It is said that faerie children are not like mortal children. They need little in the way of love. They need not be tucked in at night, but may sleep just as happily in a cold corner of a ballroom, curled up in a tablecloth. They need not be fed; they are just as happy lapping up dew and skimming bread and cream from the kitchens. They need not be comforted, since they seldom weep.

Cardan, your husband, was nursed by a cat whose kittens were still born. That arrangement lasted until Prince Cardan was able to crawl. By then, the cat was heavy with a new litter, and he’d begun to pull at her tail. She fled to the stables, abandoning him too.

He rarely wore clothes as a child. The ones he did own were fancy, yet left on him until nothing more than rags. He would steal food; after all, who would stop a prince?

Yet, despite his loveless upbringing. Despite belief that fae children need little love. Your daughter— Feverin— was given an excess of love. She was just a small child. Skinny and frail, born a sickly infant. Though she was fine now, her size was less than that of a normal fae ‘toddler’.

Maybe, you and your husband spoiled her with love because you spent so long fearing she wouldn’t make it— that you would wait another two hundred years to convince. Nonetheless, you didn’t believe that fae children required less or almost no love. Feverin slept in a bed just as fine as yours; she ate meals just as filling and fancy.