Page 78 of Bred By Sor'en

By the time I phase into the house, scooping my little boy into my arms, I find Sor’en halfway through cooking mine and Clay’jin’s favorite flamet. A food I now know is exclusively prepared for small children, save for me, I suppose. I don’t care. Good food is good food. I pepper him with kisses as he wiggles and squirms, his giggle filling the house as I sniffle at his little toes, pretending they are incredibly stinky. He wiggles free, snuggling into the sunken living room before forgetting something and bolting for his room just as Sor’en answers the call from the kitchen.

I smile at the terribly disappointed-looking prince when he sees me. “Good evening to you too, Rav. Any more luck avoiding your princely duties?”

His scowl deepens. “Of course not.”

“You know it isn’t theworstidea, as much as agreeing with your mother makes me want to vomit.”

Turns out the King and Queen of Virellia are every bit as unpleasant as you would assume. While our trade agreement and protection order are overseen directly by Ravian, even four orbits later, they are finding ways to make his life miserable for letting Sor’en go. For destroying all evidence of his work for the dearly deceased Adder.

“Yes, yes, very good. Bring the child,” he offers, clearly not listening, making me glare at Sir PrincelyAssholelike it's some untold secret he does not call weekly to talk to me.

Sor’en laughs from the kitchen, so I glare at him too.

“Prince Ravian!” Clay’jin squeals as he launches himself into the piles of pillows. I’m grateful for the medication the Kalzaits had spearheaded to help make a Xyrelith child less potent, until they are old enough to master themselves. The stories of how most children here were raised within the temple, being subjected to intense stressors early on to harden them, had twisted my gut. I’d refused outright, even realizing likely Clay’jin would kill me one day. It’s a common occurrence for children to nearlyconstantlymake their parents sick when they are too young to control their toxins. Now, thankfully, with the new medication, the most I get is a minor headache and an upset stomach.

Freakishly, once, hives made my lips swell to twice their normal size.

My heart melts as the prince's face lights up, the hard lines of stress all but obliterated in the presence of his most devoted follower. “Hello, Prince Clay’jin. What have you brought me as an offering for my greatness?’

Clay giggles. “It's not yours! It my new toy!”

Sor’en heads over with his bowl of flamet. Grubby little outstretched fingers wiggling excitedly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Clay’jin, go wash up first.”

“Mama!” he protests.

I level him with a hard stare before he scrambles up and bolts toward the bathroom, slipping and crashing onto his hard skull halfway there.

Sor’en and I both freeze, waiting to see if he’ll cry or not.

He doesn’t, back on his feet and into the bedroom in the next moment.

When I look up again, it's to the most overdramatic, feigned, or possibly genuine look of offense from the prince displayed on the large screen. “You are a monster of undo callous, human. The likes of which I have yet to meet in my years. Starving an innocent—"

“Was the last shipment of Lyr’lumara favorable?” Sor’en interrupts as he lifts me into his arms.

Ravian sighs. “Yes, it was perfect as always.” He turns his attention back to me and impishly adds. “Your mate is a bore.” But I can see how worn down he looks, a tendril of worry filtering through my chest.

“Will you be joining us in a few weeks for the arrival of Lana’elle?”

That sobers him. “I will try my best, but it is unlikely. I am sorry.”

Sorry? From Ravian?

I cast Sor’en a worried look.

“Now begone, vile human. I have spent the last solar learning a new magic trick for the child.”

“Yayyyyy! Magic!” Cal’jin screams, bouncing again onto the pile and nearly upsetting his food.

Sor’en carries me to the kitchen stools, knowing that for the next zentic both of us will be dead to the child. Dodging my ranting about whatever is bothering Ravian as he sits me on his lap, smearing me with his fuzzy oil as he feeds me. Soon enough, I’m as boneless as water in his hold.

Many, many long zentics later, I am exhausted as I waddle myself onto our bed, my mate crawling in after me, having taken the latter half of the battle to get Clay’jin to sleep. As his mouth finds the calf of my leg, peppering soft, slow kisses there even in my exhausted state, I wake for him.

I groan, moving away and feigning disinterest, making him laugh.

He knows this game, we play it a lot.