The transformation has been so gradual that I sometimes forget how impossible this all is. Marriage to unify occupiers and occupied, falling in love with someone who can turn into a raven, negotiating with necromancers and dragon riders and tylwyth refugees. When did the extraordinary become my everyday?
Dyfri shifts on my shoulder, turning his head to look at me with one bright black eye. There’s something almost questioning in his gaze, as if he’s wondering what I’m thinking about. The intelligence behind that corvid stareis entirely him, and I love that I can recognise my husband even when he’s wearing feathers.
He deserves this, I think, watching him spread his wings slightly to feel the wind. He deserves more fun in his life. All the fun. After everything he’s endured, all the political manoeuvring and court intrigue and careful mask-wearing, he should have entire days of nothing but joy and wonder and the simple pleasure of flying.
The thought of giving him that, of building a life where he can be this relaxed and happy on a regular basis, makes something fierce and protective rise in my chest. Whatever it takes to keep him safe, whatever world we have to build or escape to, I want to see him this content every day.
We spend another hour in the air, watching Eerie demonstrate the anchor points with graceful aerial manoeuvres that paint glowing patterns against the sky. Even I can see the mathematical precision in his movements, the way each gesture corresponds to clear patterns. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.
By the time we land back at the keep, my legs are wobbly and my face aches from smiling. The dragons settle onto the landing platforms with surprising grace for creatures so massive, and I slide down from Zh’s back with Harlen’s steadying hand on my arm.
“Not bad for a first-timer,” he grins, giving my shoulder a companionable slap. “You’ve got good balance.”
“That was incredible,” I manage, still slightly breathless. “Thank you for taking me up.”
Dyfri shifts back to his humanoid form beside me, a tingle rippling through the air as he trades feathers for skin and bone.
A rider hands him his silk robes, and Dyfri shrugs into them with great nonchalance. I swallow and avert my eyes, but nobody else seems to be batting an eyelid about the casual nudity. I guess my hangups are not part of the paranormal world.
“Ready to head home?” Dyfri asks, and there’s something soft in his voice that makes the word ‘home’ sound like a promise.
Home. Our flat, our bed, our life together. The place where, for brief snatches of time, we can be ourselves without political considerations or magical alliances or the weight of saving the world.
“More than ready,” I tell him.
Back in our flat, I’m still buzzing with excitement as I pace around the living room, gesturing wildly as I try to convey the pure joy of the experience.
“Did you see the way the light disappeared on Kirby’s dragon’s scales? Like he was made of the void! And Eerie’s demonstration, the way those patterns just hung in the air... I’ve never seen anything like it!” I spin around to face Dyfri, who’s watching me with fond amusement from his position on the sofa. “And Zh, she was so gentle despite being absolutely massive. I could feel her thinking, you know? Like she was making sure I felt safe the entire time.”
Dyfri’s smile is soft and indulgent, the kind of expression that makes my heart skip beats. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed it? I bloody loved it!” I flop down beside him on the sofa, still grinning. “Best day of my life, honestly. Well, except for...” I trail off, suddenly aware of the implications of that statement.
“Except for?” Dyfri prompts, raising an eyebrow.
Heat crawls up my neck. “Except for the other day… in the bath, I mean. That was... that was also rather spectacular.”
His laugh is delighted, and I love the way it transforms his entire face. “Rather spectacular? High praise indeed.”
I reach out without thinking, brushing a strand of his dark hair back behind his slightly pointed ear. The gesture feels natural, intimate in a way that would have terrified me weeks ago. His hair is silk-soft against my fingers, still carrying the faint scent of wind and freedom from our flight.
The moment I touch him, his expression grows serious. Something shifts in his eyes, a shadow of vulnerability that makes my chest tighten.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he says quietly.
“What?” I ask, though my heart is already starting to race.
“Us.” The word falls between us like a stone into still water, creating ripples of possibility and terror in equal measure.
Us. He said, ‘us’. Not ‘this situation’ or ‘these complications’ or any of the careful political euphemisms he could have chosen. Us, like we’re something real and specific and worth naming.
My internal voice is screaming with joy, but I force myself to stay calm.
“What about us?”
“Everything is about to get so busy. Frantic. There will be no time to nurture this.” He gestures vaguely between us, but the helplessness in his voice is clear. “The coordination required, the politics of keeping everyone working together. It’s going to consume everything.”
The weight of reality settles over me like a cold blanket. He’s right, of course. The next few months are going to be chaotic beyond imagination. Every moment will be dedicated to saving the world, leaving no space for quiet conversations or gentle touches or the slow work of falling in love.
