Chapter 109: Breakfast With the Storm

The morning light in the Dragon Peaks did not behave like normal morning light.

It poured through the crystalline windows of the guest quarters in shades of gold and rose and something that looked like lavender but shimmered when you moved your head.

It caught on the floating dust motes and turned them into tiny, drifting stars. It made everything look like a painting.

Bai Yue was not admiring the light.

She was standing in front of a polished obsidian mirror, trying to convince her reflection that she was a respectable adult female who could handle having breakfast with a dragon princess.

“You are muttering,” Han Shān observed from the bed.

“I’m strategizing.”

“You’re muttering about how your skirt doesn’t fit and your hair is doing something weird and why did you agree to this.”

Bai Yue glared at him through the mirror. He was sprawled across the massive bed, their bed, apparently, because the Dragon King had assigned them “appropriate accommodations for a mated pair with an infant”, looking like a lounging snow leopard who had personally conquered the concept of relaxation.

He was shirtless. His hair was loose. His eyes were half-lidded.

“You are enjoying this,” she accused.

“I am enjoying watching you panic over a female who wanted to marry the golden lizard.” Han Shān’s lips curved. “It’s very entertaining.”

“She didn’t want to marry him. It was an alliance. Political. Boring.”

“And yet you’ve changed your skirt three times.”

Bai Yue made a sound that was definitely not a squeak. “I changed it once.”

“You changed it once. You put it on, took it off, and put the first one back on. That counts as three changes.”

“I hate you.”

From the bassinet beside the bed, Zhēn made a soft, questioning sound. Bai Yue’s heart flipped.

She crossed to the bassinet and looked down at her daughter.

Zhēn was awake. Her eyes blinked up at her mother.

“Your mother is having a crisis,” Han Shān said to the baby.

Zhēn made a sound that might have been agreement.

“I am not having a crisis,” Bai Yue said, lifting her daughter. “I am having a perfectly normal reaction to being summoned to breakfast by a woman who was supposed to marry a member of my household.”

“Your household,” Han Shān repeated. “You mean the dragon.”

“The dragon is part of the household. He flew us here. He’s family now.”

Han Shān’s expression changed. “He’s not family.”

“Zhēn grabbed his snout. That’s legally binding. I don’t make the rules.”

Zhēn, who had been reaching for her father with the imperious demand of a tiny empress, was transferred into his arms. Han Shān’s face immediately softened into something that would have shocked anyone who only knew him as the terrifying Snow Leopard Alpha.

“You,” he murmured to the baby, “are going to be trouble when you’re older. You already have her wrapped around your tiny fingers.”

“Wrapped around her tiny fingers,” Bai Yue corrected. “You were the one who built her a cradle before she was born.”

“It was a reasonable preparation.”

“You made several blankets.”

“Temperature regulation is important for infants.”

Bai Yue was still laughing when the knock came.

She froze. Han Shān straightened. Zhēn, who had been peacefully studying her father’s face, suddenly turned her head toward the door.

“You can’t be already developing dramatic timing,” Bai Yue whispered to her daughter.

Zhēn cooed.

The knock came again. Softer this time.

Bai Yue smoothed her skirt. Checked that Zhēn was secure in her wrap. Took a breath. Crossed the room. Opened the door.

~

The female standing in the corridor was not what she expected.

Bai Yue had been prepared for cold elegance. For someone who would look at her with the same disdain Cāng Yáo had shown on her first appearance.

Fēng Líng was beautiful, yes. Her hair was the color of storm clouds, dark gray shot through with veins of silver that caught the morning light. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, and her eyes were the pale, electric blue of lightning in winter. The scales at her temples were a delicate, shimmering silver-white that shifted to deep blue when she moved.

But her expression was not cold.

She looked……nervous. Her hands were clasped in front of her. Her shoulders were slightly hunched. And when she saw Bai Yue, her eyes went very wide and something that might have been relief flickered across her face.

“You are not a monster,” Fēng Líng said.

Bai Yue blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I heard—they said—the reports described you as a cursed female who ate children and made dragons dance in feather skirts.” Fēng Líng’s cheeks flushed. “Which is ridiculous. Obviously. You’re clearly just a person. A very normal person. With a baby. Who is very cute. The baby. Not that you’re not also—I mean—this is going badly.”

Bai Yue stared at her.

Behind her, Han Shān made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a choke.

“I brought gifts,” Fēng Líng said desperately, thrusting forward a basket that Bai Yue hadn’t noticed she was holding. “For the baby. And for you. And for the cubs. I wasn’t sure what cubs like. The messenger said there were cubs. Multiple cubs. I asked my aunt and she said young dragons like shiny things and soft things and things that move when you hit them, but cubs aren’t dragons, so I thought maybe—”

“You brought gifts,” Bai Yue said slowly.

“For everyone. Yes. Is that weird? That’s weird. I knew it was weird. Léi Chen said not to bring gifts. He said it would seem like I was trying too hard. But I didn’t listen.”

She held the basket out like a shield.

Bai Yue took it.

Inside, nestled in a bed of soft moss, were three small, carved figures: a fox, a snow leopard, and a red panda. A tiny silver rattle shaped like a dragon. And a small pot of something that smelled like honey and flowers.

“They’re not much,” Fēng Líng said quickly. “I carved the figures myself. The rattle was my niece’s, but she’s grown now and doesn’t need it. The honey is from our hives. It’s good for digestion. Or so my aunt says. She’s always saying things are good for digestion. She says stress is bad for digestion, which is why I’m not supposed to be stressed about this, but I am stressed about this, obviously, because—”

“You carved these?” Bai Yue lifted the fox figure. It was perfect, each tiny detail rendered with the kind of care that came from hours of patient work.

“My mother said it was unbecoming. A dragon princess carving toys. But I like it. It’s calming.” Fēng Líng’s flush deepened. “You don’t have to use them. I just thought—”

“Fēng Líng.”

She stopped talking.

Bai Yue smiled. “Would you like to come in?”

~

The breakfast that followed was not what anyone had expected.

Bai Yue had prepared for cold formality. For political maneuvering.

Instead, she got Fēng Líng, who was apparently incapable of being anything other than herself.

“Your quarters are very nice,” Fēng Líng said, perched on the edge of a cushioned bench. She was trying very hard to look casual and failing completely. “My father’s quarters are much less……comfortable. He believes comfort breeds weakness. Which is ridiculous, obviously. Comfort is essential for proper sleep, and proper sleep is essential for clear thinking, and clear thinking is essential for—” She stopped. “I’m talking too much.”

“You’re fine,” Bai Yue said.

“I always talk too much when I’m nervous. My mother says it’s unbecoming for a dragon princess to chatter. She says we should be mysterious and inscrutable. Like storms. Storms don’t chatter. They just arrive and destroy things.”

“Storms also have lightning,” Yòu Lín offered.

Everyone turned.

The fox cub was standing in the doorway that connected the main room to the cubs’ sleeping quarters. He was wearing the pajamas Wēn Jìng had made for him, soft blue fabric that was already covered in the day’s adventures, and his hair was doing something that could only be described as “aggressive.”

Behind him, Ruì Xuě peeked out, one hand on his brother’s shoulder. His pajamas matched Yòu Lín’s, because the grandmothers had decided it was “cute” and “good for sibling bonding” and “absolutely non-negotiable.”

Hóng Yè brought up the rear, looking like he had been dragged through a hedge backward and was planning revenge on whoever had done the dragging.

“These are the cubs,” Bai Yue said.

Fēng Líng’s eyes went very wide. “There are three of them.”

“There are more, actually,” Yòu Lín said. He padded into the room with the confidence of someone who had never met a stranger and had decided this one looked promising. “We have three panther friends back home. And two snake friends. And a tiger friend. Also we have a dragon friend now. Her name is Glimmer. She’s very small. Do you know Glimmer?”

“I… don’t think I do.”

“She’s great. She showed us the snack cave. There’s a honey fountain. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. Except for Mama’s spicy noodles. Those are also the best thing I’ve ever seen. I have a lot of best things.”

Ruì Xuě tugged his brother’s sleeve. “You’re supposed to say hello first.”

“Right.” Yòu Lín straightened. “Hello. I’m Yòu Lín. This is my brother Ruì Xuě. He’s shy. The grumpy one is Hóng Yè. He’s always grumpy. Don’t take it personally.”

Fēng Líng looked from one cub to the other, her nervous formality melting into something softer. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Fēng Líng.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Ruì Xuě said quietly.

Fēng Líng’s cheeks went pink. “Thank you.”

“Did you really almost marry Uncle Sparkles?” Yòu Lín asked.

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Bai Yue saw Han Shān’s hand twitch toward his daughter. Hóng Yè buried his face in his hands. Even Ruì Xuě looked mildly alarmed.

Fēng Líng blinked. “Uncle… Sparkles?”

“Cāng Jì,” Yòu Lín clarified. “He’s shiny. Like sparkles. So he’s Uncle Sparkles. Did you almost marry him?”

“I—that is—the arrangement was—”

“Did you know he got peed on by monkeys?”

Fēng Líng choked.

“It’s true,” Yòu Lín continued, warming to his subject. “A monkey peed on his robes. While he was wearing them. He screamed. It was very loud. Also he had to wear a feather skirt and dance. Mama has the whole story. She tells it at dinner sometimes. It’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Yòu Lín,” Bai Yue said.

“What? She should know what she almost got into. It’s important information. For informed decision-making.”

“Decision-making about what?”

“I don’t know. Future choices. If she’s glad she didn’t marry him, she should know why she’s glad. If she’s sad, she should know what she missed. Which is mostly monkey pee and embarrassment, so probably she’s glad.”

Fēng Líng made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been her soul leaving her body.

“I’m very glad,” she managed. “About the monkey pee. And the skirt. And everything. I’m very, very glad I didn’t marry him.”

“See?” Yòu Lín turned to Bai Yue triumphantly. “Informed decision-making.”

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