Chapter 240: Snacks, Sleeping Children, and Azerion’s Suspiciously Tight Grip
Chapter 240: Snacks, Sleeping Children, and Azerion’s Suspiciously Tight Grip
Elyn’s POV
I didn’t even know how long the game had been going on.
At some point, I had stopped tracking time and just watched.
And honestly? It was entertaining.
More entertaining than I expected, which was saying something given that I had started the afternoon with a three-headed dragon flying at my face.
Zayrion had tried the dragon trick on Aziren at one point.
Aziren had hugged it.
Just opened his arms and hugged the dragon with the full enthusiasm of a child who saw a large creature and thought friend, and within seconds the ball was ash again, and the dragon was gone, and Zayrion was standing there with the particular expression of someone whose best trick had just been neutralized by affection.
I made a mental note. Next time, we would use fire-resistant balls. I was going to make sure of it.
Velira held her ground too. The purple mist came out more than once, and the seduction attempts were consistent and entirely committed for someone her age. But the other three seemed immune, or at least unbothered, which clearly frustrated her in a way she refused to admit out loud.
Azerion caught every enchanted throw with a grin.
Zayrion transformed things back.
Aziren hugged whatever came at him.
It went on like that for a while—escalating, then settling, then escalating again—and I sat under my shade and ate snacks and watched and felt something loosen in my chest that I hadn’t noticed was tight.
It was nice.
That was the only word for it. Just nice.
Then, without any announcement or formal decision, the game simply stopped.
Velira laughed at something Zayrion did. Aziren laughed because Velira laughed. Azerion tried not to laugh and failed. And then all four of them were just laughing in the middle of the garden, the ball forgotten somewhere in the grass, and they turned as one and ran toward me.
I barely had time to move before they arrived.
"Snacks," Aziren said brightly, dropping onto the cloth beside me.
"Snacks," Velira agreed, settling herself with considerably more grace.
Zayrion sat with his glasses back on, adjusted precisely, and reached for a pastry with both hands.
Azerion was already eating before he sat down.
I distributed snacks. Quietly, without fuss, just passing things around as they settled, their earlier competitive energy replaced with something softer and louder at the same time—four children talking over each other, laughing about moments in the game, Aziren demonstrating exactly how he had hugged the dragon with his arms spread wide and Zayrion looking away like he needed a moment.
I chuckled.
Then I noticed Azerion slipping something into his pocket.
He wasn’t even subtle about it. But before I could say anything, Rin spoke.
"You thief," she said.
"What?" Azerion asked her innocently.
"What do you mean what? You just stole those snacks."
"I’m saving them."
"In your pocket."
"Yes, it’ll last better when I can eat them later."
"They are not yours to save."
"My lady said I could have snacks."
"She said have snacks," Rin said. "Not steal snacks and hide them in your clothes."
"I’m not hiding them. I’m storing them. There’s a difference."
"Is the storage yours?"
Azerion looked down at his pocket. Then back at Rin. "It is now."
Rin opened her mouth to argue again when Azerion picked up another pastry and put it in his mouth.
Rin turned to me with an expression I chose not to address.
I looked at the garden instead. There was no way I was getting involved in their argument. That wasn’t going to work on me.
I had dreaded this. I could admit that now, quietly, to myself. When Ysera had left and I had looked at four children of varying chaos levels and said how much work could it be, I had been trying to convince myself as much as I was asking a genuine question. I had expected to spend the afternoon managing disasters.
And there had been disasters. Technically.
But somewhere between the dragon and the burnt balls and Zayrion becoming Rin and Velira hitting me in the face with a shot of love, it had shifted into something else.
Something I hadn’t expected.
It was calm, in its own strange, loud, completely unpredictable way.
I hadn’t thought about anything else the whole afternoon. Not once.
By the time the light started shifting and the garden went golden with early evening, the children were against each other and against me, and one by one they went quiet, and then still, and then asleep.
It happened fast, the way it always did with children—one moment Aziren was mid-sentence about something and the next his head had dropped onto my arm and his breathing had gone slow and even. The flames in his hair settled into a low, steady warmth.
Velira was curled up on the cloth with her stuffed bunny pressed to her chest, wings folded neatly.
Zayrion had sat with his back straight for a surprisingly long time before his glasses slipped and his head tipped forward and his tails went still.
Azerion was against my shoulder.
That was where he stayed.
The parents arrived as evening settled properly.
Ignivar came first, quiet and composed, the warmth of him preceding him slightly. He looked at Aziren sleeping against the cloth and something in his expression shifted—just briefly, just enough to see—before he crouched and lifted his son carefully. Aziren stirred, made a small sound, and then settled again against his father’s shoulder.
Ignivar inclined his head toward me.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said.
"No need to thank me, I enjoyed spending time with him," I told him.
Ignivar looked at Aziren for a moment. Then he nodded once and left.
Seraphielle’s husband arrived next—Guilidern, composed and striking, his dark eyes finding Velira immediately. He lifted her without waking her.
He bowed his head toward me, something in his eyes I did not want to identify because it reminded me of how his wife looked at me.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble," he said as he licked his lips.
I shuddered inwardly, then plastered a fake smile on my face.
"She was perfect," even though she tried to seduce me. "As perfect as she can be."
Guilidern smiled at me before leaving.
Xaleron arrived last. Seven black tails, bead earrings swaying, his black and white eyes finding Zayrion immediately where he sat still sleeping with his glasses slightly askew.
He looked at his son for a moment.
Then he turned to me.
"Was he any trouble, Your Majesty?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I enjoyed spending time with him." I paused. "He’s a trickster though."
Xaleron chuckled. It was quiet and warm and a little resigned.
"He learned it from my sister," he said. "And his mother."
I blinked. "Your sister?"
"Ysera," Xaleron said simply.
I stared at him.
Then I thought about it.
Then I nodded slowly. "Aziren did mention Zayrion was his cousin," I said. "I just didn’t connect it."
Xaleron smiled faintly.
"Zayrion was fine," I told him. "Better than fine, actually. I’d like to see him again."
Something settled in Xaleron’s expression.
He nodded.
Then he picked up Zayrion, adjusted him carefully, and disappeared.
I sat with Azerion still against my shoulder.
"I can take him, Your Highness," Vaelory said to me.
She reached out.
Azerion, who had been deeply and completely asleep approximately three seconds ago, tightened his arms around me without opening his eyes.
His grip was immediate and surprisingly firm for someone unconscious.
Vaelory paused.
She tried again.
The grip tightened.
I chuckled.
"I’ll take him to his room," I said.
"He’s pretending," Rin said flatly from behind us.
I stood carefully, adjusting Azerion against my shoulder. He settled without protest, his breathing still slow, his face peaceful.
I said nothing to Rin.
I just walked.
And honestly, as I carried him through the corridor toward his room, the palace quiet around us and the evening settling outside the windows, I thought about the afternoon.
It was nice.
I had to admit that.
It was really, genuinely nice.