Page 89 of The Longing

Fenrother also very much likes my baby bump. At one point in the last week I thought he might reintroduce the no clothing rule, given how often he wanted to look at me.

His almost wide-eyed innocence, the more time we spend together, is enchanting, frustrating, and cute in equal measure. What he’s going to make of the way my body changes in the next nine months.

Next to a glowing fire, Fenrother has donned a pair of clean trousers, his scales sparkling from an earlier bath which he insisted I shared (I wasn’t complaining). He looks absolutelymagnificent stood next to his throne-chair, the one he prefers I sit in, as he stares into the fire. His tail curls around the legs of the chair, and his wings flex, something I know he does subconsciously when he’s thinking.

Not always deep thoughts though. I asked him last week what he was thinking about, and apparently he was contemplating whether or not he could fit through the drainage system under the castle…in his Wyrm form.

I haven’t asked since.

The Duegar rush past me, carrying multiple platters of food to the table. Abbe and her mates followed us back to the castle, much to my relief, given the inferno Fenrother left behind, and now all of the Duegar are always visible. It’s nice. The castle feels less empty, even though it wasn’t empty before. It’s filled with life and light.

It feels like home.

He turns at the sound of the Duegar scuttling through the hall and sees me. The way his face lights up is something I’m never going to get used to. It brings tears to my hormonal eyes because it’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time, every time. His wonky smile, the way his posture changes, his shoulders dropping, his tail lashing, and his wings slowly flexing.

His hips swing as he walks towards me, reminding me, as if I need a reminder, of how damn sexy my great Wyrm is. Abs ripple as he gets closer, muscles in his bare arms bulging before he wraps them around me, burying his head in my hair and murmuring my name.

Being in his embrace is entirely something else. The scent of him, of fresh scales and something uniquely Fenrother which is a hint of sky and a hint of heather, I inhale, pulling him into my lungs, filling my senses with him.

Love is everything.

“The Duegar are insisting on a feast tonight,” he says into my head.

“Are they celebrating?”

“No, we are.”

I lean away from him so I can study his face. It’s not the easiest of things to do when you are as pregnant as I am and as massive as Fenrother is.

“We are?”

“Every day is a celebration when I have you,” Fenrother says with a smile. “But the Duegar say today is the day I was birthed.”

“It’s yourbirthday?” I gasp. “Why didn’t you say anything? I should have got you a present!”

“A gift.” Fenrother furrows his brow. “Why?”

“Have you ever had a birthday?” I query. “Celebrated one, I mean?”

Fenrother shakes his head. “I had forgotten until the Duegar reminded me.”

“It’s normal, at least among humans, to give gifts to people having a birthday.” I answer his question. “So, if I’d known, I would have got you a gift.”

A smile steals over Fenrother’s face, one which is relatively new, one which only really appeared after we returned to the castle following the battle with the queen.

I lean back a bit more in order to take a good look at him.

Sure enough, there’s something sticking out of his trouser pocket. Something red and lacy. Something I recognise from yesterday.

“Are those my…?”

“Yes.”

“Did you steal…?”

“Yes.”

“Will you give them…?”

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