I propped myself up on one elbow, grinning. “I’m lying here doing absolutely nothing.”
“Exactly.” He peeked at me from under his arm. “You’re doing it very well.”
Laughing, I slipped from the bed and strode to the pool, bathing and drying. The morning air felt cool against my skin, raising goosebumps.
Raoul joined me, his chest warm against my back as he handed me a tunic.
“Thank you.” I pulled it on, aware of how close he stood and how natural it felt to dress together in this shared space. Like we’d been doing this for years instead of days.
He kissed my shoulder before bathing and finding his own clothes. As he dressed, we stole glances at each other, small smiles passing between us.
Mortiven was waiting for us in the main corridor, her expression no warmer than it had been yesterday. “A few families have agreed to let you examine their children.” She made it sound like she’d wrestled beasts for the privilege. “Don’t upset them. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. And don’t overstay your welcome.”
“Understood,” I said.
She led us through winding passages, deeper into the cliff dwelling. Morning light filtered through crystal formations, painting everything in shades of silver and pale blue. Beautiful, but cold. So different from Emberforge’s warm stone and welcoming hearths.
The first home was small but immaculately kept. A young couple stood as we entered, dark circles under their eyes, their exhaustion palpable. A tiny baby slept fitfully in a cradle by the wall.
“Thank you for seeing us,” I said softly, pulling out my notebook. “I know this must be difficult.”
The mother’s eyes welled with tears. “We’ll do anything to help her.”
As if on cue, the baby sneezed, a tiny, pathetic sound followed immediately by wailing. The mother rushed to pick her up, and I moved closer, taking notes.
“How often does this happen?” I asked.
“Every few minutes when she’s awake,” the father said, entering the room from the right. “Less when she’s sleeping, but still…”
Another sneeze. The baby’s face scrunched up, and her wails rang out.
“May I?” Raoul stepped forward, his voice gentle.
The mother hesitated, then carefully transferred the infant to his arms. I watched, my heart doing complicatedthings in my chest, as this powerful dragon king cradled the tiny baby. His large hands supported her head, and he swayed slightly, creating a rocking motion.
“There you are, little one,” he said. “All this sneezing is frustrating, isn’t it?”
The baby sneezed directly in his face.
Raoul blinked, startled, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Well,” he said seriously to the infant, “I suppose I deserved that for mentioning it.”
The mother cracked a tiny smile, the first break in her worried expression. I handed Raoul a cloth, and he wiped his face one-handed, never jostling the baby.
“She says you have kind eyes,” Raoul told me, his tone utterly sincere. “But also that your hair looks like a bird’s nest.”
“It does not.” But I was grinning.
“That’s what she said. Hatchlings are very honest.” He made a soft cooing sound, and the infant actually settled, her crying tapering off. “There we go. Much better. Now she’s saying you’re actually quite pretty for someone who looks like they used one too many lightning spells.”
“I’m going to put a spell on you,” I said, teasing.
Yet I couldn’t stop watching him rock the baby. The parents had relaxed, and they were looking at us differently now, as if we were people who genuinely cared.
“When does the sneezing seem worse?” I asked, returning to my notes.
“Mornings,” the father said. “Through midday. It tapers off a bit late afternoon, though it never fully goes away.”
