It was a pity Deon was so damn attractive, and even more of a pity that he knew it. He was charming every woman and half the men in Mydor before the portrait was even half done.
Zara ignored him.
He took it as a challenge.
Every morning she’d find him waiting for her in the road outside her building, and if he didn’t have some tempting bite of breakfast waiting, it was only because he’d found a place where you sat in, and he’d insist he was starving, and wouldn’t survive the morning.
The way to a strangwolf’s heart might not be entirely through her stomach but it took him a fair way there and it annoyed her. She was supposed to be aloof, independent, self-reliant. That’s what her mother had said, over and over. You can’t trust people, even family. They always leave, or betray you in some other way.
That morning he’d found the most delightful place, a hidden courtyard, heavy with vines and blooms and selling the most mouth-watering pastries she’d ever tasted. Deon watched her eat like it was his favourite past-time.
He always insisted on paying too, which of course meant she had to buy lunch, or dinner, and there was another meal shared.
As she demolished a sticky honey-nut thing with more layers than a book, he propped his chin on his hand and asked. “Why do you stay in this city?”
Zara finished her mouthful and replied. “The food.”
That made him laugh. “Seriously? That’s why you remained here, when your mother left?”
“I don’t recall being given the choice. I woke up one morning, just after I’d turned fifteen, and she was gone. And I’m told having my eyes in the King’s city is useful.”
The DNA of Stories 