"Cold again?" I ask softly, though I know the answer. For a creature from the wilderness of the fae lands, she's remarkably unsuited to any sort of discomfort.
She lifts her head just enough to give me a nod. Her large, mournful eyes could rival any puppy's. Another shiver runs through her body.
"A fearsome wyvern, afraid of a little chill," I murmur fondly, fetching the thickest blanket from my coffer.
I drape the heavy wool over her, tucking it around her bulk. She immediately burrows deeper. Only her snout is visible beneath the mound of fabric now. A contented rumble emerges from the blanket pile.
The door creaks open slightly. I catch Lenna peeking in, with Tallula right behind her.
"Your Highness," Lenna whispers, though her eyes are fixed on Coral's blanket fortress. "We were wondering if we could play with her."
"Come in," I say, unable to suppress a small smile. "But quietly. She's drowsy."
They slip inside carefully, closing the door behind them. Tallula brings forward something she's been hiding. A wreath woven from red orchids.
"We made this for her," Tallula says shyly. "Since she's... well, she's part of your household now, isn't she?"
The gesture touches something deep in my chest. Even Coral has someone thinking of her during Isolwen's Eve.
"Would you like to put it on her?"
They shake their heads quickly. "Oh no. She won't let us near when you're not holding her."
It's true. I discovered this peculiarity yesterday when Lenna tried to bring her food. Coral had retreated so far into the corner she'd nearly pushed herself through the wall.
The coward.
I take the wreath and approach the blanket mound. "Coral, the ladies brought you something."
A suspicious eye appears from beneath the wool. When she sees the wreath, she emerges just enough for me to place it gently on her head. The red orchids look almost comical against her pale scales, but she preens as if she's been crowned queen herself.
"She's beautiful," Lenna breathes, and Coral's preening intensifies.
I fetch the bowl of roasted chicken strips I'd prepared earlier. As expected, Coral won't even look at it until I pick up a piece myself and offer it from my hand. Only then does she delicately take it, as if she's doing me a great favor by eating.
"Spoiled beast," I mutter, but I continue hand-feeding her while my handmaidens watch with delight.
By the time the bowl is empty, Coral's eyes are drooping. The combination of food, warmth, and attention has worked its usual magic. She settles back into her blanket nest with the orchidwreath sliding slightly askew on her head. Within moments, she's snoring softly.
"We should let her rest," I whisper to Lenna and Tallula.
They nod, casting one last fond look at the sleeping wyvern before departing. I adjust Coral's blanket one final time, ensuring she's completely covered.
"Watch over my chambers, brave protector," I say dryly to the snoring pile of blankets and flowers.
A particularly loud snore is my only response. Despite everything weighing on me, I find myself smiling as I head to the temple. The war, Svenn's absence, the crushing weight of the crown all fade for just a moment. At least I'm not completely alone.
The temple bells chime across the city, heralding Isolwen's Eve. Tonight, all of Aelfheim honors the Goddess of Mercy.
Soft red banners flutter from every window, painting the streets in rosy waves. The capital has transformed itself in gentle hues. Everywhere I turn, red orchids bloom in lovers' hands. They pass between sweethearts like whispered promises or are pinned to winter cloaks. I've lost count of how many girls I've seen today with the flower tucked behind their ears. Its velvet petals are said to ward off dark magic and shield the heart from malevolent spirits. The tradition stretches back centuries, ever since the founding of Aelfheim.
The temple is quiet when I arrive. Most of the faithful have already gone to the street celebrations. I find Blaire in the recovery wing, propped against several pillows. Her left arm is bound in white linen and purple bruises mottle her face.
A broken arm and three cracked ribs, the healers told me. They're mending slowly with Anastarros's blessing, but pain still shadows her expression.
I settle into the chair beside her bed. "You look terrible."
"You look worse. Happy Isolwen's Eve to you too." She manages a weak smile. "Help me sit up properly?"
