The lizard was perfectly grilled. I mean, the skin crackled. The spices popped. And it came with pickled mango chutney and crispy locust chips. A once-in-a-decade roadside miracle.
So of course, he takes one look and recoils like I just served him orphan stew.
"You expect me to eat that?" he hisses, nostrils flaring.
"Yes?" I blink. "It's lunch."
"That," he says, pointing with one dainty claw like it's contagious, "is a reptile. A cousin. A scaled sentient being. Practically kin."
"Oh my gods, you eat people."
He does a whole dramatic full-body shudder. "Only when necessary."
"You once ate a virgin and asked for seconds."
"She was stringy and lacked seasoning."
"And this—" I hold up the lizard tail like it's a prize— "this is too far?"
He glares. "Would you eat a monkey?"
"Depends. Fried or stewed?"
"You wouldn't."
"They're cute. Lizards aren't."
"Lizards are adorable! Have you seen their little toes? Their blinky eyes? Their basking posture?"
"Your standards for cute are extremely broken."
"I have standards. Which is why I draw the line at cannibalism."
"You are not a gecko!"
"I am a proud descendant of the First Flame, not a slithering jungle peasant with googly eyes!"
I take a bite, very slowly. Chew obnoxiously. "Tastes like chicken."
His eye twitches.
I point my half-eaten lizard at him. "You devour sheep, cows, oxen, horses, orcs, people. But gods forbid we roast a little jungle creeper?"
He puffs smoke. "You lack moral architecture."
"You lack culinary courage."
"I have ethics. You have sauce stains on your tits."
"That's mango chutney! And I happen to be providing flavor and fan service."
"Fan—what?"
"Never mind."
He turns away with the dramatic flourish of someone preparing a eulogy. "You'll get gout."
"You have gout."
"I earned it nobly, through centuries of hoard-protection and bloodshed. You're just a greedy, meat-munching harlot with no reverence for herbetological lineage!"
I pick the last bit of tail clean and lick my fingers. "Delicious."
He makes a wounded noise like I just stepped on his childhood trauma.
I throw the bone over my shoulder. "Next time I'll eat a frog and tell it your name."
He starts listing obscure draconic oaths and curses. I lie back on the warm rock, belly full, grinning like a villain.
Mmm. Crunchy, forbidden, delicious kin.
I stretch out on the rock, rubbing my belly like a smug lizard myself. "I ate a spider once," I tell him.
He freezes mid-glare.
"Big one," I add. "Fat and hairy. Stuffed with herbs. Crispy legs. Delicacy in Delvida."
"You are terrible," he says, voice a full octave higher than usual.
I waggle a finger. "Says the flying furnace who once swallowed a priest whole because he mispronounced your name."
"He left out three syllables and a glottal click! It was insulting!"
"So's you judging my protein intake."
"And frogs," he continues, ignoring me. "Let's not forget your prolific massacre of innocent amphibians. Dozens of legs. Frying pan carnage. I saw the pile."
"They're tasty."
"You ever think," he says, now in his wise and tragic voice, "that you might've missed your chance?"
I blink. "What?"
"One of those frogs could've been a prince."
I snort. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Your kiss might've broken his curse."
"My teeth might've broken his spine."
He exhales dramatically. "Think about it. You could've been royalty."
"I already am," I say sweetly.
He rolls his eyes. "You're not."
I wink. "Partnered with a dragon. Which is objectively better than some cursed swamp boy with a moist personality."
"You have no sense of romantic destiny."
"Please. If a prince wants to win me over, he better come bearing cheese and clean laundry. Preferably shirtless."
He groans. "You disgust me."
"You adore me."
"Tragically."
We sit in silence for a moment, surrounded by bones and banter and the faint scent of roasted spider oil still lingering in my memory.
Gods, that was a good spider.