FUKASHI

Fukashi is stirring a pot of vegetable soup when Arthur and the girls get home. The last thing he expects is for Cel to storm off to her bedroom, dragging Nora with her, and slamming the door before Arthur can follow.

“Uh-oh,” Fukashi says, lifting his brows at Arthur, who has stopped in the kitchen doorway with one hand extended toward the door their children just disappeared through. “Did you anger the littlest kit, fox? Tsk, tsk.”

Arthur casts him a glare. “That kit is lucky I had already planned on telling Leopold what we are. Thanks to her, I was practically bullied into telling his children as well.”

“His children?” Fukashi sets the stirring spoon aside and turns off the stove. He props a hip against the counter and frowns at his husband. They’ve been married for three years now, and still the idea of getting to call Arthur his husband gives Fukashi butterflies. “Children are not good at keeping secrets, Arthur. What brought this on?”

When Arthur is done telling the story of how Cel attached the little Vonadieu girl, Fukashi is grimacing. “I hate to say I told you so, but you are far too lenient with Cel’s nasty temper.”

“I am exactly as I need to be,” Arthur retorts. “She has to experience rage to learn to control her fire, Fukashi. The more lenience we allow her, the more opportunities she has to tame it. She doesn’t have the limiters that I grew up wearing.” Arthur rubs his wrist as if in remembrance of the bone-carved cuffs he wore in his youth. “The ones they use here are pale imitations. They’re debilitating and painful. They’re used as punishments for prisoners.”

“There is a difference between giving her more restrictions and limiting her, Arthur. We can’t let her become wildfire. Have you ever…?”

“Once.” Arthur sits at the dining table and holds his head in his hands. “I was wearing limiters then though, so it wasn’t as awful as it could have been.”

Fukashi hums as he strolls across the kitchen and sits down at his husband’s side. “When?” he asks gently.

“When my mother died,” Arthur admits, laying his hands against the table and knotting his fingers together. There’s a distressed pinch to his mouth that Fukashi greatly dislikes. “I remember the initial anger but little else. I was in our cottage looking at her corpse, and then suddenly I was being dragged naked onto a riverbank. Half the damn swamp surrounding the capital had burned before the riverwalkers could stop me.”

“Cores, Arthur.” Fukashi lays a hand on his arm. “I think even I sometimes forget what you’re capable of.”

Arthur pats Fukashi’s hand, then rubs the tips of his fingers across his knuckles. “You’re right. Cel is not me. We need to be more careful with her. Poor Nora had to throw her in the pool to get her to stop biting Lache.”

Fukashi winces, then sighs. “I should’ve tortured Cornelia before letting the merfolk have her. Cel and that damn fear of water. She’ll have nightmares again.”

“For a while, probably.”

“But she forgave Nora?”

Arthur smiles grimly. “Perhaps. At least what I set out to accomplish will be done soon.”

Fukashi withdraws his hand and leans back in his seat. “Leopold agreed.”

“With one condition.”

Fukashi lifts a brow.

Arthur smiles sweetly. “Leopold has a rather irritating competitor who could use a bit of...assassinating.”

Fukashi scoffs and gets up from the table. “If you want me to do your dirty work, fox, you are going to have to earn it.”

Arthur’s grin is lethally charming. “Oh, I think something can be arranged.”