Chapter 74: Ch 74: Kites and Dragons

Ch 74: Kites and Dragons

The morning sun had climbed higher, warming the stone of the courtyard. The air smelled of baked bread from the kitchens and the clean, damp scent of dew on cobblestones. It was a day for playing.

After breakfast, they came out into the light hand-in-hand. Abel’s large, warm hand engulfed Orion’s slender one, their fingers laced together. In his other hand, Abel clutched his new wooden dragon and the beloved, slightly worn horse. He carried them carefully, as if they were precious scepters.

Orion held the new kite Chase had sent. It was beautifully made, shaped like a bird of prey with wide, painted wings in shades of brown and gold. The tail ribbons, long and sky-blue, fluttered softly in the gentle breeze.

The children were already there. The courtyard was a riot of joyful chaos. Willem sat cross-legged on a low wall, frowning intently at a small, intricate puzzle box that had come in the gifts. Lissy was nearby, carefully arranging a set of tiny, painted wooden animals in a semi-circle around Lady Rag, who was presiding over the gathering like a tiny, cloth queen.

Toben was the center of the most energetic activity. He was wielding one of the practice swords, a blunt, lightweight thing perfect for a child. He was dueling an invisible foe, his movements a wild, enthusiastic flail accompanied by loud "Ha!" and "Take that!" sounds. Corin, the youngest guard, had been roped into supervising and was dodging Toben’s enthusiastic swings with good-natured grins.

Millie, however, was the commander of it all. She stood on an upturned barrel, her red braids shining like copper in the sun. In her hands was the other kite—a vibrant, simple diamond shape in red and yellow. She was trying to instruct Jax, who looked comically large and awkward holding the ball of string.

"No, you great lump! You have to run *into* the wind, not away from it! And let the string out *slowly*!" she barked, hands on her hips.

Jax, ever-obedient, nodded seriously and began lumbering in the opposite direction, the kite dragging pathetically behind him.

It was into this scene that Abel and Orion walked.

Heads turned. Play paused.

Toben froze mid-swing, his practice sword pointing at the sky. Willem looked up from his puzzle. Lissy hugged Lady Rag closer, her big eyes watching. Millie hopped down from her barrel, forgetting Jax and the kite entirely.

A wide, sunny grin spread across Abel’s face. "We brought the bird-kite!" he announced, holding up his dragon as if introducing it. "And the dragon!"

The spell broke. The children swarmed them, a chattering, excited flock.

"Can we fly it? Can we?"

"Did you sleep well, Brother Abel?"

"My lord Orion, look! This box has a secret compartment!"

"Did you see my sword?"

Orion laughed, letting go of Abel’s hand to ruffle Toben’s hair. "I see it. Very fearsome." He held up the bird-kite. "And yes, we can try to fly it. But we need more wind than this, I think."

Abel was immediately drawn into the circle. He knelt down, placing his horse carefully on the ground beside him. He held out the dragon to Lissy. "See? He has scales. And his wings come off." He demonstrated, gently detaching the cleverly carved, peg-fitted wings. Lissy’s eyes went round with wonder. She reached out a tentative finger to touch the dragon’s snout.

Willem approached, pushing his spectacles up his nose. "The aerodynamic properties of that kite appear sound," he said, pointing at the bird. "But the surface area-to-weight ratio may require a sustained gust velocity of at least eight knots for stable ascent."

Abel blinked. He looked at Orion.

"He means it needs a good strong wind," Orion translated with a smile.

"Oh," Abel said, nodding sagely. Then he turned to Millie. "Did your kite fly?"

Millie scowled, shooting a look at Jax, who was now tangled in string. "Not with *him* on the other end. It’s like flying a brick."

Jax looked sheepish. "I’m better at catching things than throwing them up, Miss Millie."

"Here," Orion said, taking charge. He handed the bird-kite’s string to Abel. "You hold this. Millie, you take the frame. When I say, you run that way," he pointed, "and lift it up. Abel, you let the string run out fast. Ready?"

They formed a little team. Millie, clutching the kite, looked fiercely determined. Abel held the string ball with intense concentration, his tongue peeking out between his lips. Orion stood behind him, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Now, Millie!"

Millie took off like a shot, her small legs pumping. She held the kite high above her head, racing across the cobblestones. Abel, watching her, started letting the string zip through his fingers.

For a moment, the kite dipped and wobbled. Then a merciful gust of wind swept through the courtyard. The painted bird caught it, gave a hopeful lurch, and soared.

A collective cheer went up from the children. Toben dropped his sword to clap. Willem adjusted his glasses, tracking the flight path with analytical interest. Lissy jumped up and down, Lady Rag bouncing in her arms.

"It’s flying!" Abel yelled, his face alight with pure joy. He looked from the kite dancing against the blue sky, back to Orion, his green eyes shining. "Look, Myorion! It’s flying!"

Orion’s heart soared with it. He squeezed Abel’s shoulder. "You did it."

Abel shook his head, his gaze fixed on the soaring spot of colour. "*We* did it."

For the next hour, the courtyard belonged to them. They took turns with the kites. Abel proved surprisingly adept at keeping the bird-kite aloft, his large hands gentle on the string, his instincts for wind and tension somehow still intact. Toben and Jax got the red-and-yellow kite into the air after several comedic failures, with Corin cheering them on.

Willem finally solved his puzzle box with a satisfying *click*, revealing a hidden compartment containing six polished river stones. He presented one each to Orion, Abel, and the other children with solemn pride.

Lissy, emboldened, let Abel show her how the dragon’s wings clicked back on. She spent a long time making the dragon "talk" to her collection of wooden animals, its voice (provided by Abel) a friendly, rumbly growl.

Abel played with them all. He dueled Toben with a stick, pretending to be defeated with dramatic groans. He listened patiently to Willem’s explanation of why clouds were white. He let Millie boss him around during a game of tag, chasing her with exaggerated, stomping steps that made her shriek with laughter.

Orion watched from a stone bench, his earlier melancholy soothed by the sun and the simple, beautiful scene. This was the gift Chase had truly given them: a morning of unfettered, normal joy. No politics. No pitying stares. Just a man, his husband, and a bunch of children playing with toys under an open sky.

Eventually, the wind died down. The kites were gathered, the strings carefully wound. The new toys were collected into a happy pile near the bench where Orion sat.

Breathless and flushed, the children began to slow. Toben collapsed dramatically onto the grass, declaring he was "starving to death." Willem sat next to him, meticulously arranging his river stones in order of size. Lissy curled up with Lady Rag and the wooden dragon, her eyelids beginning to droop.

Millie, still buzzing with energy, decided one last sprint was in order. She took off across the courtyard, her braids flying behind her, aiming for the water pump for a drink.

As she ran, her sharp eyes, which missed nothing, swept over the collection of toys resting near Orion’s feet.

Her gaze landed on the dragon.

It was lying on its side, its beautifully carved body gleaming in the sun. Right beside it, Abel’s old wooden horse was lying down too, as if resting after the morning’s adventures.

The dragon’s head was tilted. Its open, toothy mouth was not facing away. It was touching the horse’s muzzle. Not aggressively. Gently. Almost... affectionately. The two wooden toys were nose-to-nose, sharing a silent, intimate moment in the grass.

Millie skidded to a halt.

Her lips parted.

Her eyes widened.

She gasped.

A loud, sharp, utterly shocked gasp.

The sound cut through the lazy afternoon quiet. Toben sat up. Willem looked over. Lissy’s eyes snapped open.

They followed Millie’s frozen, pointing finger.

Their eyes landed on the dragon and the horse.

Toben’s mouth fell open. Willem pushed his spectacles up, blinked, and then his own eyes went comically wide behind the lenses. Lissy clapped a hand over her own mouth, her doll-like face a mask of scandalized surprise.

Abel, who had been wandering over towards Orion, wiping his brow, heard Millie’s gasp. He saw the children’s reactions. He stopped, his head tilting in curiosity.

He looked at Millie, whose face was a picture of theatrical shock.

He looked at Toben, who was now mimicking her, his hands plastered over his own cheeks.

He looked at Willem, who was staring with academic astonishment.

He looked at Lissy, who was peeking through her fingers.

They were all looking at the toys. And they were all... gasping. Or covering their mouths to stop themselves.

Abel didn’t understand. What was shocking? The dragon was next to the horse. They were friends. He’d left them like that.

But the children’s reaction was infectious. It was a game. A new game of surprised faces.

A slow, delighted grin spread across Abel’s face. He loved games.

He puffed out his cheeks. He widened his own green eyes until they were round. He looked at the toys, then back at the children, mimicking their exaggerated expressions.

Then, wanting to join in properly, he took a deep, dramatic breath.

And he gasped too.

A huge, loud, sincere gasp that echoed in the courtyard, born not from understanding, but from pure, unadulterated joy at being part of the moment.

He stood there, gasping dramatically at his own wooden toys, completely missing the romantic scandal unfolding at his feet, but utterly in sync with the children’s playful conspiracy of surprise.

Orion, watching from the bench, saw it all. He saw the innocent, intimate pose of the toys. He saw the children’s hilariously scandalized reactions, their minds no doubt spinning with whispered tales of secret dragon-horse romances. And he saw his husband, his beautiful, guileless Abel, joining in with a gasp so genuine it was heartbreakingly sweet.

He didn’t laugh out loud. He just leaned back against the sun-warmed stone, a soft, private smile touching his lips. The morning had been for kites and running. This quiet, ridiculous, perfect moment was for gasping at the love stories of wooden toys, and for a man who, in his simplicity, understood the joy of shared surprise better than anyone.

In the courtyard, the children stared at the gasping heir. Millie’s shock melted into a grin. Toben started giggling uncontrollably. Even Willem cracked a small smile.

The dragon and the horse rested nose-to-nose, their secret meeting witnessed and celebrated by a court of gasping children and one blissfully unaware king.