Chapter 135: To Take Care Of Our Little Dragon

Eiravelle was exhausted and Qazaevelle kept crying. She had been rocking the child since this morning, her arms aching, her back stiff, her eyes heavy with the kind of tiredness that sleep could not fix.

The baby’s cries filled the room, a high, piercing wail that seemed to drill into her skull, and no matter what she did—rocking, bouncing, singing, feeding—nothing seemed to work. She had tried everything.

She had changed the baby’s cloth, had checked for fever, had walked the length of the room a hundred times, had hummed every lullaby she knew. And still Qazaevelle cried.

The morning had started with such promise. The sun had risen pale and golden over the mountains, and Eiravelle had woken to the soft cooing of her daughter, a sound that had filled her heart with joy. She had fed the baby, had changed her, had held her up to the window to show her the first light of dawn.

But then the cooing had turned to fussing, and the fussing had turned to crying, and the crying had turned to screaming, and nothing Eiravelle did could make it stop. The hours had blurred together, one bleeding into the next, and now it was afternoon, and she was still rocking, still bouncing, still humming, still praying for a moment of peace.

After Dawn, Ruthina, and Yvaine left to take care of their business, Eiravelle was left exhausted and dreading the long hours ahead in her bedroom. The room felt too large now, too quiet despite the baby’s cries, and the winter light that filtered through the curtains seemed pale and distant.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, reduced to glowing embers that cast flickering shadows across the walls, and the air was cool despite the warmth of the blankets piled on the bed. She had not eaten lunch. She had not even thought about eating lunch. Her stomach was empty, her head was pounding, and her whole body ached with the lingering pain of childbirth.

Her breasts were sore from feeding, her stitches were pulled with every step she took, and her back screamed with a pain that radiated down her legs and into her feet. But she could not rest. She could not even sit down for more than a few minutes before the baby’s cries pulled her back to her feet.

"Baby, please~ please~" Eiravelle kept rocking the child in her arms, her voice soft and desperate, and the sound of the crying was really grating on her nerves. But it didn’t make her angry or mad. She was not frustrated with her daughter because she could never be frustrated with her daughter.

She was just exhausted, bone-deep and soul-deep, since she had just come from giving birth. Her body was still healing, still bleeding, still trying to knit itself back together, and she had no energy left to give. But she gave it anyway. She gave everything she had, because Qazaevelle needed her, because Qazaevelle was her whole world.

She walked to the window and back, her movements slow and mechanical. She bounced gently, her arms aching with the weight of the baby. She sang a lullaby, her voice was cracking on the high notes.

She tried feeding again, but Qazaevelle refused the breast, turning her head away and crying harder. She checked the baby’s cloth again, but it was clean. She felt the baby’s forehead, but there was no fever. She did everything she could think of, and nothing worked.

"Please, baby, please," she whispered, and her voice was thick with tears she was trying not to shed. She did not want to cry. She did not want to admit that she was failing.

She was a parent now, and parents were supposed to be strong, were supposed to know what to do, were supposed to be able to soothe their children. But she did not feel strong. She did not know what to do. And she could not soothe her daughter, no matter how hard she tried.

And then Qazaethel entered the room and saw Eiravelle’s figure. She was standing by the window, her back to the door, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and she was rocking the baby with slow, mechanical movements, as though she were running on nothing but instinct and willpower.

Her hair was loose and tangled, her gown was rumpled, and there were dark circles under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and endless worry. She looked small, somehow. She looked fragile. The afternoon light caught the tears on her cheeks, and Qazaethel’s heart clenched at the sight.

"Love? What’s wrong?" Qazaethel asked as she approached, her voice soft and gentle. She had just returned from a meeting with her council, had been gone for hours, and she had been thinking about Eiravelle the whole time.

She had been worried, had been anxious to get back, and now, seeing her omega like this, her worry deepened into something sharper, something that made her chest ache. She crossed the room in quick strides, her boots soft on the carpet, and she stopped just behind Eiravelle, her hand hovering over her shoulder.

"Ever since they left, she can’t stop crying," Eiravelle answered, and her voice was thin, strained, worn out. She did not turn to look at Qazaethel. She kept her gaze fixed on the baby, on the tiny face that was red and scrunched up with distress, and she felt tears prick at her own eyes.

She was so tired. "I’ve tried everything. I’ve fed her, changed her, rocked her, sang to her. Nothing works. I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know what to do."

Qazaethel sighed and nodded. She understood. She had been there before, with her other children, had felt the same exhaustion, the same helplessness, the same desperate need to make the crying stop. "Come, let me carry her," she said, and she reached out her arms. Her voice was gentle but firm, the voice of someone who was used to taking charge, used to fixing things, and used to making everything okay.

Eiravelle was taken aback. She turned to look at Qazaethel, her eyes wide with surprise. "But..." she started, and her voice trailed off. She did not know what to say. She did not want to let go of the baby. She did not want to admit that she could not do this on her own.

She had carried Qazaevelle for eight months, had given birth to her, had cared for her every moment since she was born. Letting go felt like a failure, like an admission that she was not enough.

"Eivy... Please... Listen to me. You should be recovering, not getting exhausted like this. And I’m sure you haven’t eaten lunch yet, am I right?" Qazaethel asked, and her voice was gentle but firm. She was not angry. She was not disappointed. She was simply worried, simply concerned, simply a mate who loved her omega and wanted to take care of her.

Eiravelle couldn’t help but lean her forehead on Qazaethel’s chest and nod with a whimper. The contact was warm, comforting, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease, just a little. "Y-Yes... Because Qazaevelle kept crying, and I am worried she might be sick or I don’t know," she said, and Qazaethel could hear the worry mixing with exhaustion in Eiravelle’s voice. The words came out broken, fractured, and Qazaethel felt her heart clench.

"I know, you’re worried. Let me try," Qazaethel said, and she gently took the child from Eiravelle’s arms. The baby was still crying, her tiny fists flailing, her face red and wet with tears.

Qazaethel cradled her against her chest, her large hands gentle and sure, and she began to rock her, her movements slow and steady. She hummed softly, a melody that was low and rumbling, a dragon’s lullaby that vibrated through her chest and into the baby’s tiny body.

A few moments passed, and the child started to calm down. Her cries faded to whimpers, her fists unclenched, and her eyes slowly closed, her breathing evening out into the soft, steady rhythm of sleep.

The room was quiet now, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire and the gentle hum of Qazaethel’s lullaby. Eiravelle sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, her whole body sagging with relief. She raised her gaze to smile at Qazaethel, and there was gratitude in her eyes, and love, and something that looked almost like wonder.

"How did you do that?" Eiravelle asked, and her voice was soft, almost awed. She had tried everything, had done everything she could think of, and nothing had worked. But Qazaethel had simply taken the baby in her arms and hummed, and now Qazaevelle was sleeping peacefully, her tiny face relaxed, her little mouth slightly open.

Qazaethel smiled, a small, knowing smile. "She knows my voice. She heard it for eight months while she was in your womb. It comforts her." She said, and her voice was gentle, warm. She looked down at the baby in her arms, at the tiny face and the red wine hair and the golden eyes that were closed in sleep, and she felt her heart swell with a love so fierce it almost hurt.

"I have commanded the servants to bring your meal here, and you will eat as much as your body needs, no limit," she said, and her voice was firm, brooking no argument.

"Haha, I couldn’t imagine that I’ll see you this day with our baby, making her sleep and safe in your arms," Eiravelle said, and her voice was soft, almost dreamy. She had never imagined this, not in her wildest dreams.

She had never imagined that she would be here, in the dragon wing, with a baby in her arms and a sovereign by her side. She had never imagined that she would be loved like this, protected like this, cherished like this.

Qazaethel softened, her expression tender, her eyes warm. "Me too, love. Thank you for everything, and for bringing Qazaevelle into our lives," she said, and she leaned down to kiss Eiravelle’s forehead. The kiss was soft and lingering, a benediction, a promise, a declaration of love that needed no words.

"Hehe... Qaz, you promise me that you will love Qazaevelle no matter what happens in the future, okay?" Eiravelle said, and her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was something underneath it—something serious, something urgent, something that Qazaethel could not quite name.

Qazaethel softened even more, her eyes shining with love. "Of course... She is our little dragon, and we’ll take care of her and love her," she replied, and her voice was steady, certain, a vow that she would keep until the end of her days.

More tears streamed down from Eiravelle’s eyes, and she chuckled in happiness, the sound bright and watery and full of joy. "Love, why are you crying? Is something hurt?" Qazaethel worriedly asked, and Eiravelle shook her head, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand.

"Haha, no. I’m just so happy, you know. Don’t mind me... I’m just so happy to know that you will keep Qazaevelle safe no matter what," Eiravelle said, and Qazaethel sat beside her on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in her arms.

"Why wouldn’t I? And don’t say it like I’m only gonna take care of Qazaevelle alone... I’ll also protect and keep you safe no matter what. I promise you that. Even if you grow old or not, I will protect you and love you alone," Qazaethel vowed, and she leaned down to give Eiravelle a kiss. The kiss was gentle, tender, a seal on a promise that she intended to keep for the rest of her life.

Then suddenly, the baby stirred and cooed a little, her tiny mouth opening in a yawn, and Eiravelle and Qazaethel both turned their attention to her. "Oh? Hahaha, she knew we’re giving each other a smooch," Qazaethel teasingly said, and both of them chuckled as they heard that. The sound of their laughter filled the room, warm and bright and full of love, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

This simple joy, simple time, the happiness of this simple domesticity was what Eiravelle always wanted. She had dreamed of this, had hoped for this, had never dared to believe that it could be real.

A home. A family. A lover who loved her. A child who was safe and healthy and loved. It was everything she had ever wanted, everything she had ever dreamed of, and she was living it now, in this moment, with the person she loved most in the world.

But once again, Qazaethel didn’t see the frown on Eiravelle’s face. She didn’t see the way Eiravelle’s smile faltered, just for a moment, before returning. She didn’t see the shadow that passed through Eiravelle’s eyes, the flicker of worry, of fear, of something that she was hiding. She didn’t know what Eiravelle was thinking, and she might never know until it was too late.