Chapter Eight
Mabon
“This is useless.” Mabon glared at his laptop screen.
Rux looked up from where he sprawled across the library sofa, supposedly reading a cookbook but actually staring at his phone. Again. “What is?”
“All of it.” Mabon gestured at the seventeen browser tabs he’d accumulated in the past forty minutes. “Human dating advice. It contradicts itself every three sentences.”
Urien sat in the wingback chair by the window, ostensibly reviewing seed catalogs. He’d been on the same page for twenty minutes. “What does it say?”
“Well, according to Modern Romance Monthly, I should text Sam immediately to show interest. According to The Rules, I should wait three days to appear unavailable. According to something called Reddit, both of those approaches will make me look either desperate or disinterested, and I should instead” - Mabon squinted at the screen - “‘slide into his DMs with a casual meme to establish rapport.’”
“What’s a DM?” Rux asked.
“Direct message, I think. On social media.”
“What’s a meme?”
“I have no idea.”
Urien closed his catalog. “We don’t have Sam’s social media.”
“No, but I could find it.” Mabon had located corporate tax havens in the Cayman Islands. One barista’s Instagram couldn’t be that difficult.
“Don’t.” Urien’s voice carried that particular tone that meant I will physically stop you. “We’re already watching his cottage, following him to work, and leaving gifts on his doorstep.”
“Which he hasn’t acknowledged,” Rux muttered, still staring at his phone.
“Because you ran away before he could respond,” Mabon pointed out.
“I didn’t run…”
“You literally sprinted out the door.”
Rux’s scowl deepened. “My dragon was overwhelmed.”
Mabon returned to his screen, clicking through to a site called The Pickup Artist Academy. He read three sentences and felt his soul age approximately two hundred years.
“Listen to this.” He cleared his throat. “‘Demonstrate value through strategic peacocking. Wear statement pieces that prompt conversation. Neg her gently to lower her guard and increase receptiveness to your advances.’”
“What,” Urien said slowly, “is peacocking?”
“I think it means showing off. Like a peacock’s tail display.”
“And negging?”
Mabon scanned the definition. “Giving backhanded compliments to undermine confidence and create neediness.”
Rux sat up. “That’s horrible!”
“It gets worse.” Mabon kept reading. “‘Employ the push-pull method. Show interest, then withdraw. Create emotional uncertainty to maintain engagement. Remember: she’s the prey, you’re the hunter.’”
“Absolutely not.” Urien’s voice went hard. “Sam isn’t prey.”
“Obviously not,” Mabon agreed, quickly clicking that tab closed. “He’s our Treasure, our mate, the most precious…”
“Yes, yes.” Rux waved a hand. “We know. What else does the internet say?”
Mabon pulled up another article. “‘Ten Signs She’s Just Not That Into You.’ Number one: She doesn’t respond to your texts.”
All three of them looked at Rux’s phone.
“It’s been eight days,” Rux said quietly.
“Maybe he lost the receipt,” Urien offered.
“Or maybe” - Mabon clicked another link - “we should try the advice from Cosmo. ‘Be mysterious. Don’t reveal too much about yourself. Keep him guessing.’”
“We’ve been doing that,” Rux pointed out. “We’re extremely mysterious. Sam doesn’t even know we’re dragons.”
“Right, but this article says mystery is good. This other article” - Mabon switched tabs - “says mystery is manipulative and I should ‘be my authentic self and let vulnerability create connection.’”
“Your authentic self is a two-thousand-year-old dragon who wants to carry him to our hoard and never let him leave,” Urien said flatly. “How’s that for vulnerability?”
Mabon ignored him, clicking through to a relationship advice forum. “Someone here says to make him jealous by flirting with other people.”
“No.” Rux’s voice came out in a growl. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m just reading what it says.”
“Read something else.”
Mabon found a blog post titled The Five Love Languages. He skimmed it quickly. “Apparently, humans express affection through five distinct methods. Words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch.”
“We gave him gifts,” Rux said. “Excellent gifts.”
“Which he took to the pub to verify their authenticity.”
“Because we didn’t include words of affirmation,” Urien suggested. “Maybe the gifts needed notes explaining our intentions.”
“We left notes.”
“‘Have a nice day’ isn’t exactly a declaration of devotion.”
Mabon pulled up another tab. “According to How to Win Friends and Influence People, I should remember details about Sam’s life and reference them in conversation to demonstrate genuine interest.”
“We know his favorite coffee, his work schedule, his cat’s name, where he lives, what size jumper he wears…” Rux caught Mabon’s expression. “That sounds bad when I list it out loud.”
“Very bad.”
“But we learned those things through careful observation, not…”
“Stalking?” Urien supplied.
“I was going to say courting.”
Mabon scrolled through a rom-com analysis piece. “Apparently, the key to romantic success is a grand gesture. Something that proves devotion and overcomes all obstacles.”
“Like what?”
“This article references standing outside someone’s window with a boombox. Chasing them through an airport. Interrupting their wedding.”
“Sam’s not getting married,” Rux said.
“The point is scale. Drama. Proving that nothing matters more than winning their heart.”
Urien leaned forward. “What kind of grand gesture?”
Mabon kept reading. Examples scrolled past - flash mobs, skywriting, elaborate proposals, public declarations of love.
His dragon stirred uncomfortably. All of it felt too performative and too focused on spectacle rather than Sam himself.
“Here.” Mabon found another article. “Why Grand Gestures Are Toxic. ‘Public declarations create pressure and remove agency. True romance respects boundaries and builds trust through consistent actions rather than overwhelming displays.’”
“So grand gestures are both essential and toxic,” Rux said. “Helpful.”
“Wait.” Mabon clicked on a link titled Understanding Attachment Styles in Modern Dating. “This might be relevant.”
He read aloud. “‘Securely attached individuals feel comfortable with intimacy and independence. Anxiously attached individuals seek constant reassurance and fear abandonment. Avoidantly attached individuals value independence and may withdraw when relationships become too close.’”
“Which one is Sam?” Urien asked.
“How would I know? We’ve barely spoken to him.”
“You gave him forty-seven dollars for a coffee.”
“And he refused it,” Mabon muttered. “Which, according to this article about gift-giving in relationships, means either he has healthy boundaries, or he doesn’t trust my intentions.”
His phone buzzed. Mabon glanced at the screen and saw notifications from three different markets opening. He’d set alerts for currency fluctuations, potential investment opportunities, and companies whose stock patterns suggested they were open to acquisition. All of it felt utterly irrelevant.
Sam hadn’t called Rux and hadn’t acknowledged their gifts beyond verifying their value. He still worked at the café with that patient smile, made amazing coffee, and went home to his tiny cottage and his demanding cat.
“There has to be something,” Mabon said, opening a new search. “Some strategy that works.”
The results loaded - Be Yourself, Play Hard to Get, Show Constant Interest, Maintain Mystery, Be Completely Honest, Use Strategic Ambiguity.
Mabon closed his laptop.
“Well?” Rux prompted.
“The internet,” Mabon announced, “is useless.”
Shoving his laptop on the coffee table, Mabon said bluntly, “We need a plan.”
“We had a plan,” Rux said. “Gifts. Conversation. Showing interest.”
“That plan resulted in Sam taking our gold to the pub and not calling your number for eight days.”
“Maybe he lost the receipt.”
“He didn’t lose it.” Mabon stood, pacing the length of the study. “He made a choice not to call, which means our current approach isn’t working.”
Urien leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed. “What are you suggesting?”
“We try different strategies. Each of us takes a different approach on Wednesday. See what gets a positive response.”
“Different how?”
Mabon pulled up the search results again, scanning through the contradictory advice. “Rux, you try the classic confidence approach. Dress well, project success and show him you’re a worthy mate…” He caught himself. “A worthy partner.”
“I can do that.” Rux straightened. “Dragons are naturally impressive.”
“Without mentioning you’re a dragon.”
“Obviously.”
“Urien, you try mystery. You can be the strong, silent type. Make him curious about you.”
Urien’s expression suggested he’d rather wrestle a feral wyvern, but he nodded.
“And you?” Rux asked.
“I’ll observe. Take notes on what works.”
“Coward.”
“Strategist.”
/~/~/~/~/
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Wednesday morning, Rux emerged from their bedroom wearing a three-piece suit Mabon hadn’t seen in fifty years. Charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, paired with a waistcoat that probably cost more than most people’s cars. His shoes gleamed and his diamond cufflinks caught the light.
He looked like he was attending a royal wedding for an actual king.
“That’s your definition of coffee casual?” Mabon asked.
“You said dress well.”
“I meant don’t wear gardening clothes with soil stains.”
“That’s Urien. My flavor is more of an apron covered in flour. But this…this is impressive.” Rux adjusted his tie. “Humans respect visible wealth.”
“Some humans. Other humans think conspicuous consumption is gauche.”
“Sam will appreciate the effort.”
Mabon had his doubts, but he’d assigned the strategy. He might as well see how it played out.
/~/~/~/~/
Rux returned forty minutes later, loosening his tie as he walked through the door.
“Well?”
“He asked if I had a special event.”
Mabon waited.
“A wedding or a funeral or something.”
“And you said?”
“‘No, just coffee.’” Rux collapsed into an armchair. “Then he looked confused and asked if I wanted my usual.”
“Did he seem impressed?”
“He seemed like he thought I was overdressed for a Wednesday morning at a coffee shop.” Rux pulled off his tie entirely. “Because I was overdressed for a Wednesday morning at a coffee shop.”
“You looked very distinguished,” Urien offered.
“I looked like I got lost on my way to a corporate merger.”
Mabon made a mental note: Excessive formality creates confusion, not attraction.
“Your turn,” Rux said to Urien.
Urien left an hour later, wearing his usual jeans and flannel but with a determined set to his shoulders.
“Remember,” Mabon called after him. “Be mysterious, not mute.”
The door closed.
Rux poured himself whiskey even though it was barely noon. “This is torture.”
“Courtship often is.”
“Dragon courtship isn’t. You find your mate. You present your hoard. You build a nest together. Simple.”
“Sam doesn’t have a hoard.”
“He could share ours.”
Mabon’s dragon stirred at the thought - Sam curled up in their treasury, surrounded by gold and jewels, safe, cherished, and theirs. He shoved the image away. First, they had to get Sam to actually like them.
Urien returned looking defeated.
“He gave me a free cookie.”
Mabon looked up from his phone. “That’s good?”
“He gave it to me because he thought I was sad.” Urien slumped onto the sofa. “He patted my hand and said everyone has rough days.”
“You were supposed to be mysterious, not depressed.”
“I was being reserved and enigmatic.”
“You have the emotional range of a brick wall when you’re trying,” Rux said. “What did that look like?”
“I ordered coffee. I didn’t make small talk. I just stared out the window pensively.”
“And he thought you were having a crisis.”
“Apparently, my pensive face looks like my grief-stricken face.”
Mabon made another note: Mystery without context reads as distress.
“Did you eat the cookie?” Rux asked.
“Of course, I ate the cookie. He gave it to me.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate chip. It was still warm.” Urien’s expression softened slightly. “He said he baked them this morning.”
The room went quiet. Sam baked cookies and made so many different types of coffee. He also smiled patiently at difficult customers and worried when people seemed upset.
And the three of them were running experiments as if Sam was a market to manipulate rather than a person to cherish.
Mabon’s dragon growled its disapproval.
“This isn’t working,” Mabon said quietly.
“No argument here.” Rux swirled his whiskey. “What’s left to try?”
Mabon ditched his phone for his laptop and pulled up his research again, scrolling through pages of contradictory advice. Be confident but not arrogant. Be mysterious but not distant. Show interest but don’t overwhelm. Give gifts, but don’t buy affection.
Somewhere in all this noise was supposed to be the secret to winning Sam’s heart.
But all Mabon saw was static.
“Maybe...” Urien started, then stopped.
“What?”
“Maybe we’re approaching this wrong.” Urien sat forward. “We’ve been trying strategies, following advice written for humans courting humans.”
“We are courting a human,” Rux pointed out.
“But we’re not human. Maybe that’s the problem.”
Mabon closed his laptop. “Go on.”
“Dragons don’t play games.” Urien’s blue eyes darkened with conviction. “We find our mate, and we claim them.”
“We can’t tell him we’re dragons,” Mabon said.
“I’m not saying we tell him everything. I’m saying we stop pretending to be something we’re not.”
Rux leaned forward. “You mean just...talk to him? Normally?”
“Is there a normal way to tell someone your heart stone glows when they smile, and your dragon demands you build them a nest?”
“There has to be middle ground between stalking and complete honesty.”
Mabon considered it. They’d spent two weeks trying to court Sam using human strategies that felt alien and wrong. What if they just...tried being themselves?
“We’d still have to hide the dragon part,” Mabon said slowly.
“Obviously.”
“And the two-thousand-year lifespan.”
“That too.”
“And the hoard.”
“For now.”
“So we’d be ourselves, except for ninety percent of what we actually are.”
Urien smiled grimly. “It’s an improvement over suits and sad cookies.”
“I’ve got one more thing to try first,” Mabon said firmly. “One more technique, if you like, that, according to what I read earlier, is guaranteed to work.”