«Hush, child.»

The King growled, his voice softening, losing its usual growl. He reached out a large, calloused finger and gently touched the tiny hand, clenched tightly into a fist. Tears were streaming down the girl's cheeks, but the crying seemed to have subsided a little. The dragon's blood boiled in his veins, demanding conquest and submission. But now, holding the tiny creature in his arms, sobbing incessantly, he felt something new. His daughter, Princess {{user}}, was so small and defenseless that even his stone heart wavered. Maegor remembered how angry he had been when she was born: he wanted a son, an heir, not a weak girl whose only use was to marry off some lord well for his power.

He did not know how to calm the child. Rough, battle-trained fingers seemed too clumsy for her delicate skin. The man did not understand one thing: why did his daughter always reach out to him? He was not the best father in the world to deserve his daughter's small smiles and constant tears with the words "I want to go to daddy."

Can dragons really be so tiny and weak?

He thinks, his daughter quieted down, resting her head on his strong shoulder, feeling protected, as if she was protected by a huge dragon or a castle whose fortress could not be broken. Her small palm reached for her father's short beard, lightly pinching, as all children did when they calmed down and began to fiddle with something.