I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Zafron's fork clattered to the plate as he stared at Cassandra, his mind reeling from her offer. She continued eating, her eyes never leaving his face, a strangely beautiful yet scary smile playing on her lips. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant chirping of exotic birds in the lush garden.

'Well, this is... unexpected,' Zafron thought, his inner voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and amusement. 'When I woke up this morning, I didn't think I'd be offered a job by one of the richest person in Drakoria. Then again, I also didn't think I'd die and meet a goddess, so I guess it's just that kind of day.'

He watched as Cassandra popped another berry into her mouth, her gaze still fixed on him. Her smile widened slightly, as if she could hear his internal monologue.

'What is she thinking?' Zafron wondered, fighting the urge to squirm under her intense scrutiny. 'Is this how a cat looks at a mouse before pouncing? Or how a chef looks at a particularly interesting ingredient? Either way, I'm not sure I like being on this end of that stare.'

As the moments ticked by, Zafron's mind raced through the events that had led him to this surreal picnic. When he'd set out to find a job, he certainly hadn't been aiming too high but certainly not too low. His expectations had been decidedly more... modest.

'Let's be real,' he mused, 'I was half expecting to end up as a street sweeper or a guy who polishes other people's polish. Guard to the richest woman in the city? That wasn't even on my radar.'

He couldn't help but reflect on his past - the poor boy sold into slavery by his own stepmother. It was a far cry from the lavish surroundings he found himself in now. Waking up in Drakoria had felt like a second chance, a clean slate to build a better life for himself and the women he cared about.

'But what do I really have to offer?' he questioned himself. 'My resume reads like a bad joke: "Skills include getting into trouble and making questionable life choices." Not exactly what most employers are looking for.'

He recalled his fruitless job search the previous day, armed with nothing but Matilda's recommendations and a healthy dose of optimism. The lack of callbacks had been disheartening, to say the least.

'Face it, Zafron,' he thought wryly, 'your qualifications are about as impressive as a wet paper bag. This might be the best offer you're going to get. Heck, it might be the only offer you're going to get.'

He sighed, realizing that his options were limited. But before he could commit to anything, he needed to know one crucial detail. Swallowing his pride and trying not to appear too eager or desperate, he cleared his throat.

"Not to be rude," Zafron began, his voice slightly hoarse from the prolonged silence, "but what exactly are you offering in terms of payment for my... services?"

Cassandra's eyebrows arched ever so slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She set down the berry she had been about to eat and leaned forward, her smirk growing more pronounced.

"For a start," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "we could begin with a daily pay of 1000 Thalens."

Zafron's jaw dropped so fast he was surprised it didn't detach completely and roll across the picnic blanket. His eyes widened to the point where he feared they might pop out of his skull.

'One thousand... daily?' his brain sputtered, trying to process the information. 'That's more money than I've seen in my entire life! Is she serious? Am I dreaming? Did I actually die and this is some bizarre afterlife where rich women throw money at confused ex-slaves?'

He blinked rapidly, half expecting Cassandra to burst into laughter and reveal it was all an elaborate joke. But her expression remained steady, that knowing smirk still firmly in place.

'Okay, Zafron, play it cool,' he told himself. 'Don't let her see how desperate you are. Act like you get offers like this every day. You're a professional... whatever it is she wants you to be.'

He opened his mouth to respond, aiming for a casual, "That sounds reasonable." What came out instead was a strangled squeak that sounded vaguely like, "Guh?"

Cassandra's smirk bloomed into a full-fledged grin, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I take it that's acceptable?" she asked, her tone playful.

Zafron nodded vigorously, not trusting his voice to form coherent words. His mind was already racing ahead, imagining all the possibilities this newfound wealth could bring.

'I could buy a house!' he thought excitedly. 'No, ten houses! I could buy new clothes that aren't patched together from other people's cast-offs. I could eat something other than mystery stew for dinner. I could... I could...'

His excitement faltered slightly as a sobering thought occurred to him. 'Wait a minute. There's got to be a catch. Nobody pays this much for a guard, especially one with zero experience and a talent for getting into trouble.'

He eyed Cassandra suspiciously, searching for any sign of deception. But all he saw was that same enigmatic smile and those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him.

'Maybe she's secretly insane,' he pondered. 'Rich people can afford to be eccentric, right? For all I know, she collects ex-slaves like some people collect stamps. Or maybe this is all an elaborate prank for some twisted reality show. "Punk'd: Drakoria Edition."'

Despite his reservations, Zafron couldn't ignore the golden opportunity laid out before him. It was more than he could have ever hoped for, even in his wildest dreams.

'Look at it this way,' he reasoned with himself. 'Worst case scenario, it's all a big misunderstanding and I end up back where I started. Best case scenario... well, I guess I better start practicing my "stern guard" face.'

Taking a deep breath, Zafron attempted to school his features into what he hoped was a professional expression. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he could feel his lips twitching, desperate to break into a goofy grin.

"That sounds... acceptable," he managed to say, his voice only cracking slightly. "When can I start?"

Cassandra's smile widened, a look of satisfaction crossing her face. "Excellent," she purred. "How about right now?"

Zafron blinked, caught off guard once again. "Now? As in, right this very moment?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with barely contained mirth. "Unless you have a pressing engagement elsewhere? Perhaps another job interview lined up at a rival millionaire's mansion?"

'Oh yes, I'm just swimming in job offers,' Zafron thought sarcastically. 'I had to push back my interview with the King to make time for this picnic.'

Aloud, he said, "No, now is perfect. I just need to... um..." He glanced down at his decidedly non-guard-like attire. "Do you have a uniform or something?"

Cassandra's gaze traveled over him, taking in his mismatched clothes and scuffed boots. Her lips quirked upwards. "We'll get you properly outfitted, don't worry. For now, just try to look... intimidating."

Zafron straightened his back and puffed out his chest, attempting to channel his inner bodyguard. The effect was somewhat undermined by the fact that he was still sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket, surrounded by half-eaten pastries.

'Great job, Zafron,' he thought. 'You look about as intimidating as a puppy in a tutu. Still, fake it till you make it, right?'

Cassandra observed his efforts with barely concealed amusement. "We'll work on that," she said diplomatically. "For now, why don't we finish our meal? Your first official duty can be to guard me against... oh, let's say, overly aggressive butterflies."

As if on cue, a vibrant blue butterfly fluttered past, landing delicately on a nearby flower. Zafron eyed it warily, as if it might suddenly grow fangs and attack.

'Well,' he thought, fighting back a chuckle, 'I guess this is my life now. From slave to butterfly wrangler. Mom would be so proud.'