Hey, everyone! Sorry this took so long to post. I've been trying to improve my writing since last chapter. I don't know if I actually succeeded though; despite my efforts, I don't really see much of a difference. In any case, I hope you all enjoy. Thanks for all the faves, alerts, and especially reviews! All are appreciated!

Happy reading!

Curse of the Dragon Chapter 6
Challenge: A call or summons to engage in any contest.

Fakir's hut was just as scantily-furnished as Raven's home, but much smaller with less light.

There was a small kitchen in the corner of the stone cottage, and an oak dining table with only two stools. A ripped couch sat in front of a small fireplace, with a stack of small logs to the right. There was another cloth doorway on the opposite wall of the main entrance and Ahiru assumed that it led to his bedroom. Two oil lamps hung from the stone ceiling, illuminating just enough of the room to be reminiscent of the very dim, romantic, candlelit dinners her parents used to have together.

She restrained herself from snorting. There was absolutely nothing romantic about this situation.

Fakir strode to the fireplace. "Sit down at the table," he commanded her over his shoulder, leaving no room for any sort of refusal. Ahiru bit her lip and obeyed, but continued to watch his every move as she inched to the wooden stool.

She plopped down on the seat just as Fakir tossed a log into the hearth. He squatted in front of it and, ever-so-slowly, inhaled deeply through his nose. He gently blew onto the log, releasing no other sound but the whisper of the air.

As his breath caressed the wood, it burst into flame.

Ahiru's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. So that's how he lit the torch in that tunnel…

Fakir rose gracefully to his feet and turned to her with a raised eyebrow. His emerald eyes glinted in the golden light of the newborn embers. He seemed somewhat mystical in the brilliance of the flickering flame, his perfect posture and confident aura resembling an unmoving spirit that radiated power and leashed strength. "Yeah. I breathe fire." He paused to move toward the kitchen area. He bustled about, extracting items from several cupboards, coolers, and baskets. "It shouldn't be much of a surprise by now," he commented monotonously.

Well, I suppose it shouldn't be… She fiddled absent-mindedly with her pendant. It was silent for a long moment. She stared down at the table, tracing the growth rings on the wood and counting the lines that streaked across the oak. For some reason, she felt so utterly at peace, despite the fact that she had not forgotten the reason for her being in this place. Just a few hours ago (or was it a day ago? Time had escaped her by now) she was desperate to leave, resorting to crying and acting so utterly unlike her.

It was the most calm she had felt since her kidnapping, sitting there, pondering wood. She almost giggled at the thought. But it shouldn't be too strange; oak, after all, was her favorite tree. And she was certain that she wouldn't die. Mytho would be here before that happened.

A blur of colors abruptly eclipsed the growth ring she was staring at intently. A bowl of fruit and vegetables, and considerably bigger than the one left in her room. They were surprisingly assorted, ranging from slices carrots and celery, to apples to grapes to bananas to pineapples and pomegranates. A smaller bowl of berries were swiftly slid next to it. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation, and her mouth began to water. It really had been quite a while since she had eaten.

Ahiru looked up at Fakir only to find him watching her with a careful, scrutinizing eye. Their gazes melted together rapidly, startling her. She looked away first.

"Uh…"

"The noises from your stomach are thoroughly irritating. Eat."

She glanced up at him again, biting her lip and shifting uncomfortably in the stool. "But…uh…" she trailed off for a moment, twiddling her thumbs. Her feet were unable to plant themselves on the stone ground, so she swung them back and forth in an attempt to keep herself occupied. "You're staring…and it is very difficult to eat when…people are…staring."

Fakir raised his eyebrow.

Taking a deep breath, Ahiru composed herself. She knew that he couldn't hurt her yet, that much was certain, and it gave her a bit of breathing room. But it was best that she didn't provoke him anyway. What would whining do? It proved that all it would bring Fakir to do is be as rough and jerk-ish as he was hours ago. It simply wasn't proper to stoop to the level she was in the day before.

All the same, no matter who's prisoner she was, Ahiru demanded respect.

Keep firm, Ahiru. Just like Father told you.

"It'sbad manners," she stated, her gaze hardening, subtly challenging his. Determined blue clashed with cold green, a silent battle for victory over the other. His deep eyes held her firmly, almost drowning her, but she was (miraculously) able to stay safely afloat. Fakir's frigid eyes blazed into a glare.

Ahiru almost laughed. An epic staring contest over watching someone eating, and she was winning. Honestly, she never did this with anyone back on the surface; no one would dare challenge a lady of her standing. It was ridiculous.

But she didn't laugh, and she tried to convince herself that she didn't want to. None of this was fun at all. None of it. Not even the grunt of silent forfeit that was released from Fakir's throat or the reluctant roll of his eyes as he turned away to allow her to eat in peace. He busied himself by starting a small kettle of water over the grill-like stove.

Completely satisfied with herself, Ahiru indulged.

Prince Mytho held his face in his hands, slumped in his throne; the picture of misery and failure.

Karon stood to his right, almost as weary as his prince. General Lysander and Captain Humphrey kneeled before them on the marble steps.

"General," Karon instructed, his voice hoarse and laced with exhaustion, "You take three fourths of the knights and prepare them for battle. And…relay the news to the people."

"Yes, sir." With a tired bow of his head, General Lysander took his leave, the metal of his armor creaking as he dragged himself out of the throne room.

"Captain, please take the remaining fourth of the knights and continue the search for the Lady Ahiru."

Captain Humphrey swallowed, "It will be done, thir," he mumbled quietly, though his heavy lisp was still apparent. He, too, made his half-hearted leave.

It pained Karon to see his prince this way. So utterly torn and defeated. One day, the girl he had fallen in love with--at first glance, no less--is taken somewhere, somehow, and he had no idea where to begin searching when he started. The next day, the war that he so utterly tried everything to avoid had been finalized.

"Your Majesty," Karon voiced quietly, a soothing hand on the Prince's shoulder, "Will you continue to search for the Lady Ahiru with the other knights?"

Prince Mytho glanced up at Karon. Karon's heart seemed to stop when he surveyed the empty, lifeless gaze in his prince's golden eyes. His mouth was set in a thin, grim line, and there was nothing left but sorrow. It was as if his very heart was taken out of him.

"No." The Prince paused to take a deep, tremulous breath, "I cannot."

Karon nodded and gave Prince Mytho's shoulder a gentle squeeze in reassurance. "I have faith that our knights will find her, then."

Prince Mytho had a country to save. It was his main priority, and Karon knew this. Ever since the Prince was a young boy, it was ingrained in him. He was to fight for his country. He was to do whatever it took to make certain his kingdom is secure, and that no one could tread on it.

For a prince, love cannot come before his people.

Ahiru really did not realize how hungry she was until she choked on a pomegranate seed.

Really, she began with proper manners, with delicate bites and slow chewing, but the freshness of the produce and the lack of sustenance in her small body, she began speeding up. It reached a point where she wasn't even tasting the food anymore, and escalated to not even chewing the food anymore.

Needless to say, Ahiru was so busy catering to her famishment to even notice that Fakir began staring at her again. This time, however, his eyebrows were raised to extraordinary heights and his jaw hit the stone ground.

The said pomegranate seed found its way into the wrong tube. Ahiru began beating her chest in an attempt to push it back out.

A handkerchief found its way into her frantic vision, and she grabbed it, coughing heavily into the cloth. A stone cup of water was forced into her face, and she snatched it, gulping it gratefully.

When she composed herself and brought air back into her lungs, she looked sheepishly up at Fakir, who was standing there holding the handkerchief and cup.

He was able to roll his jaw back to its original position, but his eyebrows were still raised. "Wow," was all he could manage to say.

Her face heated, rivaling the color of her pendant. "I-I was hungry!" she exclaimed indignantly. "A-and the fruit was delicious!"

"Hmph." Fakir blinked the shock out of his face and rested the cloth and cup on the table. "As long as you don't go killing yourself yet. We need you to stay alive for the moment."

Oh, here we go again! Ahiru was starting to get fed up with the constant reminders of her supposedly imminent death. And yet, she still knew close to nothing about it.

She picked up a grape and popped it in her mouth, taking the time to chew it carefully. "Why am I to pass on?" she asked, her tone as even as she could manage, "Obviously, it has something to do with my mother's pendant. And why is it that you need to wait so long before I must die?" Mytho will find me before any of this happens though.

Fakir sat down on the stool across from her. His elbows were placed on the oak surface, and he folded his hands in front of his lips, studying her closely. She was surprised that he wasn't glaring or looking offensive in any way. Fakir's green pools seemed to delve deep into her blue orbs, searching for something that she didn't even know she had. Again, she felt trapped by his eyes, and she suddenly felt self-conscious.

What was he looking for?

He lowered his folded hands to the table and straightened up. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Ahiru blinked, and picked up a raspberry from the smaller bowl. "No idea about what?"

"You don't know about yourself."

She once again fought down the urge to get huffy. Of course she knows herself. She's herself. What could this kidnapper-dragon-stranger-person know about her that she doesn't? "I think I know myself rather well," she affirmed, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

His emeralds narrowed. "That's not what I was getting at."

"Then what do you mean?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He leaned forward over the table, drawing closer to her. Reason begged her to back up, but instinct implored her to lean in. She chose to stay still.

Fakir broke their eye contact to stare down at his folded hands, releasing her unknowingly from the prison of his gaze. Then, his eyes recaptured hers in that same instant.

Suddenly, she couldn't breathe.

Something strange reflected in Fakir's eyes then. A flash of something she had yet to see in them. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived, however, and she found herself unconsciously wishing to see it again, hoping to be able to identify it.

Again, he leaned closer, and Ahiru still couldn't bring herself to move.

He opened his mouth. "Look," he muttered, eyes serious, but not sneering, "It really doesn't involve you personally…and I know you don't deserve-"

Ahiru jumped as the hiss of the kettle he placed over the stove wailed throughout the stone hut. Her heart tap-danced across her chest, and she commanded her pulse to slow.

Fakir gracefully stood from his seat and turned off the heat. He brought two more stone cups out of the cupboard and placed it on the table.

Ahiru bit her lip, fumbling for something to say as Fakir fixed the tea. "So…how are you able to get all this…" she trailed off to gesture to the food.

"The areas around the meadow on the surface are very fertile. So fertile, in fact, that we're able to grow different types of produce from various regions across Terra."

Ahiru blinked in amazement. "None of the cities know about this place."

"We'd like to keep it that way." His face formed a scowl, but she could tell that it wasn't directed at her.

A cup of tea was placed in front of her. Fakir moved to lean against the wall, his eyes closing. Ahiru glanced at him before picking up her cup and sampling the aroma.

Oh, my…

Ahiru smiled. This was her favorite tea. It was so rare in Terra, that not even people of her stature could afford--or even find--the Royal Snowflake. She just adored its incredible, muscatel flavor.

Did this type of tea grow out here, too?

Fakir opened his eyes, taking another sip. "Perfect Darjeeling, right? I've never tasted a better tea. Unparalleled astringency."

Ahiru blinked and bit her lip before sipping. It was a bit odd, having such small talk with this man. She had forgotten for a moment that he had kidnapped her and was able to turn into a dragon whenever he wished.

She nodded. "Mm. I've only had the pleasure of having this tea once. Back when I was still a child."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're still a child."

She grew angry, but tried to conceal it. How dare he? "I am not a child," she calmly stated.

"You're small. What are you? Ten? Eight?"

"I am fourteen years old! I am already engaged to be married! I will have my wedding by next fall! Besides, you can't be older than seventeen or eighteen yourself."

Fakir snorted, taking a long sip of his tea. "First of all, you couldn't possibly guess my age. Secondly, you won't be alive next fall."

Ahiru's grip on the tea cup tightened. "Yes. I will."

"No, you won't. Sorry. The sooner you accept this, the better it will be for you."

"I won't accept something that won't happen. My Prince will find me."

At this, Fakir pinned her with his gaze once more, leaving her frozen like a deer under the aim of an arrow. "You seem to have much faith in your prince. On what grounds?"

Ahiru bit her lip and allowed herself to send a scowl in his direction. She stood from her seat and planted her hands flat on the tabletop. "I am his fiancé. And he is a noble prince who will fight his hardest to find the one he is to marry."

The dragon-boy simpered. "I see." He paused to finish his tea. "You still live in a fairytale, don't you?" He moved toward the opposite side of the table once again, placing the cup down and mirroring Ahiru's pose. Fakir's green eyes bore down into hers, but to both of their surprise, she was able to match his gaze again.

"The real world isn't a fairytale, you know," he muttered, his lips set back into a thin line. "I hope that you learn this before the day you die."

"That will be many, many years from now…" she paused, and then, accentuating every syllable, every vowel, and every consonant, mockingly mumbled, "Fakir."

The corner of his lips jerked upwards. "We'll see," and just as jeering, replied with, "Ahiru."

Yay! Finally done! Please leave a review and let me know how I'm progressing. Don't worry, much, much more action in the next one, I promise! This chapter is mainly to build characterization. Thank you for reading! Stay tuned and please leave feedback!