It is wide and far enough from prying eyes to conceal a fae wyvern without question.
“There.” Rhianelle lifts her hand, pointing toward the distant stables.
Coral is sprawled luxuriously in the field, pale scales gleaming like fresh cream beneath the sun. One wing is half unfurled, basking. She looks entirely at peace.
Until she sees Rhianelle.
Her entire body language shifts from drowsy contentment to eager affection. She scrambles upright and bounds toward us, wheat flattening in her wake. The earth trembles faintly beneath each eager stride.
“Hello, beautiful.” Rhianelle opens her arms. “Have you missed me?”
Coral barrels into me first. Hard enough to knock a lesser being over.
“Gentle,” I grunt, scratching behind her horn nubs where she likes it.
She wasn’t meant to survive. Born premature with too-soft wings and undeveloped fire ducts. I found her dying at Avalon, starving. I almost left her. But then she opened one eye and looked at me like she knew I had come to save her.
Now she headbutts me like it’s her life’s calling.
Then she moves to Rhianelle with completely different energy. Soft and gentle. She nuzzles against my wife’s leg, careful to control her strength despite her enthusiasm. Her rumbling purr vibrates through the morning air.
Rhianelle runs her hands along Coral’s neck and shoulders, examining the wyvern for any signs of injury. Coral submits to the inspection patiently, occasionally pressing her snout against Rhianelle’s cheek.
“She looks well.” Rhianelle scratches beneath the wyvern’s jaw. Coral’s tail thumps once in pleased approval.
Each scale is perfect, opalescent, but there’s something fragile about them. Her wings are translucent enough to see the delicate bone structure beneath.
Butterfly wings on a creature meant to rule the skies.
Where her kin are colossal dark-scaled behemoths, Coral is merely horse-sized.
A cluster of bells chime softly from the stable doors. We both turn toward the sound.
Lady Siofra steps into the sunlight. One hand rests protectively against her visibly swollen belly. The other braces lightly against the wooden frame as she descends the stable step with measured care.
I know some of her story. Her previous husband, an elven lord with a talent for cruelty, left her body mapped in scars and her voice gone. Mavren the Orc King ended him personally, cleaved him in two when he found Siofra chained and half dead. Darstan married her after. The healers had warned them that pregnancy would be unlikely given what her body had endured.
So this child is nothing short of a miracle.
Her free hand reaches to touch Coral’s head gently. The wyvern leans into the touch, recognizing a friend.
“How are you feeling?” Rhianelle asks, concern immediate in her voice.
Siofra smiles. She lifts her free hand and moves it in answer. “Well enough.”
She cannot speak. Her first husband ensured that when he severed her vocal cords to silence her defiance.
“The little one has been good company.” Her hand brushes Coral’s cheek again. “I examined her wings yesterday.”
Rhianelle stills, bracing for another thing the world might try to take.
“The bone structure is too delicate. It’s twisted in places.” Siofra pauses, meeting Rhianelle’s eyes before finishing. “I don’t think she’ll ever fly, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”
The wind moves softly through the wheat.
Rhianelle nods once. She already knew. We both suspected it, but hearing it confirmed still hurts.
“She’s perfect as she is,” Rhianelle says firmly. Her palm smooths along Coral’s neck as if sealing the truth into her scales.
