Fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Jason excused himself and ushered the protesting Jezia away, closing the door behind them as the tale unfolded, whereas Arinel and Zier joined in with their confessions as it developed.

Coris ended the last leg by explaining the letter that orchestrated this evening's meeting, then retreated humbly to his place at Meya's side. In a row they stood, four naughty children before disapproving parents. Eyes darting, thumbs twiddling, toes shivering. The hearth cooked their backsides as mum and dad's appraising stares sapped heat from their guilt-ridden cheeks.

At last, the Hadrian brothers caught their parents' eyes. The Baroness sighed softly as the Baron nodded. Coris blew a breath of relief as ice claws loosened their grip over his heart. He turned to Meya's parents, who still looked faint.

"I understand. It is an awful lot to take in." He sighed. Taking Meya's for once clammy hand in his and doing his best to rub blood back to her fingers, he raised his face, his voice stronger now, "We're due in court with His Majesty tomorrow, but I'll leave Meya with you. She'll fill you in on the rest."

Mirram and Alanna shared a wide-eyed look. Meya squeezed his hand, then traipsed towards them.

"Anything I can't say, Coris?" She paused for one last question.

"Outside of The Axel, you can tell them anything." Coris cocked his head, then, smiling slightly, "Although they may not need everything. Am I right, Farmer Hild?"

All eyes followed Coris's lead to the gruff old farmer. Mirram raised his gaze, delving deep into those sharp silvery eyes, but his fear was not for himself.

"You sent her my cloak," said Coris quietly, "That was intended, wasn't it?"

"Dad?" Meya whispered, eyes rounding under her frown. Mirram lowered his eyes to his hands gripping his knees. They were trembling. He was prepared for everything. For who could've imagined all this would follow?

"I knew nothing, milord." He said gravely, shaking his head, "I just thought 'tis time she faces her destiny. Time I let her—choose."

He choked out. Meya's glowing eyes wavered with a dozen emotions, a dozen questions, but Coris cut across her with a deep bow.

"And I will be grateful for that as long as I live." He surfaced, his voice weak with emotion, "Seven years, I've loved her. I love her now, and I will for as long as there is breath in me. Whether you deem me worthy, whether she lays her hand upon mine, I will love her regardless."

"Lexi—" Meya breathed. Coris placated her with a tender smile, then strode over to offer his mother a hand.

"We'll leave you to it, then." He signaled his leave as the Baroness rose and took his arm, nodding to each of the Hilds in turn, "Goodnight, Meya. Farmer Hild. Alanna."

Mirram and Alanna hurriedly stood up and bowed in farewell. The Hadrians filed past them, disappearing through the doorway with a good many flutters of blood red.

After a little rummaging around, Mum returned with a tub of ointment for Meya. Dad said nothing as Meya made herself comfortable on the carpet, dabbing absently at her swollen lip, stealing nervous glances at him still on his chair. He stared into the heart of the fire with glazed eyes. The tangles of his mustache and beard masked the shape of his mouth, but not his hollowed cheeks.

"You're thinner, Dad."

For a moment he didn't seem inclined to show he'd heard, but then life returned to his eyes.

"And you're a dragon. And pregnant." He grunted. Meya drooped in shame.

"I'm sorry, Dad." She mustered her courage and crawled to his feet, pleading with tear-filled eyes, "I shouldn't have kept everything from you. I shouldn't have lain with Coris."

Dad still wouldn't tear his eyes from the fire. Meya hung her head, catching sight of his hand draped over his knee as she did. The same hand that had tidied her hair and patted her head, that day he saw her off on her sorry way. Had she imagined it, or was it darker and more lined than the last time she'd seen it?

She folded her jittery fingers, hesitant, then reached up and rested her hand atop his. He didn't shake it away like earlier. She sighed in relief.

"You shouldn't be working so hard, Dad. You're not that young anymore."

Silence. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to be popping and sputtering impatiently by this point, especially as Mum made no move to lend a soothing hand. Meya ground her teeth in annoyance. But if any of the seven Hild kids could drive Dad over the castle wall in one sentence, it was her. She unleashed her trump card—

"Listen, none of us dun have to work no more, Dad. Coris's rich. He'll give you everything you want. I—"

"Meya! Don't you dare—" Dad whipped around like a poked viper.

"Not—a single—coin, Meya!" Mum's nose was right before Meya's in a blink, a pointy finger stabbing deeper and deeper into Meya's ribs, "Do you want people to whisper that you marry him for his gold? Did you choose him for his gold?"

"No, Mum! I just—" Meya corrected wearily.

"Then we dun speak of this no more." Dad waved an exasperated hand. He met her eyes at last—in a glower, "Once you're married, you're a Hadrian. You belong to his family."

Meya rolled her eyes and huffed a breath of frustration. Drown them stupid patriarchy rules...

"Fine. But can I at least send you my stipend?" She haggled, defiant eyebrows raised. Mum and Dad met eyes. As Mum seemed to be bursting at the seams with laughter, Dad sighed and shook his head in surrender, grumbling darkly to himself. Meya caught Mum's mischievous blue eyes, and a few giggles leaked from her mouth.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Silence fell again as hilarity gave way to the simmering questions waiting to be answered, secrets frothing beneath their masks. Eyes on the carpet where they felt safest, Meya drew a deep breath then broke the spell,

"So, you knew all along I was the one who saved Coris?" Dad didn't budge, but his hands clenched into fists on his knees. Meya raised her gaze and leaned in, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dad swallowed, cracking under the pressure of her stubborn glare. His thumb slipped back and forth over his knuckles, rubbing them raw.

"Whatever it was, I reckon I wasn't ready for it. I'm not." He hung his head with a sigh, "The way you were, never thought you'd grow up so soon."

He smoothed his hand down his weary face, covering his heartbreak. Meya's own heart twisted painfully at the sight. She took his hand, pressed his dry, rough palm to her cheek.

"I'll always be your wee may beetle, Dad." She whispered, her voice choked with sobs. Dad's hand twitched as he brushed against her split lip. He ran his thumb over the bulge, regretting it.

"I'm sorry." He said softly, "D'you know why I struck you?"

Meya nodded as burrowed her nose into his palm, breathing in the reassuring scent of home. Dad sighed as he scratched soothing circles behind her ear. He slid down to join her on the floor, urging her into his arms.

"You told me you're doing honest hard work. I thought you'd changed. Then you brought me to this—" He cast his eyes about the room, then shook his head as if to forget the sight. "Like how you're always impressing the boys and Mistral with gold-gilded presents. Then you show up pregnant."

Meya curled herself into Dad's lap as his hairy arms tightened around her, shuddering just as hard as he was trembling. To think she'd once relished the thought of how Dad might react, that First Night. How could she have been so spiteful? So selfish?

"I thought I was wrong." Dad's voice sounded ancient, labored, as his hand fell through her hair, "Thought you haven't changed. Still same old, chasing riches and fame. Thought you've gone and sold your honor, your body, your purity, your own babe—"

"I'm sorry, Dad." Meya blubbered onto his chest. Dad patted her head as she cried.

"I'm proud of you, Meya." He said, his voice thick. Meya froze to stone at those words she'd never dared dream would ever be for her. Yet, salty tears still burned on her swollen lips. The lines on Dad's palm snagged on her hair as he combed it over and over. As his gentle words whispered like a cool wind at her earlobe.

"You're serving the people. Saving the downtrodden. And you look happier than I've ever seen you."

"Thanks, Dad." Meya squeaked through the swelling lump in her throat, nodding vigorously, "I am."

"Still, Baroness Hadrian?" Dad heaved a sigh, his chest shuddering with fear. Meya peeled herself from his embrace and held his woeful gaze.

"I love Coris, Dad. I want to see this through—with him." She grasped both his hands in hers, shaking them. Dad's eyes were bulging. He'd probably long since resigned himself to the fact he'd never hear her say those words in his life, considering she'd vowed at the age of three to never marry. At last, he blew a smaller sigh, adapting to the new reality, nodding,

"Long as you're sure that's what you want."

"Thank you, Dad." Meya threw her arms around his neck at that sort-of blessing and go-ahead, "I love you."

Dad patted her back awkwardly. Either he was simply embarrassed, or he was signaling Meya to loosen her hold and allow some air down his windpipe. When she finally released him, he pushed down on his knee and rose to his feet. Meya helped him back to his chair. He slumped down with a sigh of contentment, grateful for the spine support,

"Thought I could finally die with me eyes closed, then you gone got yerself pregnant."

"Agh, Dad! Dun say stuff like that." Meya whined as she plonked back down with a pout, shrugging, "It'll be fine. Coris's over the Heights—he's always wanted children. He'll make a great dad. And he's a nobleman. We won't starve."

Dad blew a sardonic snort.

"'Tis him being noble what's keeping me eyes open in the coffin."

He spat. Meya blinked at Dad's unexpected take, then realization washed over her, warm as the first wave of sunrise flowing down the hills at the horizon. She edged closer to Dad once more, wrapping her hands around his jittery knee.

"Dad, 'tis alright." She reassured him with a soft smile, shaking her head, "He ain't like that. From the First Night, I'm his wife. He swore I'm his first and last. And he hasn't had eyes for anyone else since."

"He ordered you to shut up in my face!" Dad snapped as he jabbed a shaking finger at the door, his stomping foot startling lovestruck Meya off his knee to her old grumpy self.

"He does that to everyone. I dinnae shut up back there, did I?" Meya retorted wryly as she righted herself, but Dad didn't explode at her backtalk like he usually would. His eyebrows lowered, his lips pursed tight, he leaned in with a grave whisper,

"Has he ever hurt you? Treated you like a peasant?"

A flash of cold burned her cheeks as blood drained from them. Meya averted her eyes from Dad's scrutiny. Her hand instinctively flew up to feel the side of her face still tingling with the phantom of Coris's slap.

"He struck me once. For putting me and our babe in danger." She mumbled, sneaking glances. Dad's eyes were wide, his mouth half-open—the blink of shock before fury set in. She quickly added, "He apologized. And he really regretted it. So I gave him another chance."

Meya locked eyes with Dad, pleading with bated breath, but he was still faraway. Mum covered her trembling lips with her hands, eyes watering as she gawked at Meya's healed cheek. Dad's hands balled into fists as his jaw clenched and his face paled bone white. He was far angrier than Meya had ever seen him.

"When was this?" He choked through gritted teeth. Meya shoved her frozen hands down her lap and rubbed feeling back into them, rocking back and forth.

"About a week ago? That thing with the cult in Hyacinth. There was a riot. I—almost died. Coris saved me." Her voice disappeared into her throat as she sunk like a turtle down its shell. She held her breath as Dad's fists continued to tremble, then stilled and unwound.

"I would've liked to know sooner." His hollow verdict left Meya haunted with shame. Whether he meant her almost dying or her being hurt by her husband—or both, she wasn't sure.

"Sorry..." She squeaked as she shrunk even lower. Dad sighed. His voice returned to normal, then, but still cold with fury.

"If he ever makes you feel—less, you can always come home. We'll take care of you and the babe. I won't have you stay for anything."

Meya dipped her head, weighed down by the depth of Dad's love for her. She understood now. Any other father, and Coris's wealth, power, intellect and infamy would've elicited some kind of response—be it weak-kneed relief, foaming-mouthed greed or crippling fear. But, back there, Dad didn't flinch a hair. His blessing could not be so simply bought. That was why Coris treated him with such respect.

For the first time in her life, Meya swelled with pride in her parents' pigheaded dignity she'd often bemoaned.

Mum left her chair and settled down beside Meya, her hand on Meya's level belly.

"The first three months is the most delicate. You must be very careful." She pinned Meya with sharp blue eyes as she hammered out each warning word, then brightened with a sweet smile, "You can ask me anything. And I mean anything. I'm no midwife, but I know a thing or two about pregnancy."

She cocked her head, her eyes sparkling with just as much affection as amusement. It was in that instant that the lid burst over the frothing turmoil within Meya. Hot tears bubbled up in her eyes then spilled down her cheeks. She sputtered and gasped, her mouth dry as sand even as she drowned in the festering whirlpool. Mum pulled her into her arms.

"Oh, my poor wee lass. Let it out. Let it all out." She cooed as her soothing, cool palm slid down Meya's back, and Meya felt as if she'd never aged a day over five.

"I'll always be here. You'll be alright. You'll give birth to the most beautiful babe in the three lands. And Lord Coris will take good care of you both. And your father and I will be there. And Maro and Marin and Morel and Marcus and Myron and Mistral. Everything will be alright. We're so happy for you, Meya. You're becoming a mother."

On and on she sang. The harder Meya cried, the tighter her arms held. She hadn't realized just how deathly scared of giving birth she was, how lonely she was, how confused and guilty and desperate. But she was fine now. She would be. She had Mum and Dad. When she needed them most, they were here for her. Even when she had nothing to offer to impress, nothing to show for her troubles. Not a single latt.

Jason was right, after all.