Rosalore spotted him and shrieked, “Bad!” This was her greeting for Bastien specifically, a sound of such piercing delight that it sent the moths scattering. She abandoned her botanical research, hauled herself upright on the bench, and tottered toward him with her arms outstretched and her small wings buzzing.
Bastien caught her and swung her around. The massive hands that guarded the human palace cradled the baby against his chest with a tenderness incongruous with his size. Rosalore grabbed his large, pointed ear.
“Wuv Bad,” Rosalore announced happily, yanking on his ear. Bastien endured it with the stoic fortitude of a gargoyle who had survived the goblin wars.
“Love Rosalore,” he replied, adjusting her grip from his ear to his harness strap, a negotiation he’d perfected over months of such treatment, and shot Hannalinde an apologetic smile. “Sorry to arrive unannounced.”
“We’re always glad to see you. Rikard won’t be home for a few hours, but please, sit down. There’s tea.” Hanna motioned with her own cup to the tea service set out on the wide, stone bench nearby.
“I’ve actually come to see you, on palace business.” He set Rosalore down gently on the petaled path again, producing a folded letter. He handed it to Hanna. It was sealed with green wax. “The queen asks for an immediate reply.”
She opened it. Written in the queen’s hand, it was an embroidery commission. She requested a nameday gown for the royal child, embroidered with stars and ivy leaves, the king and queen’s personal marks, to be delivered before the autumn equinox.
Hanna looked up from the parchment. “She’s with child?” she mouthed, so the moths wouldn’t hear.
“She is,” Bastien confirmed. “It is a secret for now, but it will be announced at the midsummer court. She asks for your discretion.”
“Of course.” She folded the letter and pressed it to her heart. “Tell her I’ll begin immediately. It will be the most beautiful gown in Solvantis.”
“She will be grateful, I’m sure.” Bastien bowed and left as abruptly as he’d arrived.
Later, after Carlijn had retired with a still-sleeping Theodor and a new novel, Rikard returned from the Nadir’s office. Hannalinde sat on the edge of the bed and told him about the queen’s commission while he played with their daughter, lifting her in the air and flying her about the room.
“The royal family must be so happy to have a little prince or princess on the way,” she remarked, her love for her husband swelling as she watched him with Rosalore. He was such a kind and patient parent.
Rikard nodded. “They have long hoped for a child. I hope they find the joy of parenthood that we have.” The bond carried the sincerity of the statement in a warm, steady current, but it cut off abruptly when Rosalore yanked his ear.
“Gentle, Honeybee,” he begged her, trying to pull her off.
She clung even tighter to it. “Wuv Faf!” That was her word forfather.
“At least she learned my name,” Rikard joked, wincing as her tiny claws scraped his skin. Gingerly, he extracted his abused earand put Rosalore in her crib. “The moths were beginning to talk that Bastien was her father and not me.”
Hanna chuckled. It seemed their family would always feature in the Tower gossip. “He’s so good with Rosa. He’d make a wonderful father.” She’d tried to encourage a relationship between Bastien and Carlijn, but Carlijn found him too steady. Well, her word had been “boring.” Frankly, dull was what Carlijn needed, but she hadn’t yet learned that lesson.
“I told him as much.” Rikard gave the baby a set of wooden horses to play with and crossed to the bed to sit beside Hanna. She unbuckled the bindings on his wings and he sighed with relief, stretching them out. “I suggested it was time he found a mate, now that his position at the palace is secure.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was quite occupied serving the queen and had no need of one.”
“Did you tell him the many benefits of the mate bond?” Hanna grinned at the pulse of desire that her question elicited.
“Maybe I should have described them in more detail.”
“Mmm,” Hanna agreed, leaning to place a kiss on her husband’s chest and then a few more when that one proved welcome. “How much time before dawn?”
“Not enough,” he grumbled theatrically as he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his wings around them both, cocooning them inside. “The sun rises earlier and earlier every day. There’s no point in summoning a nanny if it only buys us a few minutes.”
Hannalinde leaned against him, enjoying the feeling of being encircled by his arms and wings, like they existed in their own little bubble. “Did I tell you that this is the third day in a row that Rosalore hasn’t asked for milk? I think she’s officially weaned,” she said casually, running her finger over the laces on the front of his breeches.
It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, and then Rikard leapt into action, practically flinging her back onto the bed. She giggled as he left her there and swept up Rosalore, rushing off to the nursery to find some poor drowsy nanny while Hanna waited for him to return.
He returned empty-armed, with a raw, hungry look on his face. “Did I understand you right, wife, that you want me to put a hatchling in you before dawn?”
She bit her lip, a little thrill of anticipation running through her as he stalked toward the bed. “I think you understood me very well.”
He was on her in an instant, untying her dressing gown and stripping her shift off over her head. At the same time, she nimbly unlaced his breeches and drew him out. There was not time for kisses and compliments, only for joining together in the most efficient way possible.
