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It is difficult at first because the hostility from the other patrons and from the staff of the restaurant is obvious.
But Krista seems to relax, seems to disregard the opinions of those around us, and the atmosphere lightens as we discuss our plans for the future.
I order for her, as I always do, and even though she wrinkles her nose at the dish that is placed in front of her – a traditional naga meal of meat that is cooked rare – she eats it as obediently as she does everything else.
After we eat, we take another walk through town, and I show her the neighborhood I grew up in.
Her face is soft and reflective as she listens to my stories about my childhood. We are still holding hands when an older naga woman walks up to us.
“You’re a disgrace,” the naga woman cries in a croaking voice. “You’re a disgrace to your people!”
She spits at me and then makes an obscene gesture in Krista’s direction.
But Krista remembers my command and keeps her back straight. Her face is devoid of emotion.
I could rip her head off. I should rip her head off,I think contemplatively to myself as the naga woman scurries off.
“Is it going to be like that forever?” Krista asks me in a shaky voice, although I know she is still trying to be brave.
“Probably,” I tell her and squeeze her hand. “It is going to take generations for everyone on Protheka to accept humans into their society.”
Krista sighs, and the fear and worry on her face is clear.
“Let’s go back home,” I tell her, and we walk back to where the carriage is waiting.
Back in the palace, I order dinner while Krista goes off to take a bath.
When she comes out of the bathroom, her eyes are bloodshot and puffy and her face is streaked with tears.
“I can’t help it,” she says right away. “I’m so scared.”
“That’s okay.” I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek, then her forehead, and then the tip of her nose.
“But somehow,” Krista continues, sniffling. “I feel closer to you because of what we experienced today.”
Dinner arrives then, and we eat on the couch, not bothering with any formalities tonight.
We are both half-dressed as we feast on the three-course meal and dessert, and Krista picks up one of the books from the library halfway through our meal.
She reads to me as my hand is threaded through her hair, while I eat with my other hand.
“I didn’t realize that things like fairytales existed in your world,” she tells me and leans back into my hand as I massage the back of her head.
“Oh, yes,” I tell her and think back to my childhood. My childhood may have been slightly difficult, but it was filled with stories.
“We have had many fairy tales. Some of them are myths. Some of them are based on our beliefs and religion. Some of them are retellings of stories about fierce naga warriors.”
“It’s amazing. I want to read them all,” she exclaims and places a piece of seared caesin neatly in her mouth.
She moans at the exquisite taste of the caesin and then snuggles into my arms.
“You’re still learning how to read naga. But you’re making fast progress. Soon, you’ll be able to check out the entire library.”
We both go to sleep early that night. I have my duties to attend to in the morning, and Krista has her own things that she needs to do.
I realize, as we get into bed, that Krista is finally opening up to me again after weeks of silence.
I would never blame her for her silence – what I did to her is despicable.
