However,

"Why not? I'm very experienced, very skilled, and you'll admit, very easy on the eyes--"
"You're my subordinate; I'm your mentor. No matter how--" she checked before the words 'you people' could slip out-- "your culture may regard such relationships, the Library disapproves."
"We're not in the Library here."
"I carry the Library with me. I'm sorry, it's impossible."
He regarded her under his eyebrows-- those elegant arching black wings above dark liquid eyes-- no, *stop*. "And you're quite sure it's nothing to do with my-- culture?"
"No, of course not!" Did she say that too quickly? "I mean-- Well, possibly. There's your rank--"
"I'm an apprentice of the Library."
"Yes, but beside that. You're a prince." I assume. "That would make me--" she floundered for words-- "a favourite. Of yours. I can't be that, *and* your superior. You must see that."
He brightened. "But I could be *your* favourite. Makes sense, in my culture or yours. The duty of a subordinate is to serve his superior in everything, and I'm quite ready to do that, in any way you please--" He moved closer, smiling a million promises.
"And what would your father say?"
He froze. "My father?"
"Your uncles. Your brothers. About you being a human's favourite. Would they approve if they knew? Or would they be..." tsunami-making furious?
He swallowed. "They needn't find out."
She said nothing. He drooped. "Well, they needn't, you know. But- oh well. If it bothers you that much..." After a moment he turned and trailed out her bedroom door. She sat down abruptly.
Won that round.
Damn it.