I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. Through the bond, he felt exactly what I was imagining—his hands on my skin, his mouth claiming mine, his body finally, finally completing what we'd started when he caught me mid-fall and our souls recognized each other.
The air between us crackled with potential, with clean desire that had been building for days and would only get stronger. But beneath the want, beneath the hunger that made my hands shake with the effort of not touching him, I felt something else.
Safety. Trust. The absolute certainty that when we finally came together, it would be right—no corruption, no compulsion, just two people choosing each other with clear minds and open hearts.
"Tomorrow," Caelus said again, and it sounded like both promise and prayer. “But today, breakfast!”
TheNursery'ssmallkitchenoccupied a corner I'd barely noticed during my week as Little—it had existed only as the place Daddy brought food from, not somewhere I needed to understand. Now, sitting at the normal-height table with my feet actually reaching the floor, I could appreciate the spaceproperly: pale wood cabinets, a window that opened onto clouds, copper pots hanging from hooks that caught morning light and threw it back in warm glints.
Caelus moved through the space with the easy confidence of someone who'd cooked here countless times. He'd insisted on making me "proper food"—his words, said with a smile that suggested he remembered exactly what Little Me had eaten for a week. Porridge with honey swirls. Soft vegetables. Things that were easy and safe and required no complicated chewing.
"Eggs," he announced, cracking them into a bowl with one-handed efficiency. "Toast with actual butter. Fresh fruit that you'll have to bite properly. Your poor teeth haven't done real work in days."
I found myself smiling at his back, at the way his silver hair fell forward when he bent over the stove, at the domestic intimacy of watching my mate cook breakfast. "You make it sound like my teeth were on vacation."
"They were." He glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes held warmth that made my chest tight. "Everything was on vacation. That was the point."
The conversation felt careful at first, both of us adjusting to this new configuration. A week ago—or maybe longer, time had been slippery while Little—we'd barely known each other. Then I'd spent seven days being cared for by him while operating from a headspace that couldn't hold adult complexity. Now we were back to being equals, or trying to be, except nothing felt equal when every look between us carried the weight of everything we couldn't do yet.
Ha. As if I could ever be an equal with an eternal dragon.
He set a plate in front of me—perfectly scrambled eggs, toast cut diagonally because even that small detail mattered to him, berries arranged like someone cared how they looked. Steamrose from the food, and my stomach growled loud enough that we both heard it.
"When did I eat last?" I asked, picking up my fork and marveling at how natural it felt to use utensils again. "I mean, as Little."
"Dinner last night. Mashed sweet potato and soft bread." He settled across from me with his own plate, and for a moment we just looked at each other across the small table. "You tried to share with Stormy, but I explained he ate invisible food."
The memory surfaced—fuzzy but there. Stormy with his crooked button eyes, always tucked under my chin, keeping away bad dreams. I'd loved that dragon with a simplicity I could barely access now, all the complicated adult feelings stripped away to just: mine, soft, safe.
"I remember pieces," I said slowly, working through eggs that tasted impossibly good after a week of simple food. "Not everything, but fragments. Building block towers. You reading stories in different voices. The time I—" Heat flooded my cheeks. "The time the mark tried to pull me out and I climbed into your lap and tried to kiss you."
His expression softened with something that might have been pain or tenderness or both. "You were stuck between Little and Big. It was the mark's last real attempt to corrupt you through the bond."
"You put me in time-out."
"I helped you find your way back to safe headspace." He set down his fork, gave me his full attention. "You weren't in trouble, Wren. You were fighting something terrifying while too small to understand what it was. The discipline corner was just a tool to help you resettle."
I nodded, processing that adult explanation for something I'd experienced as confused frustration. Little Me hadn'tunderstood why Daddy wouldn't hold her. Big Me knew exactly why, and was grateful for his control.
We ate in easier silence after that, the initial awkwardness fading into something more comfortable. I watched him move—economic gestures, everything purposeful, the way someone moved after living long enough to pare away unnecessary motion. He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, and I realized I was allowed to look now, allowed to want openly without fear that it would trigger the mark's corruption.
"The Pact ceremony needs to happen soon," Caelus said, pouring tea from a pot that had been steeping. He added honey to mine without asking—he knew how I liked it, had learned through the bond or observation or both. "Probably tomorrow, to give you time to fully resettle into adult headspace. You're Big now, but you've been Little for seven days straight. Your mind needs time to remember how to hold complex thoughts for extended periods."
"And the ceremony itself?" I accepted the tea, cradling the warm cup between my palms.
"The other Dragon Lords will want to witness it—they have to be sure that the Unnamed’s power doesn’t corrupt the bond." He leaned back in his chair, and I could see him shifting into explanation mode. "Plus, the Caretaker Pact isn't just a contract between mates. It's a magical binding witnessed by the old powers, the same forces that created dragons in the first place. Having other bonded pairs present strengthens the magic, creates witnesses in both the legal and mystical sense."
I tried to imagine it—standing before Davoren, Sereis, Garruk and their mates, declaring my submission and trust in front of people who'd watched me at my most vulnerable. The idea should have been mortifying. Instead, it felt right. They'd seen me corrupted, helped plan my salvation, stood guard whileCaelus guided me through regression. They'd earned the right to witness what came next.
"And until then?" I asked.
"Until then, we review the contract." His voice took on weight, seriousness that cut through the domestic warmth like a knife finding important flesh. "We go through every term, every implication, every clause. We negotiate what you need, what I can provide, where our boundaries are. This isn't something you can undo, Wren. Once the Pact is sealed, it's permanent. You need to be certain—not just emotionally certain, but intellectually certain. Understanding exactly what you're agreeing to."
I set down my teacup, met his eyes across the table. "I'm certain. I've been certain since—" I paused, searching for the moment. "Since you caught me falling and the bond formed. Since you refused to take advantage when the mark was pushing us both toward something that would have destroyed us. Since you spent a week caring for me with patience I didn't know existed." My voice dropped lower. "But I want to understand the details. Want to negotiate what I need. Want to build this right."
His smile was proud, warm, edged with heat that made my toes curl in my borrowed slippers. "That's exactly right. The Pact requires negotiation, requires you to advocate for yourself even as you agree to submit. It's not about erasing your voice—it's about using it to build something that works for both of us."
He stood, started clearing plates with efficient movements that suggested this was ritual—clean up before moving to serious work. I helped without asking, falling into a rhythm that felt natural despite having never done this before. Domestic partnership built in the space of washing dishes, our hands occasionally touching in soapy water, each contact sending sparks racing up my arms.
