The sun was just beginning to dip, casting the orchard in syrupy gold. A breeze rustled the cherry blossoms above us, sending pale petals drifting onto my bare belly.
Mibbs was flat on his back, naked, sweating like a frightened hog, chest heaving like he'd run from one end of Seebulba to the other. Which was laughable, considering what had just (barely) happened.
I stared up at the sky. Deadpan. Silent.
He turned his head toward me, face flushed and stupidly hopeful. "Was I good?"
I blinked slowly.
He was trying so hard. So very, very hard. For a solid twenty-six seconds.
I turned my head to him, resting it on my palm, elbow in the grass. I looked him in the eye.
"It's okay, lad," I said gently. "It really is. It can happen to anyone."
He smiled weakly. "So... I was good?"
I smiled back. Patted his cheek softly, almost maternally. "You were... enthusiastic."
Which wasn't a lie. He'd practically attacked me like I was a buffet and he hadn't eaten since spring planting. Pity it ended before the appetizer.
He winced. "I, uh... I didn't think it'd go so fast. You're just… very beautiful. And warm. And soft. And also very wet—"
"Alright," I interrupted. "Let's not do a full performance review."
He looked mortified. I kissed his forehead. Might as well throw the poor bastard a bone.
"I've had worse," I said, which was also technically true. Once. Long ago. Drunken noble with a stutter.
"But—" he started.
"Shhh," I said. "Let the wind carry your shame away."
He looked like he might cry. Or pass out. Or both.
I laid back again, arm over my eyes. Somewhere above us, a bird chirped. Probably laughing.
"I was supposed to be treating you," I muttered. "Celebrating your 'progress.' A little divine reward. Bit of goddess worship. You know. Fun."
"I had fun," he mumbled.
"I noticed."
Silence again.
He hesitated. "Should I… do something for you?"
I let the silence hang long enough for him to squirm.
Then: "Yes, Mibbs. Yes, you should."
He sat up like a soldier called to duty.
I pointed between my legs. "Start there. Use your mouth, not your enthusiasm."
He blinked.
"And don't try to make a speech about it."
"Yes m'lady," he said, already crawling toward redemption.
Poor lad might just be salvageable yet.
He shuffled down awkwardly, lips puckered, clearly aiming for redemption like a knight might aim for a dragon's heart—with shaky hands and no real plan.
I lay back, closed my eyes, waited.
A moment passed. Then I felt it.
Not there.
"Mibbs."
"Mmh?"
I lifted my head and looked down.
"That's my belly button, lad."
He froze. Eyes wide. "Oh."
I sighed. "You're circling the right district, but you're knocking on the wrong door."
"Sorry," he muttered, adjusting course like a cart stuck in a rut.
I flopped back into the grass. "Start slow. No tongue twisters. And for the love of all that is sacred and sticky, breathe through your nose this time."
"Right," he said, steeling himself like he was about to dive into a holy relic.
Cherry blossoms kept falling around us. One landed on his bum.
Divine comedy, indeed.
He paused again. Hovering.
I could feel the question loading in his tiny goat-boy brain like a cart full of rocks creaking toward a cliff edge.
"M'lady…?"
I opened one eye. "Yes, Mibbs?"
He swallowed, eyes wide and earnest. "Are you… are you a virgin?"
I groaned. Loudly. From the depths of my soul.
"Dear gods," I muttered, covering my face with both hands. "You're on your second round and I'm the one getting insulted."
He sat back on his heels, clearly panicking. "I just meant—you're so graceful! And radiant! And, and divine! And… gentle?"
I lowered my hands slowly and gave him a look flat enough to cook bread on.
"Lad. I lost my virginity behind a tavern, up against a goat pen, while holding someone else's trousers for collateral."
His mouth opened. No sound came out.
"Also," I added, "I don't think I've ever been described as gentle. Not even by accident."
He blinked.
A blossom landed on his shoulder.
"Right," he squeaked.
"Good. Now back to work," I said, spreading my legs with all the subtlety of a street vendor opening shop. "And this time, aim below the navel."
***
I sat by the fire, arms crossed, face like thunder, and a stick in hand I wasn't even using to poke anything. Just clutching it. Like a weapon. Like a warning. The flames crackled cheerfully, which only made it worse.
The Dragon landed with a thud nearby, his wings folding with lazy grace. He sniffed the air.
"Someone smells like shame and cherry blossoms."
I didn't look at him. Just stabbed the stick into the dirt.
He padded closer. "What's wrong with you now?"
"Nothing," I muttered.
He tilted his head. "You've got that face. The sulking one. The one you make when you get outwitted by a tavern wench or outdrunk by a dwarf."
I jabbed the stick deeper.
"Did the lad cry again? Or did he try to recite a poem mid-thrust?"
I gritted my teeth. "Shut up."
The Dragon made a thoughtful sound. "Let me guess. He found out you're not a virgin maiden."
I whipped around, eyes blazing. "I said shut up."
He smirked. "That's a yes."
I turned back to the fire and stabbed it again, harder this time.
He circled, tail swishing. "What did he say? Did he gasp in horror? Whisper something about 'sacred petals' and the sanctity of his loins?"
"He said he thought I was pure," I snapped. "Like a moonlit flower."
The Dragon burst into a snort-laugh. "You're more like a sunburned thistle."
"I know," I groaned, slumping. "But he looked so betrayed. Like I'd personally defiled a church pew."
"Which you probably have."
"Once!" I shot back. "And it was a small chapel."
Silence.
Then: "He's having a crisis. I tried to tell him it's all part of the journey. That heroes must rise above temptation and worldly flesh. And that purity is just a state of mind."
The Dragon raised a brow ridge. "You're unbelievable."
"He cried, okay?"
He sat beside me, curling his massive tail around.
"Well," he said, "now you've officially broken a future legend. Hope it was worth it."
I muttered something very unladylike under my breath and stabbed the fire again. Hard enough to send sparks flying.
Somewhere in the dark, Mibbs sniffled.
The Dragon and I sat in silence a while longer.
"Do you want me to talk to him?" he asked finally.
I sighed. "No. Just… give me a minute. I need to figure out how to revirginize."
The Dragon coughed. "What?"
"I don't know. Maybe a spell. Or a vow. Or fake hymen prosthetics. Something."
He stared.
I jabbed the fire again. "Don't look at me like that. Marketing is everything."