Keeping a firm hold of Zenevieve’s hand, I tuck a tress of her silky black hair behind her ear. “That spare room is still empty. Let’s buy some furniture and get you settled in properly.”
I speakto the castle steward about things for Zenevieve, and I furnish the second room for her. As well as a bed with plenty of pillows and blankets, there’s a nightstand, a chest for her clothes, and a shelf for her belongings.
When it’s all arranged, I stand back and admire my handiwork. I’m not known for making people feel comfortable, but I’m proud of what I’ve provided for my ward.
Zenevieve comes up beside me and casts an unenthusiastic look around the room.
My pride takes a critical hit. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d like it.”
“I like sleeping in your bed. It smells like you.”
I fold my arms and level a stern gaze at her. “And what’s the dragonmaster supposed to do? Get all stiff and creaky sleeping on the cold stone floor?”
“I don’t mind if you sleep in your bed too.”
I shake my head and turn away. “How generous.”
Zenevieve’s grief comes in waves. A lot of the time she’ll seem fine, if a little subdued. Occasionally she’ll even seem happy. Then she’ll see something or a thought or a memory will rise up, and grief will slam into her, leaving her reeling and sobbing in its wake. She has nightmares and trouble sleeping, and sometimes she cries in her sleep. I go in and do my best to comfort her when I hear her, but I wonder about all the times I don’t.
A few days after we begin sleeping in our own beds, I wake up, stretch, and feel a warm weight on my chest. Looking down, Isee Zenevieve, tucked under my arm with her body lying against mine.
“Zenevieve?”
“I had a nightmare,” she murmurs, not opening her eyes. She burrows deeper into my arms. “Your scent is so nice.”
I feel torn because I have no doubt that my scent is comforting to her. The scent of a friendly Alpha is supposed to be very soothing. It’s a good feeling to wake up being cuddled by Zenevieve. I might not be the kind of person who’s openly affectionate with everyone, but the ones I care about, I want to be close with. I’ve seen Zenevieve joyfully wrapping her arms around Minta, and I’ll admit to being a little envious.
But it feels inappropriate. Why does it feel inappropriate when she’s just here to sleep after probably having a nightmare?
Because as I told Queen Magritte, Zenevieve is lovely, and I can’t help but be conscious of her loveliness and want to draw my fingers through her silky hair in the darkness while she’s snoring on my chest. Even raise some strands of hair to my nose and enjoy her softly sweet scent.
“I got you a perfectly good bed,” I remind her.
Zenevieve rubs her cheek against my chest. “Shh, it’s sleepy time.”
I sigh and let my head fall back on the pillow. I can’t begrudge the girl her rest, not when she’s been having such a hard time. I lay in the dark, listening to her soft breathing. Once she’s drifted off, I gather her into my arms and carry her to her own bed, along with one of my blankets. She makes confused, sleepy noises until I push the crumpled blanket into her arms, and she buries her face in it.
I watch her settle back into sleep, a smile tugging the corner of my lips. Alphas are proud of their scents, and I’ve never known anyone who doesn’t have scales need mine for comfort before. I think I like it.
An Alpha can make his scent richer and more soothing, and so after that day, I start scenting a blanket for her once or twice a week, folding it, and putting it under her pillow. After that, I hear less crying through her bedroom door at night, and Zenevieve doesn’t sneak into my bed as often.
Over the months, we fall into a comfortable pattern together. Most of our time is spent with the dragons, either flying or caring for them. Sometimes we’ll eat in the Great Hall with the other dragonriders, but usually Zenevieve will collect food for us to eat at home.
She pesters me to eat breakfast, which I prefer to skip altogether. I don’t eat, but on the mornings I don’t have to be at the dragongrounds at dawn, I sit at the table in the sunlight and talk to her while she eats porridge with berries or slices of fruit.
For the first time since Destrin passed, I don’t feel lonely.
But it’s not all peace and sunshine. When my body burns with my rut, I leave Zenevieve and find a ruthouse where I can pace up and down, snarl, sweat, and fill up with frustration. I have never visited ruthouses, but I have to now that I’m sharing my home with Zenevieve. At first, lavishes knock on my door, Betas who tend to rutting Alphas. They want to know if I’d like company and relief in exchange for coin. I snap at them to leave me alone, because I have no desire for that kind of company. They take a while to get it through their heads that I’m sincere, and not just picky, and then they finally leave me alone.
I hate the ruthouse. I’m used to spending my ruts within my own silent rooms at the castle that overlook the dragongrounds, but now the sound of Alphas and Betas lost in pleasure is all around me. Their enjoyment throws my misery into sharp relief.
When I come home, my bed is thick with Zenevieve’s scent. In my absence, when her loneliness grows too great, she sleeps in my bed. I don’t have the heart to tell her not to, and I have to admit her flowery sweetness is a balm to my exhausted body andsoul when I fall into bed, exhausted from my rut. I’m groggy and grumpy, but it’s always good to come home to Zenevieve.
One morning after she’s been living with me a year, she stands at my shoulder at the breakfast table and pours me cold water from a jug. “Poor Stesha. You look so tired after your rut. Shall I tell you what’s been happening with the dragons?”
I close my eyes and lean my head against her softness. I haven’t tied my hair back, and she threads her fingers through it as she speaks quietly in her pretty, husky voice. Just her presence and her touch are enough to soothe me, more than any lavish could. I wonder if this is what it’s like to have a mate. Someone who cares about me and offers comfort when I’m feeling low.
“Shall we go riding after you’ve eaten?”
