Samara frowned and looked down at her plate which suddenly had another morning cake on it. Morning cakes were an invention of our cooks—sort of a cross between a pancake and a muffin. They were about an inch thick with the texture of a cupcake and a flaky outside like a Danish. The best part was the custard filling, but the drizzle of chocolate didn't hurt either. They weren't offered every day, but the cooks knew how much Sam adored them and had made them in honor of her first kingdom flight. Usually, Samara would have scoffed down a platter of the cakes. Today however, she stared at the freshcake with such baffled horror and frustration that I burst out laughing.
“Stop teasing your sister,” I said to Rian and scooped the cake onto my plate. I could eat even more of them than Samara. I set into the cake with gusto, groaned, then nudged my daughter. “But I want you to finish your sausage. You need the protein.”
“Mommy, I've had two already!” Samara cried.
“One more,” I said. “You're going to be halfway across the Fire Kingdom and your belly will start growling. I can't have your dragon taking over and hunting some poor animal.”
“Hunting?” Sam whispered.
“We're dragons, sweetheart. It's in our nature to hunt. But you can dampen the urges if you eat enough meat before you shift.”
Samara looked from me to her plate, then speared her sausage and took a determined bite.
“Good girl.” I kissed the top of her head.
But even the prospect of turning into a vicious hunter didn't dampen my daughter's excitement. When she was done with the sausage, she went back to her bouncing and kept it up until we were all finished and finally got up from the table.
On our way past the kitchen doorway, we were stopped by one of the cooks. “My King and Queen?”
“Ugh!” Samara wailed.
“Samara!” Arach snapped.
Just one word, but Arach's clipped tone was accompanied by a death glare. Our daughter went still and hung her head.
“Yes?” Arach asked the cook.
The Fire-Sidhe woman grinned at Sam before handing a wooden box to Arach. “For your picnic, King Arach. We baked something special for the Princess.”
“Thank you. That was so thoughtful,” Arach said, then lifted a brow at Samara. “Sam, did you hear that? They made you a special treat and you couldn't even be bothered to spare a minute to speak to them.”
Samara looked up, tears in her eyes, and Arach flinched. I gave him a steadying look. Parenting often meant knowing when to not shower your child in love.
Arach bucked up under my encouragement and prompted, “Well? What do you say?”
“I'm sorry,” Samara whispered.
“And?”
“Thank you for my treat.” Samara blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek.
The cook wasn't restricted by parental rules and broke. “Oh, you sweet girl! Don't you worry about that. I know you're eager to fly. You have a wonderful day, Princess. We're all so happy that you've shifted at last.”
So, Arach hadn't been the only one who was worried.
“Thank you!” Sam said brightly, her tears vanishing.
“All right, let's go,” I said.
Arach tucked the box under his arm, took my hand, and led the way out of Aithinne through the back entrance. Off to our left was the Pixie Village, boarded up for winter, and the swimming pool, steam rising from it. On our right was the playground, the archery range, and the kitchen gardens. But I headed to a bolder with Samara to change while Arach tucked her treat in the big wooden trunk waiting for us.
“Are you ready?” I asked Sam.
She nodded eagerly.
“All right. Do you want me to go first?”
“Mommy!”
