Page 49 of Foundling

Shut up, she sulked.

Thalia nickered in a horsey laugh, bending to nip at Leita’s head where Attalus had kissed. Leita bore the teasing—mostly because she was quickly distracted by the fine sight her dragon made as he stretched.

He does it on purpose, Thalia told her.

I’m very aware.

You might consider putting him out of his misery soon. At least before he truly starts to preen. The mare thought about it a moment and amended, No, wait, I want to see him do a mating dance.

Mating dance? Leita repeated, an ominous pang of dread in her belly. I thought it was the orcs who did those.

Dragons do them, too. Think male birds in spring. All showy with their chests out. Thalia chuckled. Oh, yes, I want to see that.

Leita couldn’t agree—she thought she might die of mortification if Attalus decided to woo her that way.

Thankfully, at least for now, he seemed content with his strategy of hovering around her waiting to make conversation. He went with her to wash up in the nearby stream, to inspect the surrounding forest, as well as walk the border.

Leita wouldn’t admit it, but having him there for that latter activity did give her a smidge of relief. What’d happened before with the border still unnerved her, and having Attalus near, chattering away, was a good reminder not to give over too much.

She left offering up too much to Attalus.

Leita wasn’t especially surprised when he ventured to ask, “Your human husband, were you with him long?”

“About two years. I knew of him for several before, though.” It’d been long enough by now that she could speak about Jonathan without her throat getting too tight.

“And you loved him?”

“Very much.” Perhaps it was the distance between her and his death now, or perhaps it was talking about him in a context other than his final days, but Leita enjoyed the reminder of happier memories. That there’d been years, brief as they were, when she’d actually had all she’d ever wanted—love, family, security.

Attalus went quiet for a while, prompting Leita to peer at him. She’d begun to understand that long silences were rarely safe when it came to Attalus.

“He’s been dead some centuries now. There’s no need to be jealous.”

She bit back her laugh to see how grumpy he looked. It was a little strange to be the one receiving the frown rather than bestowing it.

“I’m not usually a jealous being. Instinct, I suppose.” Attalus shrugged, although his expression remained contemplative. “But I…I’m glad to know that even in your long years of exile, there was a time you were loved and cared for. I owe your human family a debt of gratitude.”

And just like that, Leita forgot anything she might say. She was the one who again lapsed into silence, the weight of his words giving her pause. He seemed to truly mean them, and his genuine feeling touched her, down to the depths of her innermost heart, where she’d put all her hurts and dreams away long ago.

They walked the border in a peaceful silence for a while, but eventually Leita couldn’t help but ask him, “And should I be jealous over any of your past lovers?” He hadn’t said anything definitive about his past liaisons, but it wasn’t a risk to bet that he wasn’t a stranger to sex. He was younger than her, less than a hundred, and could have past partners still living. However, in all he’d said over his past, he’d only recounted family members.

Attalus grinned ruefully, scratching at his cheek with a claw. “Ah, no, I don’t think so. I’ve enjoyed time with partners, but it was never serious.” Then, for reasons only known to him, he began to describe past experiences.

Leita’s cheeks and ears burned to hear of his…exploits. He told her of his favorite drinking dens and brothels, how he’d lost himself these past years in good wine, good company, and good sex. He spoke of his preferred lovers and positions—or lack thereof. He wasn’t picky nor confined to female partners. Or a single one at a time.

She might’ve choked on her outrage had he said it any other way than he did—openly, guilelessly, as though reciting old facts from a tome of history. When she got past the shock of it, she realized he might be…trying to be honest. He didn’t say it to aggrandize himself or to outdo her.

She appreciated that. Even so, she eventually had to tell him, “That’s enough, thank you.”

Attalus cleared his throat, looking sheepish. “Forgive me, I only meant to be honest.”

“And so you have.” Turning to face him, Leita arched her brows. “Although, you could’ve just said you’re a consummate slag and left it at that.”

A surprised laugh boomed from his chest, his great shoulders shaking with mirth. “My, my, she can joke!”

Leita rolled her eyes to distract from her blush and continued walking. “Are you sure I’ll be enough for you, Savrakae princeps?”

“I’ve no doubts,” he laughed, jogging to catch up. “I can hardly handle you as it is.”