The whelp croaked, and Kjeld sat back, chuckling at its first attempt to roar.
“Ready for battle now, are you?”
He set aside the pieces of outer shell as the little one stretched its fibrous wings. This one was covered in sleek black scales that shimmered faintly in the dim light. An exact replica of his father, Svartos.
From the bed, Caelian stirred and hummed. “Kjeld?”
“I’m here, Starweaver.”
She sat up, sheets falling around her waist, her perfect breasts sending a bolt of desire through him. He crushed the sensation as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her bleary gaze landing on him before clarity struck and her mouth fell open.
“Stars above,” she whispered, climbing out of the bed. She pulled on her discarded nightgown, really nothing more than a slip of impossibly sheer fabric, and tiptoed toward him as the second onyx shell started to crack. “He’s beautiful.”
“Aye, he is.” Kjeld opened his hand, and the dragon nuzzled his palm, crawling over the pile of blankets. “He’ll be hungry soon, too.”
“Should I fetch some milk?” Caelian asked, her brows pinching together.
Kjeld laughed. “No, freshly hatched dragons don’t drink milk. They already have teeth, you see. They’ll need meat, raw sustenance.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll have to kill for them first until we can teach them to hunt. And they will need to learn humans, or Druids and fae rather, are off limits.” He glanced over at the second egg, wherea wing claw was poking through its shell. “Rabbit or squirrel should work fine if you want to find some of those to start.”
She didn’t respond, and Kjeld looked up at her, only to find she had turned a sickly shade of green.
“You want…” Caelian swallowed, gulping hard. “You want me to murder an innocent woodland creature?”
Kjeld bit his lip to keep from laughing, only because she looked truly horrified by the prospect. “No, Cae. Not you personally. Go to the kitchens and see if they have any raw meat available. I’ll restock whatever the whelps eat.”
“Right.” Her color hadn’t quite returned, but a gust of air whooshed from between her lips. “Of course. I’ll go see what I can find. Do we need anything else?”
“Maybe an extra pair of hands?” He nodded toward the window. “We’ll have to take them out into the Myrkwild first thing for training. And I’ll have to find a safe space for them to live.”
“You mean they’re not staying with us?” Concern clouded her voice.
“They can stay in the Eldergrove while they’re small, but that won’t last long.” Kjeld pushed off the ground, and the young whelp clambered toward him. “They’ll be fully grown in a year, and far too large to stay here before then.”
“I suppose I have a lot to learn about raising dragons.” Caelian clasped her hands together, her gaze trekking over to the second egg, where the dragon was almost fully hatched. She spun quickly on one heel. “I’ll go see if I can find some raw meat so they’re not hungry.”
“Caelian.” Kjeld’s voice held a clip of command, and she stuttered to a stop, turning back to face him. “I beg you to put on something other than that nightgown before you leave this room.”
She glanced down at her attire, and a blush bloomed in her cheeks. “I suppose this doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
He pretended not to stare while she changed, like he didn’t already have every curve and dip of her body memorized. She opted for a dress of soft blue that tumbled from her hips in layers of creamy white. Forgoing a corset, she bound her waist with a belt, the leather engraved with flowers and birds. Piling her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, she blew him a kiss before rushing out of the room with bare feet.
Kjeld admired the baby dragon crawling around his ankles. “We’ll have to give you a strong Northernlands name, won’t we?”
The whelp squawked, and Kjeld’s face split into a grin.
He’d missed this. He missed raising the young dragons, he missed watching them grow into powerful beasts capable of decimating entire towns with one fire-filled breath. And that was another reason he needed to find them someplace else to live. They were currently in a damn tree. All it took was for one of them to have a temper tantrum, and an errant spark or spit of flame would catch the whole place on fire. They needed to be taught and trained somewhere safe for everyone, where they could learn from mistakes, where they could become the magnificent creatures of legend.
The second onyx egg splintered wide, and another babe fought its way out. Another male, just as Kjeld thought, noted by the curving horn on the tip of its snout. This one pushed out of its shell, his scales glossy black like his brother’s, but his eyes were the profound blue of his mother, Astrylys. He screeched and hissed, clomping over the pile of blankets, before losing his footing and tumbling down one side onto the hardwood.
Kjeld smirked. “You think you’ve got this all figured out, eh? Your brother came out ready to breathe fire, and here you are, charging into the fray.”
He folded his arms over his chest, the brothers already flapping their wings and attempting the snap at one another. He squatted to the floor, running a hand along their rough scales, acclimating them to touch. “Just waiting on your sister now.”
Assumably a female, since the silvery egg had not yet stirred.
