The soap making had become a ritual of mine, one of the many small domestic magics I had brought from my old world to this one. I sat on a low stool in the covered work area behind our house, my belly resting comfortably against my thighs, my hands working the mixture of rendered fat and lye and the crushed lavender I had dried over the summer. The scent rose up, clean and sharp, filling the air with promises of future baths and sweet-smelling cubs.
We had run out three days ago, which meant I had spent the morning explaining to Chase for the fifth time why he could not simply lick himself clean like he did in his shifted form.
The memory made me smile even as I stirred.
It had happened yesterday morning, when I had discovered him in the bathing area with a half-eaten cake of soap clutched in his chubby hands, his face screwed up in disgust, white foam dripping from his chin. He had bitten into it, hard, his small teeth leaving deep impressions in the bar, before spitting it out with such violence that bubbles had sprayed across the stone floor.
"Mama, it’s not good," he had announced, trying to wipe his tongue with the back of his hand, his eyes watering, his entire body shuddering with the betrayal of it. "Not good at all."
"Of course it’s not, baby," I had said, rushing to him, scooping him up and carrying him to the water basin. "It’s not food. It’s to clean you during bath."
"But it always smells so good on us," he had tried to explain, his vocabulary clearer now, his words forming with the careful precision of a child who had only recently discovered language. "I thought it would taste good."
It had taken me five minutes of rinsing and wiping and coaxing before the bitter taste no longer made him gag, five minutes of his little tongue sticking out and his hands trying to scrape the flavor from his teeth.
"Not everything that smells good tastes good, my love," I had told him finally, kissing his little nose, breathing in the lavender that now clung to both of us. "Remember that."
He had nodded solemnly, his golden eyes wide with new wisdom, and I had laughed until my sides ached.
The cubs had gotten so much better with their vocabulary, speaking so much more clearly now, forming sentences where once there had been only sounds. They were growing, changing, becoming little people with thoughts and opinions and, apparently, very specific ideas about what should be edible.
I laughed at the memory now, the sound mixing with the soft slap of my wooden spoon against the soap mixture and continued my work.
Then I saw him.
Aureon emerged from the tree line, his white hair unmistakable even from a distance, his stride purposeful as he approached our dwelling. He stopped when he reached the edge of my work area, his tall frame casting a shadow over my soap pots and looked down at me with those golden tiger eyes.
I gasped.
The bruising on his face was visible even in the morning light, angry purple and yellow marks that bloomed across his left cheekbone and jaw, marring the boyish beauty of his features. His lip was split, dried blood crusted at the corner, and one eye was slightly swollen, the skin around it puffy and dark.
"Oh my," I breathed, the soap spoon falling from my fingers, clattering against the stone. I surged to my feet, my pregnant belly making me clumsy, panic already rising in my throat. "Are you okay? What happened?"
I was shocked, terrified. What if the alliance fell through because someone had attacked the prince of the tiger tribe? What if there had been an incident, a fight, an assassination attempt while I had been here making soap and laughing at memories?
"It’s nothing," Aureon said, and then he smiled. That same bright, infuriating, weaponized smile, though now it pulled at his split lip and made him wince slightly. "I was sparring with your mates. They are strong."
I flinched.
Sparring. Of course. My mates had decided to "discuss" matters with Aureon, and they had chosen to do so with fists and claws rather than words, disguising their warning as friendly combat. I could picture it now, Leon’s barely controlled rage, Ravin’s diplomatic violence, perhaps even Veylan’s wolf joining in to make a point. They had beaten the tiger prince, bruised him, bloodied him, and called it training.
I should have been horrified. I should have scolded them, apologized, offered healing and explanations.
Instead, I felt a small, terrible part of me want to thank them.
Aureon seemed to read something in my expression, his smile widening despite the pain it must have caused him. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me, and then his gaze dropped to the furs near my feet where Jasper lay sleeping.
During winter, the sunlight was weaker, but Jasper had still managed to find the one thin beam that filtered through the canopy of trees curling into a golden ball of fur on a patch of warm stone near the fire. His tail wrapped over his nose, his small body rose and fell with deep, contented breaths, steam rising gently from his fur in the cold air of the hall.
"Wow," Aureon said, his voice dropping to a whisper of genuine surprise. "He’s a fat cub."
"He’s not fat," I said immediately, defensively, stepping between the tiger prince and my son. "He’s perfect. He’s just... fluffy."
Aureon ignored me, crouching down with the fluid grace of his kind, his bruised face level with my sleeping cub. He reached out one long finger, and before I could stop him, he poked Jasper’s round belly.
The cub’s eyes flew open. He made a sound, a surprised "oof" of air escaping his small body, and then he giggled. The sound was high and sweet and completely involuntary, and his body squished under Aureon’s finger like dough, like the softest bread, like...
I stared.
Jasper’s reaction, the way his body depressed under that gentle pressure and then slowly rose back up, the way he giggled and squirmed and looked absolutely delighted, reminded me with shocking clarity of the Pillsbury Doughboy from those commercials back in my world. The memory hit me like a wave, unexpected and sharp, bringing with it the ghost of a world I would never see again.
Aureon poked him again, and Jasper giggled again, and I found myself laughing despite everything, despite the bruises and the politics and the absolute absurdity of this tiger prince in my yard poking my cub like he was testing a loaf of bread.
"He’s delightful," Aureon announced, standing up and looking at me with those golden eyes. "I like him. I think I will like all your cubs. And you, beautiful female. I think I will like you most of all."
I stopped laughing instantly, the sound dying in my throat like a snuffed candle. There he went again, back at it with his insistence that I would one day be his mate, as if my rejections were merely suggestions he had not yet considered.
"I’m flattered, truly," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the flutter of panic in my chest. "But you’re very young for me."
"I’m only two years younger than your Caelion," he countered immediately, as if he had memorized the ages of all my mates and kept them ready for just this argument. "And perhaps five years younger than your First Mate. I am an adult, beautiful female. In my tribe, I would have already taken a mate years ago."
"I am content with the mates I have," I tried again, firmer this time.
Aureon smiled, undeterred, his bruised face somehow making the expression more charming rather than less. "I am sure you will like me too, in time. But I will leave now. I have disturbed your work enough." He crouched again, his long fingers finding Jasper’s head, patting the soft fur with surprising gentleness. My cub, now fully awake from all that poking, looked up at him with sleepy golden eyes. "Bye, fat cub."
"His name is Jasper," I said, rolling my eyes toward the winter sky.
"Bye, Jasper." Aureon straightened, that bright smile fixed firmly in place despite his split lip. He turned and walked away, his white hair swaying against his shoulders, his bruises dark and angry against his pale skin.
I stood there with my soap forgotten, my winter fire crackling, my cub giggling in the thin beam of cold sunlight, and the absolute certainty that my mates were going to kill him.
And that he was going to enjoy every moment of their trying.