I'm not necessarily aiming to make this story romantic. That kind of isn't the point when it comes to how I think of Seto and Kisara as a unit. But that doesn't mean there isn't room to play with the idea, I think.

Girlfriend or not, she's part of the inner circle now.

.

"I have noticed that you make . . . rather ridiculous wagers with the hatchling," Kisara said, sounding rather flummoxed, "and I wonder why it is that you would make light of his education. Surely, you believe it to be important. Why trivialize it?"

Seto, who was chopping vegetables in preparation for his brother's favorite dinner—chicken and tortilla soup—glanced over his shoulder and said: "I have never made light of anything in my entire life." Kisara knew that wasn't true, but his face was cast in iron and it was impossible to tell whether he knew that. "I am making education into a game with Mokuba to encourage him. To motivate him. We thrive on competition; or have you not noticed how reprehensible we get whenever we play a fighting game?"

"Mm," said Kisara, clearly unconvinced.

As Seto flipped his chef's knife into the air and caught it on the tip with the spoon he held in his other hand, he went on: "It's in any human being's nature to play. It's woven into us. We're a social species, and the worst thing we ever taught ourselves was the idea that playing is frivolous. That it stands in opposition to growth and progress. My predecessor believed this. Every adult in my life, except for my parents, believed this."

"My king believed this," Kisara admitted.

Seto started juggling. "It's an easy lie to believe," he said. "Work is hard. Progress is hard. Anything worth achieving is difficult. Difficulty, adversity, puts a strain on us. We start to associate work, progress, worth, decency, with that strain. With the pain it causes." He pointed his knife in Kisara's direction like he was giving a speech; he probably was. "That is the chief mistake of this country in particular: that seductive, Puritanical work ethic."

"Mm," Kisara said again.

"It's nonsense," Seto declared. "It's not just useless; it's antithetical."

"Antithetical to . . . ?" Kisara prompted.

"Humanity." Seto lit several burners on his stove-top with a flourish, letting the flames back his point. "Do you know why I stopped making adults pay for tickets at Kaiba-Land? Why I started operating on donations instead?" Kisara shook her head. "Because adults need to play, just as much as their children do. It's important. It's vital."

"This is all noble, and fascinating, but we were not speaking of play, my prince." Kisara crossed her arms. "We were speaking of gambling."

"Semantics." Seto waved a dismissive hand. "Even if I grant you that this counts as gambling, even if I put money on it, what difference would it make? Am I going to run out? Is giving portions of the Kaiba fortune to a Kaiba a bad investment?" He eyed Kisara suspiciously. "Besides. I couldn't go bankrupt if I tried."

"I don't believe that," Kisara said. "You could. Especially if Yugi Mutou told you that you couldn't."

Seto blinked; stared. Then his eyes narrowed. "That," he said, "is a cheap shot."

"Oh, are we now on the subject of morality?" Kisara quirked an eyebrow. "Have I said something uncouth? You, who encourages children to gamble, seek the high ground?"

"You seem really attached to that word," Seto said.

"You seem quite determined to pretend it isn't applicable."

"Of course!" Seto held out both hands, like he was presenting himself. "Have you missed that we're playing a game right now? You've taken one stance; I've taken an opposing one. The first to back the other into a corner is the winner." He flashed a grin. "What do you think, Kisara? Loser sets the table?"

Kisara rolled her eyes. "If the victory condition is backing you into a corner," she said, "then I have already won." She bared her fangs in a grin of her own. "Shall I demonstrate?"

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

Kisara stopped dead in her tracks.

". . . What did you say?"