“We’re in a restaurant.” Joe shrugged. “He stupidly leaned on the grill.”

“You sure that’s how it’ll go, Lucky Charms?”

“I am.”

“Yeah, well, you may have been sure; the Wyrm didn’t know.” The Glashtin sounded sulky.

“Really? Have you forgotten his father’s lineage? Would His Highness have changed otherwise?”

Since Jack had changed without thought for his Human audience, he was more than a little impressed by Joe’s ability to bullshit. And if he hadn’t changed, the Court wouldn’t have dismissed their hounds. They’d have sat there, looking smug, enjoying themselves as Jack tried to talk around a Human audience, probably taking bets on when he’d lose control. Better he lost control up front, making it clear to the Courts he wasn’t to be manipulated. Given that Joe seemed to be right about the spells they’d wrapped their hounds in, no harm no foul. Probably. Unless the Courts could twist the situation to their advantage because that’s what the Courts did.

“His Highness wants to discuss a situation the Court will be required to acknowledge given their presence in the MidRealm.” Joe kept his voice respectful without being deferential. That came from talking to the aunties; give them an inch and they suddenly had seven million strawberries that needed stemming.

“Mutually beneficial, eh? Doubt that.”

“His Highness . . .”

“Drop it, Lucky Charms. We don’t recognize the Wyrm’s title.”

Jack heard Joe draw in a breath and held out a hand to stop a new flow of words. The Glashtin’s contribution wasn’t about protocol and the Court—singly, sequentially, collectively—didn’t need their egos further stroked. Their belief in their innate superiority got up his nose and while he realized he’d have to deal with their more-Fey-than-thou attitude if he ended up doing the whole school house elf thing, he didn’t have to deal with it now. Besides, he was still steaming about being mauled by one of their hounds, and as that bridge had already been burned . . .

A moment later, after the flames defining the change had cleared, he curved his neck until he could look the Glashtin in the eye. “Do you recognize this, then? Was I too small for you to get a good enough look the last time?”

Credit where credit was due, even though he stank of fear, the Glashtin had lost none of his attitude. “Listen, punk, you can’t threaten . . .”

“MidRealm,” Jack snapped, “not UnderRealm. There’s never been a truce declared here.” The Court might not recognize the dragons’ sovereignty, but they acknowledged the threat and had negotiated terms with it.

“This is not your world, Wyrm.”

“Wrong. This is also my world, and the powers here don’t care what happens to you.”

The Glashtin stood, nose a centimeter from Jack’s muzzle. “The old ladies don’t scare me.”