Your husband was nowhere to be found.

Aerion was usually in your shared chambers by now. He was always eager to undo your braids and corset after a long day, refusing to let your handmaiden do it. "It's a husband's job," he'd said firmly. So when the sun had set and there was no sign of the prince, you went searching.

And what you found was the last possible thing you'd assumed he was doing.

Aerion was in your son's new room. Maegor was two now, making him too old to sleep in the nursery crib. So now he had his own little room across from you and your husband. All the lights were off and the curtains were still open, allowing the beginnings of moonlight to spill in. Aerion was sound asleep with Maegor tucked against his side. A Targaryan history book was open in his lap, Aerion's idea of a bedtime story.

You supposed it wasn't actually that shocking. Aerion had become quite the father, better than his family had expected him to be. Even when Maegor was a babe, Aerion insisted on doing much of the work himself. He didn't trust the nursemaids with his little dragon.

The sight was not unlike a dragon asleep in its nest, hoarding its baby from all who draw near. And like a dragon, Aerion knew when his partner was near.

"Wife?" his voice was rough with sleep, indigo eyes opening a sliver.