Page 5 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

Mikael groans. "Absolutely not."

Gael ignores him and walks in with a tablet tucked beneath one arm and a cup of tea in her other hand. Her charcoal suit is immaculate, as usual. I've spent years trying to work out if she owns twenty identical versions or uses fae magic to keep one perpetually pressed.

"Booking confirmations." She sets the tablet in front of me and holds out the stylus. "Sign."

I take it. "Good afternoon to you too."

I'm halfway through the confirmations when Gael glances toward the couch. "There was fur in the boudoir, which one of your idiots left it there?"

Ronan immediately looks up. "Not mine."

Gael doesn't blink.

Ronan holds her stare for three seconds before the wolfman's ears flatten slightly. "Probably not mine."

Still nothing.

"Fine. I'll vacuum."

"You'll deep clean it. I left a checklist on the door."

I hand the stylus back. "Did Helen's payment come through? I booked her for the same slot next month."

"It cleared before she left." Gael takes the stylus and taps something on the screen. "I also have a new intake that may suit you. I haven't finished screening her yet, so don't get excited."

"I wasn't."

"You're a dragon. I find it safer to manage expectations."

"I'll try to contain myself."

"I'd appreciate that." Her attention returns to the tablet. "I'll send you the file once she clears screening."

"All right."

New intakes come through often enough that I don't give it another thought.

Gael retrieves the tablet, but pauses before leaving and glances toward the hallway. "And the candles in the boudoir—"

"I put them out, they weren't mine, and yes, I know they're a fire hazard, so don't give me that look."

Her gaze drops pointedly to my hands before returning to my face. "I said nothing."

"You didn't have to."

The corner of her mouth almost moves. She leaves with her tea still untouched. I've known Gael for three centuries and can't remember ever seeing her drink it. I've also never seen the cup empty. There are questions worth asking an ancient Unseelie fae and questions that only make your life more complicated.

I learned the difference a long time ago.

Evan starts filling bowls before the bread is out of the oven, and whatever remains of the afternoon disappears into the usual noise of the house. Grath is halfway through his second serving before Ronan finishes his first. Mikael declares the soup "acceptable" with the gravity of a royal food critic, then holds out his bowl for more. Kiran cradles his between his palms, soaking up the heat while Evan pretends not to notice Ronan tearing pieces from the loaf instead of cutting them like a civilized person.

I eat at the counter and listen to them argue.

It's comfortable. Familiar.

When I'm finished, I rinse my bowl and put it in the dishwasher, then add the one Grath abandoned beside the sink. Ronan has left his spoon in the pot, which means the leftovers are now his. I transfer the leftover soup into a container, put it in the refrigerator, and load the pot into the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes. After wiping down the counter, I leave the kitchen before I find something else that needs doing.

Upstairs, the house grows quieter.