Something hit him in the head, and he opened his eyes again—more carefully this time—to see a pigskin of water and several strips of meat lying near him.

“Thanks,” Celyn croaked out, shocked at how rough his voice sounded.

What had this female done to him? She was human. Human! Not a She-dragon. Definitely not a centaur, whose skills in bed were legendary. But a mere, weak-skinned human. And yet she hadn’t faltered once. She hadn’t told him to stop or told him that was enough. Not once! Even when he was praying she would.

It seemed that riding all day on the Steppes created females that could sustain all sorts of things.

Celyn sat up, wincing as parts of his body snapped and popped back into place. His horse made a little judgmental clucking sound with his teeth, but when Celyn glared at him, he quickly turned his head away and went back to eating the grass by the creek.

Picking up one of the slices of meat, Celyn ate and tried desperately to remember what he’d done with his leggings. He glanced over at Elina and saw her pouring herself something hot from the pit fire.

“What’s that?” he asked. Gods, his voice still sounded like a road made of crushed glass.

“Tea.”

That sounded perfect right now. “Can I have a bit?”

“It is not for you.”

Celyn bit off another piece of meat. “Why not?”

“You cannot have little dragon babies.”

Celyn choked, that piece of meat stuck somewhere in his throat.

Elina walked over to him and, while holding her cup of tea in one hand, she pounded his back with the other until the meat dislodged.

“Thanks,” he squeaked.

She stepped back, with both hands now around the battered metal teacup. She gently blew on the tea to cool it. “You might forget that things have changed, Dolt, between our kinds. But I have not. And I am much too young for anyone’s babies. Especially my own.”

Celyn felt a sharp bolt of panic. He’d never asked Elina her age; he’d merely assumed she was of age. At least thirty winters. Right?

He tried to sound nonchalant. Tried desperately. “So how old are you?”

“Such a rude question,” she teased. “Southlanders and their rude questions.”

“Just . . . answer.”

“Fine. I am one hundred and forty-five passing summers.”

Confused, Celyn asked, “Do you have several summers a year or something?”

“No.”

“Then stop fooling around and answer me.”

She sipped her tea and gazed at him over the cup.

“Well?” he pushed.

“I am unsure what you want me to say.”

Celyn blinked. “You’re one hundred and forty-five years old?”

“I said passing summers.”

“Is there a difference?”

“No.”

“Then—” Celyn stopped short. He would not argue with her over wording. Not when he was still hungover from their amazing festival of fucking the night before.

He took a breath and started again. “Summers in the Steppes happen once a year?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been alive for one hundred and forty-five of them.”

“Yes.”

“So . . . you’re old. Why don’t you look old?”

“Why don’t you look old?” she snapped back.

“Because I’m a dragon. We live to be nearly a thousand years old.”

“And I am Rider,” she snarled. “We live to be nearly twelve hundred years old. Even now,” she went on, “the woman who gave birth to my great-great-great-grandmother gets up every morning at suns-rise and hunts down male deer for her breakfast. She used to carry the carcasses on her back, but now that she’s so old, she drags them to her hut by their antlers.”

Celyn stared at the female for a very long moment before he finally said, “Oh. All right then.”

Elina shook her head and finished her tea in one gulp.

And that’s when Celyn exploded. “Are you saying I’m not good enough to be the father of your offspring?”

Eyes wide, Elina gawked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know!” Desperate, Celyn looked around. “Gods, woman! What have you done to me?”

Elina shrugged. “I do not know, but I think you need to calm fuck down.”

For a dragon that never seemed capable of shutting up, Celyn the Charming had very little to say as they made their way through small towns and past farms.

To be honest, Elina didn’t know if she should be insulted or complimented by the dragon this morning. She’d never seen him so confused before. Although she did have to admit, she was entertained by it all.

But as morning turned to afternoon, she should have remembered that she was traveling with the chattiest dragon the gods had ever created and even massive confusion would not shut him up forever.

“So how old is your mother?”

“Six hundred and sixty-eight, I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“We do not talk much.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“For what? You do not make her not talk to me.”

“I know. It just couldn’t have been easy for you. Growing up in your tribe.”

“Tribe life is not easy for anyone. But at least I was born female. I hate to think what my life would be like if I had not been.”