Chapter 12 #2
I took it, letting her pull me to my feet even though we both knew I could have gotten up on my own. “Always taking help from you.”
Behind us, Aurion was still laughing. Torin was hiding a smile. The younger guards were trying very hard to look like they hadn’t just watched their king get played by his wife.
I didn’t care. Let them laugh. Wen had won fair and square.
***
We walked together to collect Killian from his tutors, our hands swinging between us. Instructor Delphine met us at the door of the tutoring chamber with a warm smile.
“The prince did excellently today,” she reported.
“What did you learn, baby?” Wen asked, kneeling down to Killian’s level.
“ALL the kingdoms! Want to hear?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Killian stood up straight, clearly proud of himself. “Ravenor, Valoryn, Noctherion, Moonhaven, Wynter, Duskmere, and Ebonvale!”
“Perfect!” Wen beamed at him. “Every single one!”
“I didn’t forget ANY!” Killian was practically vibrating with excitement.
“I am so proud of you, pup,” I said.
“Can I have a treat?”
Wen and I answered at the same time. “No.”
Killian’s face fell. “Boo.”
We walked back to our family quarters together, Killian between us holding both our hands and chattering about everything he’d learned. Kingdom names, proper forms of address, the history of the alliance. For a four-year-old, he was remarkably bright.
“And Instructor Delphine says I’m the best at remembering things,” Killian announced proudly. “Except numbers, maybe.”
“Is that so?” Wen asked, squeezing his hand.
“Yes! She said my brain is like a... a... what’s the word? A sponge!”
“That sounds right,” I said. “You do absorb information very quickly.”
“What’s absorb?”
“It means you learn fast.”
“Oh.” He considered this. “I AM fast. I’m fast at running AND at learning!”
“Very fast,” Wen agreed.
After we’d reviewed his lessons and celebrated his success with appropriate parental enthusiasm, which included Killian performing the kingdom names three more times because he was proud of himself, it was time for the nightly battle.
“Bath time, Killian,” Wen announced.
“NO!”
And we were off.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “You need to bathe.”
“I’m clean!” He was already backing toward the door.
Wen stepped to block his escape route. “You have mud on your face.”
“It’s make up!”
“Nice try. Bath. Now.”
Killian made a break for it, diving under my arm and racing toward his bedroom. “You can’t catch me!”
“We absolutely can!” Wen called, and the chase was on.
He ducked behind furniture. He crawled under his bed. He attempted to hide behind a curtain, forgetting that his feet were still visible. It took both of us working in coordinated tandem to corner him at the foot of his bed, and even then he made two more escape attempts before we caught him.
Years of practice had made us experts at small-child-wrangling. It was perhaps the most useful skill I’d developed in my centuries of existence.
“Fine,” Killian said, pouting dramatically. “But QUICK bath.”
“Deal,” I agreed. He always asked for the same thing. “Quick bath, then story.”
Bath time was, as always, complete chaos.
“Killian, stop splashing,” Wen said as water went everywhere.
“But it’s FUN!” He demonstrated by creating a tidal wave that soaked both of us.
“Your mama is getting wet,” I pointed out, wiping water from my eyes.
“Papa’s wet too!”
“Yes, thank you for that observation.”
There were bubbles on the ceiling somehow. I didn’t know how he’d managed it. I didn’t want to know.
Wen looked at my thoroughly soaked shirt and started laughing. “You look ridiculous.”
“This is your fault,” I accused, wringing out my sleeve.
“My fault? I’m not the one who encouraged the splash war.”
“I was demonstrating proper washing technique.”
“That backfired spectacularly.”
“Everything backfires spectacularly when a four-year-old is involved.”
We were both grinning, standing in a bathroom that looked like a small lake had formed in it, our son covered in soap bubbles and still splashing with joyful abandon.
Finally, we got him clean and wrestled him into pajamas. He was slippery and giggling the whole time, making it approximately ten times harder than it needed to be.
We took him to his bedroom, and he looked around with obvious happiness. He had slept there a few times after the attack, but he mostly slept with us. We hadn’t felt safe enough to allow him to come back to his room. But now…Now it was time.
“I get to sleep in MY room?”
“You missed it, didn’t you?” Wen asked gently.
“Yes. I like my room.” He climbed onto his bed, surrounded by his familiar things. His toys and books and the drawings he’d made that we’d hung on the walls.
“We are just down the hall if you need us,” I reminded him.
“And Torin has guards right outside your door,” Wen added. “You’re perfectly safe.”
Killian nodded, trying to be brave. “Okay. I’m a big boy.”
“You are,” I agreed. “Very brave.”
I picked up his favorite book, the one about the dragon who was afraid of heights. Ironic, really. I settled on the edge of his bed and opened to the first page.
“AND THEN THE DRAGON ROARED!” I used my best dragon voice, deep and booming, as I read the story.
Wen pressed her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.
“That’s very dramatic,” she managed.
“Dragons are dramatic,” I said in my normal voice. “It is in their nature.”
“Do the roar again, Papa,” Killian requested, already getting sleepy but fighting it.
I roared again, possibly louder than necessary. The guards outside the door probably thought we were under attack. Killian giggled, his eyes starting to droop.
“And the dragon flew,” I continued, lowering my voice to something more soothing, “over the mountains and the valleys, looking for his courage...”
By the time I reached the middle of the story, he was fast asleep, his little chest rising and falling with deep, peaceful breaths. One hand was curled around the edge of his blanket. The other was resting on my arm, like he’d fallen asleep mid-reach for comfort.
Something in my chest ached at the sight of my pup safe and peaceful.
Wen and I sneaked out quietly, closing the door with barely a sound.
Back in our own room, we both collapsed onto the bed. Council meetings, training, chasing a four-year-old around the bathroom. I was ready to sleep for a week.
Wen rolled toward me, her hand finding my chest. “You’re good with him.”
I pulled her closer, kissing her. “We are good with him.”
“Yeah we are.”
We started kissing properly, hands wandering, the familiar heat building between us. Then Wen started laughing against my mouth.
“What?” I asked.
“You landing on your ass today. That was amazing.”
“You cheated,” I protested, but a grin was spreading across my face.
“I improvised!”
“It was effective, I will give you that.”
“I know!” She could barely get the words out. “Gods, your face!”
“I was surprised.”
“You were SO surprised!” She could barely breathe now, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
I tried to continue kissing her. “Can we focus?”
“I’m trying!” But she was still laughing, and now I was laughing too, and we couldn’t stop.
“This is impossible,” I said finally, giving up.
“We’re too tired anyway,” Wen admitted, wiping her eyes.
“Agreed. Sleep?”
“Sleep.”
We settled into our usual position, me curled around her from behind, my arm wrapped around her waist. This was good too. Sometimes exhausted cuddles were exactly what we needed.
I was drifting off when she murmured, “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We fell asleep tangled together, perfectly content…Until I woke to a small voice in the darkness.
“Papa?”
I was alert instantly, years of warrior training kicking in. Killian stood in the doorway, clutching his blanket, his silhouette small in the dim light from the hallway. I knew what had happened instantly.
“Come here, pup,” I said, opening my arms.
He ran across the room and climbed into bed between us. “I had a bad dream.”
Wen stirred, automatically shifting to make room without even opening her eyes fully. “You’re okay, baby.”
Killian settled between us, his little body warm and solid. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Wen and I said at the same time.
Within minutes, his breathing had evened out again, already back asleep, safe between his parents.
I looked over his head at Wen. She was watching me, a soft smile on her face. We didn’t need to say anything. This was perfect. I fell back asleep with my son’s small hand clutching my shirt and my wife’s fingers intertwined with mine over Killian’s sleeping form.
Whatever challenges came next, whatever threats Igryside posed, we’d face them together.
All three of us.
Always.