Bale nods. “But I’m not the one turning my nose up at meals half the time.” He glances into the tree. “The warbirds are right—rabbits everywhere.”
“It must take a hundred to fill you,” I murmur.
He shrugs, his gaze coming back to me. “There are fewer rabbits now.”
A laugh unfreezes my lungs. Bale looks startled by the sound, as though he can’t imagine being funny. Maybe that’s what happens when you don’t have any friends.
“My difficult relationship with food isn’t by choice. I’d love to be normal.” His expression darkens, and I suppress a groan. I forgot. I’m supposed to embrace my individuality. “I just mean, my head says eat, and my stomach says no thank you.”
Rita and Gerard used to have fits about me going for days without eating anything, so maybe they did care about me in their own way. Or maybe they just worried their gold would stop coming if I accidentally starved to death. It became less of an issue after everyone determined I wasn’t human.
“Eating outdoors is always easier,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s the sunshine?” I’m absolutely fishing for clues, but Bale doesn’t seem to notice. Or else ignores me.
Looking up, he calls softly to Rim and Fyrestar. They swoop down and land beside us in the clearing. Bale lays an affectionate hand on both, and I take advantage of their nearness to praise how well they kept watch with us last night when they could’ve rested.
“Do you want to sleep now while we spar?” I ask them.
“Unless you plan on training in silence, I doubt that’ll happen,” Fyrestar answers.
Half-laughing, I ask, “Are we so loud?” That can’t be good. At least no Bloodwold vampires will be out and about during daylight hours.
“Clashing swords don’t exactly offer the same level of peace as the roosting wall,” Fyrestar answers dryly.
Rim clicks his beak, narrowing his amber eyes on the tree they just vacated. “And those branches don’t feel anything like my nest.”
I chuckle. “Do you think you might be a little spoiled by your big, cozy roosts back home?”
“More like spoiled by you,” Bale rumbles.
I look over sharply, but there’s no reproof in his expression. It’s…warm.
I turn back to my birds, blushing. “Don’t they deserve some spoiling?”
“I suppose everyone does,” Bale acknowledges more easily than I would’ve expected. When was the last time someone spoiled Bale Cinderheart? Probably never.
From what I’ve heard about his parents, and especially his father, they weren’t generous with anything—gold, protection, or affection. Bale didn’t turn out anything like them.
A lump lodges in my chest, but it’s not gold or protection that makes the feeling mushroom into something that sits achingly on my heart. It’s my unexpected breakfast, food left at my feet without any warning or expectation. It’s the attention he gives the warbirds that they soak up like sunshine, making their inner fire glow even brighter with happiness.
“Let’s hope the Bloodwold scum don’t take too long to make a raid on Porthwood,” Bale says, smoothing a wayward feather on Rim’s neck. “Then you can get back to your comfortable nests and Embersol.”
Rim tweets a protest even as he leans into Bale’s hand. “I wasn’t complaining. Just…observing.”
Bale’s lips curve into a smile that’s only for the thirteen phoenixes—indulgent, caring, and proud. This side of him always makes me melt like butter in the sun.
Suppressing a sigh, I drink in the sight of them together. Do I want a raid to come sooner? Or later? I’m conflicted about spending this much time alone with Bale. I crave it, but I know it’s not good for me.
“Rest or watch,” Bale says with a final stroke down Rim’s fire-warm neck. His hands drop away from both phoenixes and move to the hilts of his swords. “Just stay back and don’t interfere on Idallia’s behalf. She trains solo today.”
“Solo?” I arch challenging brows. “I thought I was training with you.”
Something almost eager brightens his features as he draws one sword, leaving the other at his hip. “If you think semantics will save you from getting your hide handed to you, you’re wrong.”
I smirk. He smirks back, and I feel his wordless dare all the way down to the marrow of my bones.
Fyrestar and Rimblaze flutter back into the tree they seem to have chosen, despite the reportedly uncomfortable branches, and I unsheathe the swords at my hips and twirl them in my hands. My blades sing as they cut through the air. Speed. Precision. Strength. I have it all. So does Bale.
I don’t even try to hold back my grin as I start a slow circle, forcing the Dragon King to turn with me. “You can shift. I’ll still fight you.”
