"I was extremely poor growing up. My mother barely had enough to feed me on a day-to-day basis. I never got a gift or even a special meal. Then I was a slave for many years, so no one cared about me." I swallow.

His features harden.

"You said the people who enslaved you are already dead?"

I give him a tight nod.

"That's a pity," he sighs dramatically. "I would have enjoyed breaking their bones."

My lips spread in a genuine smile as I turn my hand palm up, lacing my fingers through his. He's startled by it but doesn't seem averse to it as his gaze drops to our fingers.

"Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me." And that is the real Ze. He might be surly and rude and socially inept, but he's a real friend.

"Maybe not all is lost. I'm sure we can do something about it..." he trails off as he sinks deep in thought.

I shake my head at him, but I appreciate the initiative. And this time, it's not because we're a team and what happens to one reflects on the others—he's simply mad on my behalf.

"As I was saying," I clear my throat. "I was nineteen when I escaped the hacienda, and after that..." Warmth floods me at the vivid memories, my features lighting up.

"After that?" Ze asks curiously, leaning in. He has an avid expression on his face, waiting for me to continue.

"After that my husband made sure to celebrate my birthday every year. It became our tradition. He would prepare surprises for me and I would do the same for him. We made it a competition on who would come up with the best gift each year..." I add wistfully.

Ze's body tenses, and an indecipherable emotion enters his features. He tightens his hold over my hand, his thumb rubbing circles on my wrist. He squeezes his eyes shut as he takes a couple of deep breaths, almost as if he were in physical pain.

My brows furrow as I stare at him. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, jolting me closer as he pulls on my arm.

"When is your birthday?" he asks in a slow, deliberate voice.

His eyes bore into me, the dark of his irises glinting dangerously.

"September sixth."

"That would be sixth of Ananke in my world."

"Ananke?"

"There are fifteen months, each one dedicated to one of the ruling royal houses. Ananke is the ninth one."

"Sixth of Ananke," I repeat, tasting the words on my lips.

"Ananke is a good month," he mentions, nodding thoughtfully.

Silence descends as a look of concentration enters his features. Suddenly, he bursts out, "I have decided, human." His voice booms in that arrogant lilt of his. "I will allow you to give me a birthday. You may choose a month and a day."

I blink at him.

"You want me to choose a birthday for you?" I squeak.