Chapter 4 Tiny Claws, Big Questions

Freya

Asher reaches for me with both arms, and I decide that is all the consent I need.

“Well, hello to you too.”

I slide my hands beneath him, giving his father enough time to object if there is some royal dragon protocol I'm about to violate unknowingly, but Knox loosens his hold and allows me to lift his son from his arms.

Asher comes willingly, little legs kicking as I settle him against my chest, and the heat of his tiny body immediately seeps through my apron. He is much warmer than the children I'm used to holding, though not uncomfortably so, and when I adjust him onto my hip, one chubby hand closes around the fabric at my shoulder while the other reaches straight for my hair.

I catch his fingers before he gets there.

“Absolutely not. We have only just met, and you haven't earned hair-pulling privileges yet.”

His dark eyes remain fixed on me as his fingers open and close, probably considering another attempt, before a little puff of smoke curls from his nose instead.

“Very impressive.”

Another puff follows.

“Yes, I saw that one too.”

His mouth opens around a gummy smile, and something warm squeezes inside my chest.

Oh, he's adorable. Dangerously adorable.

I have spent enough years around babies to know they use this particular advantage without remorse.

“So, Asher.” I turn towards the daycare, bouncing him gently against my hip. “Would you like to see where we keep all the fun things?”

A tiny flame escapes his mouth.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Only when I start towards the doors do I remember that the enormous Dragon King standing behind me is technically the person I'm supposed to be giving this walkthrough to.

I glance over my shoulder.

Knox hasn't moved.

His gold eyes are fixed on Asher, then slowly lift to mine, and I suddenly become very aware that I have taken the heir to the dragon kingdom out of his arms and wandered off while having an entire conversation with him.

“Your Majesty?”

“Knox.”

I blink.

“Sorry?”

“You may call me Knox.”

“Oh. Right, of course.”

I turn back to Asher.

“Shall we?”

He kicks his legs.

Much easier.

Knox's footsteps fall in behind us as I carry Asher across the grass, and I settle back into the familiar comfort of talking to someone who cannot ask complicated questions, judge my conversational skills or have me imprisoned if I accidentally address him incorrectly.

Children are easy.

If they're hungry, they eat. If they're tired, they cry. If they're angry, occasionally they bite you.

Adults have expectations, hidden meanings and an alarming tendency to continue conversations long after I've run out of things to say.

I have no idea what additional complications come with kings.

Asher, on the other hand, is currently trying to eat the strap of my apron.

I can work with that.

“No eating me.”

I ease the fabric from his mouth as we reach the doors, and he tries to put it back.

“No. There are plenty of things inside specifically designed for you to chew on. I'm not one of them.”

Behind me, there is a quiet sound, and I glance back at Knox, but his expression hasn't changed.

Maybe I imagined it.

“This is our main outdoor area,” I explain, mostly to Asher as he twists in my arms to watch the other children playing behind us. “Everyone comes outside at different points throughout the day, but activities are adjusted depending on age and ability. We do water play when it's warm, gardening, sensory activities, music and movement, and there's a smaller covered area around the side if everything out here gets a little too exciting.”

Asher watches Piper race past on all fours, her wolf ears flattened into her hair while Stella follows several steps behind with a shoe in one hand.

I sigh.

Apparently, Theo isn't the only one determined to spend the day barefoot.

“You'll get used to that,” I tell Asher, carrying him inside. “Shoes are apparently optional around here.”

“They are not optional.”

Knox's voice follows me through the doorway.

I glance down at Asher.

“Your father and I agree.”

I continue directing about eighty per cent of the walkthrough toward Asher.

I show him the sleep room and explain our nap routines. At the same time, he attempts to pull my earring out. I carry him through the changing area and into the smaller room we use for babies who aren't quite ready to join the older children in whatever chaos they have created for themselves.

Asher looks around curiously from my arms.

“This is where we do a lot of sensory play.”

Several activity trays are stacked against one wall, and I move towards them before stopping. There’s rice, pasta, water beads. I glance at the tiny dragon currently trying to eat my apron again.

Anything small enough to swallow is out, and something tells me a tray of dried pasta isn't going to impress a creature born with an instinct for treasure.

“What do dragon hatchlings usually play with?”

The question finally forces me to acknowledge Knox properly, and he frowns. “He has toys.”

“What kind?”

“Many kinds.”

Right… Very explanatory.

“What does he like?”

Knox goes quiet, and I wait, rubbing my hand slowly over Asher's back while his father seems to search for an answer.

“He likes my crown.”

I look at him, biting back a smile.

“Your crown?”

“Yes. He attempts to steal it.”

Interesting. I glance around the room before an idea begins forming.

“Okay. Give me a minute.”

Asher stays balanced on my hip while I collect one of our shallow wooden trays, several large polished stones from the nature-play cupboard and a handful of smooth metal rings we use for sound activities. Nothing small enough for him to swallow, nothing sharp enough to hurt him and, most importantly, nothing likely to burst into flames.

I carry everything to the floor and sit with Asher between my legs, spreading the stones and rings across the tray before running my palm over them.

Warmth flows gently from my skin.

The stones heat beneath my touch, just enough to make them pleasantly warm, and I leave some of the metal rings cool so there are different temperatures and textures for him to explore.

“What is the meaning of this?” Knox asks, standing absurdly tall above us with his arms crossed.

“The meaning of it?” I ask, wondering if maybe I have somehow offended him by placing his child on the floor.

Asher babbles and reaches for the closest ring, grabbing it, bashing it into another and cooing at the sound they make.

Then Knox kneels, studying his child and the items with interest and curiosity.

“What does the child achieve?”