“Getting a little rusty, Raven.” Orpheus’s voice carries across the courtyard, teasing and warm. “Maybe being a princess is making you soft.”
Abraxis cringes at the words, and I understand why. Calling Raven soft is like calling a volcano tepid.
“Maybe,” Raven’s response comes with a dangerous purr, her sapphire eyes glittering with amusement. “But that’s okay. I can shift and melt half the continent before dinner if I want to.” The threat is delivered with a smile, but no one listening doubts she means it.
Then her eyes lock onto our daughter, and everything about her transforms. The warrior melts away. The strategist disappears. What remains is a mother—radiant, tender, incandescent with love. She smiles so brightly that it makes my ancient heart stutter in my chest.
“Someone missed their mum.” I step forward and pass Nova to Raven, careful not to jostle the baby too quickly.
Nova’s eyes flutter open at the transfer, those mismatched irises—one solid amber, one half sapphire and half amber—focusing on her mother’s face. The baby lights up and purrs, a small rumbling sound that vibrates against Raven’s chest. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
Raven holds our daughter close, pressing her lips to Nova’s dark hair, inhaling that intoxicating newborn scent. Then she leans toward Ziggy, her smile widening.
“Nova, this is Pop Pop Ziggy.” She coos to our daughter in that soft, musical voice she only uses with the baby. “He’s going to be your coolest grandfather. He can vanish like your daddy, Keir.”
I watch Abraxis’s face contort at the designation—the acknowledgment that Ziggy holds a place of honor in Nova’s life that Abraxis, for all his recent progress, has not yet earned. Jealousy flickers across his features, followed by something more vulnerable.
“She’s beautiful.” Ziggy says, his dark eyes softening as he looks at Nova. He holds his arms out, and Raven gently places our daughter in his grasp. Ziggy beams down at the baby, his usual predatory edge completely absent. It’s remarkable how quickly Nova disarms even the most dangerous members of our family.
“Why are you still mad?” Raven turns and faces Abraxis, staring up at him with that direct, unflinching gaze that brooks no evasion.
I watch his jaw clench, the muscles in his neck tightening. His eyes flicker between human and dragon—round pupils elongating into slits, then contracting back again. The internal battle plays out across his features for several long moments.
Then he lets out a huff of air. A surrender. “I’m just jealous.”
Raven pauses.
She stares at Abraxas with her mouth agape, head tilting to the side in that bird-like gesture of confusion she inherited from her father. She openly stares at him, processing the admission, weighing its sincerity.
Then she dives in to hug him.
“I’m so proud of you.” She purrs the words against his chest, kissing his cheek as she wraps her arms around him. The sound of her approval vibrates through the air, carrying genuine warmth.
Abraxis looks shocked for several moments—frozen in the embrace like a man who’s forgotten how to accept affection. Then, slowly, his arms come up. He hugs her back and buries his face in her hair, his massive frame curling around her smaller form. Slowly, Raven closes her wings, sliding them over his shoulders like a leather blanket.
He lifts his head suddenly, his expression shifting from surprise to understanding to something that looks almost like peace. Then he smiles—truly smiles, not the bitter twist of lips I’ve grown accustomed to seeing on his face—and lowers his head to enclose her in his own wings.
Nest father and daughter, wrapped in each other’s wings, healing wounds that have festered for far too long.
“That’s been a long time coming.” Thauglor’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see Raven’s birth father approaching the group. His sapphire eyes are soft as he watches the embrace, his expression one of quiet pride. “I’m proud of both of them.” He looks over at Ziggy holding Nova and smiles, reaching out to stroke one finger down the baby’s cheek.
“She’s perfect, T,” Ziggy says, using the nickname I’ve heard the older generation employ. “Reminds me so much of Raven when she was a baby.”
Ziggy passes Nova to Thauglor, and I watch my mate’s father accept his granddaughter with the same reverence he shows hisdaughter. The parallels are striking—the same dark hair, the same fierce spirit already visible in those mismatched eyes.
“In all of my years of life before I was captured, I dinnae remember a wyrm dragoness being as close tae her family as Raven is with you.” I rest my hand on Thauglor’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of ancient kinship. We share something, he and I—centuries of existence, the weight of long memory, the hard-won wisdom of survival.
“Neither do I,” Thauglor’s voice is thoughtful as he gazes down at Nova. “It’s a gentler time than when we were younger and free the first time.”
“Aye, that’s true.” I ponder the implications for several moments as we watch Abraxis open his wings, freeing Raven from the embrace. She does the same, stepping back with a smile that transforms her face. “If it was back when we were free the first time, Raven would nae have hesitated tae kill her mother tae take the rank from her.”
The words are not criticism—merely observations. The old ways were brutal. Daughters challenged mothers. Sons killed fathers. Power was seized through violence, maintained through fear. The fact that Raven loves her family, protects them, fightsforthem rather than against them—it’s a mark of how much the world has changed.
Or perhaps a mark of how special she truly is.
Raven bounces up and kisses Abraxis’s cheek, the gesture light and affectionate, then turns and snuggles up to Thauglor. She tucks herself under his arm with the ease of long practice, pressing her face against his chest.
“Hi, Daddy.” She laughs a little and shakes her head, her black wings rustling against her back. “I kind of feel silly saying that now that I’m a mum.”
