayed frozen at the window, watching Sam approach, adjusting his glasses twice before reaching for the doorbell. The chime echoed through the house.
Mabon squeezed Rux’s shoulder once, then headed toward the dining room.
This was it. Their final gesture. If Sam didn’t understand after this…
The front door opened. Urien’s low greeting carried down the hall, followed by Sam’s softer response.
Rux forced himself to move, leaving the library and positioning himself near the dining room entrance. His dragon clawed at his ribs, demanding he go to Sam, pull him close, never let him leave. Not yet.
Footsteps approached. Sam appeared around the corner, Urien at his side, and Rux forgot how to breathe.
Sam looked...gods, he looked stunning. The blue shirt brought out the soft hues in his brown hair and made his freckles stand out against skin that flushed pink as he met Rux’s eyes.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Rux’s voice came out as a rasp.
Sam’s gaze drifted past him to the dining room, and his mouth fell open.
Rux had covered every available surface.
The mahogany table groaned under platters of bruschetta still glistening with olive oil, wild mushroom risotto in their best serving bowl, and the lemon and herb chicken arranged on his grandmother’s porcelain platter.
There were bowls of roasted vegetables, plates of fresh bread, three different salads, along with handmade ravioli, pizza cut into careful squares, and Salmon with dill cream sauce. And that was just the savory side.
The desserts sat on a separate trolley – the chocolate torte, lemon posset, and panna cotta with a berry compote.
A lot of food, and hopefully enough food to say everything Rux couldn’t put into words.
Mabon stood beside the table, hands clasped behind his back like he was presenting a business proposal. Urien moved to flank Sam’s other side.
All three of them were watching…waiting.
Sam’s eyes went wide, traveling from dish to dish, taking in the sheer absurd volume of it.
“This is...” He turned in a slow circle, processing. “Wow, when you said you cooked…this is incredible.”
Rux’s dragon preened. He likes it. Our Treasure approves.
“I might have overdone it,” Rux admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Might have?” Sam laughed, but it wasn’t mocking - it was delighted and astonished. “Rux, this is enough food for a wedding reception.”