Chapter 15 Adele
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ADELE
Iwoke to silvered darkness and the steady rhythm of Raoul’s breathing.
For a long moment, I watched him sleep. In rest, all the careful diplomacy and controlled power melted away, leaving him softer. Vulnerable, even. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his mouth that could command armies or kiss me senseless was smooth, making him look relaxed and peaceful.
My chest tightened with a feeling dangerously close to devotion.
I traced a finger along his jaw, following the strong line of it. His skin was warm and slightly rough with morning stubble.
Without opening his eyes, he caught my hand, bringing it to his lips.
“Morning,” he whispered against my palm.
“How did you know I was awake?”
“Your breathing changed.” He cracked one eye open, amber glinting in the crystal-filtered moonlight. “And you were staring at me.”
“Was not.”
“Were too.” Both eyes opened now, and the heat in them made my stomach flip. “I could feel it.”
He pulled me closer, and I went willingly, my body fitting against his like we’d been designed for this. His mouth found mine, slow and sweet at first, then deeper. Hungrier. His hand slid down my spine, and I arched into him, a sound escaping my throat that was definitely not dignified.
“We should stop,” I whispered against his lips, even as I kissed him again.
“Probably.” His teeth grazed my jaw. “Babies need us.”
“Sneezing babies.”
“Very important sneezing babies.” He groaned and rolled onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. “You’re a terrible distraction, you know that?”
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 complicated things 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.”
I wrote that down, my mind already working through possibilities. “And environmental factors? Is there anything that seems to help or make it worse?”
“She sleeps better when the wind dies down outside,” the mother said. “We’ve started keeping the window closed even though it gets too hot inside.”
My pen paused over the page. Wind making it worse. That was interesting.
I glanced at Raoul and found him already looking at me. Our eyes met, and understanding passed between us without words. A clue. Maybe.
He carefully returned the baby to her mother. “Thank you for letting us visit. My wife is brilliant. If anyone can figure this out, it’s her.”
The mother’s expression softened further. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” He said it with such certainty, such complete faith, that warmth flooded me.
We visited more homes over the rest of the morning, and the pattern held. Every baby sneezing, every parent exhausted and desperate. Each home showed the same timing, worse in the mornings through midday, then better by dusk, though not completely gone. They all sneezed worse when it was windy.
As we walked between homes, Raoul fell into step beside me, his hand finding mine.
“It’s sexy watching your brain work,” he said quietly. His fingertip stroked across my knuckles. “The way your eyes get distant when you’re processing information. How you chew your lip when you’re connecting pieces. I find it incredibly attractive.”
I stumbled, heat rushing to my face. “You can’t say things like that while I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Can’t I?” His smile held pure mischief. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Put a spell on you. Definitely bespell you.”
“Looking forward to it.”
At the fifth stop, a nursery with many sneezing children, I knelt beside a cradle while Raoul spoke with the parents hovering nearby. The baby inside was older than the others we’d seen, maybe six months. Between sneezes, she made soft sounds, somewhere between coos and tiny growls.
“What’s she saying?” I asked Raoul.
He crouched beside me, listening. “She wants to know why the lady with the pretty eyes is staring at her.”
“I do not have—” I stopped. “Wait, do you really know what she’s saying?”
“I don’t.” His grin held no shame. “I’m making it up. But you smiled, and that mother over there stopped looking like she wanted to throw us out, so that’s success.”
The parents had thawed considerably, watching us work together.
Watching him defer to my expertise, asking intelligent questions but letting me lead.
Watching how naturally we moved around each other, how his hand would find my back when I leaned forward to examine a baby, plus how I’d touch his arm when I wanted his attention.
We looked like partners. We looked like we belonged together.
The realization should’ve scared me. Instead, it felt inevitable and right.
“I need to check the air quality at different elevations,” I said as we left the nursery, my mind churning through the data.
“The wind direction suggests it’s not a magical contamination.
That would saturate regardless of air movement.
But if there’s a particulate or some kind of irritant that settles at certain altitudes, that could be the problem. ”
“We should test the air at different heights.”
“Can we do that safely?”
His expression turned serious. “The air will be thin at the highest elevations. Dangerous for you. But yes, I can get you there if you’re up for it.”
“I am. It won’t be much different than it was at Brightmore, will it?”
“No.”
“You cannot do this,” Queen Mortiven said, crossing her arms on her chest, her expression carved from the same stone as the cliffs around us. “The peaks are sacred ground. Outsiders aren’t permitted.”
“Then we won’t have all the information we need,” Raoul said. “And your babies may keep suffering.”
“You can’t just—”
“I’m not demanding anything.” His voice stayed level, diplomatic. Not commanding but not backing down either. “I’m telling you what we need to complete the investigation. You can allow it, or you can refuse. But if you refuse, don’t blame us if we can’t solve the problem.”
The standoff stretched. The queen’s jaw worked, her eyes flashing between anger and desperation. Finally, she growled. “Fine. But don’t disturb anything. And if you defile the shrine, there will be consequences.”
“Understood,” I said quickly, before the tentative permission could be withdrawn.
Minutes later, I was climbing onto Raoul’s back as he stood in dragon form in the courtyard. The familiar rhythm of mounting and finding my seat had become second nature. My hands knew where to grip, my thighs where to squeeze.