Damar didn't move at first. He stood his ground, a silent mountain of silver hair, pale skin, silver scales, and stubbornness. But then, Lyra—still perched on his shoulder—reached out and patted his cheek with a sticky hand.
"Papa," she murmured, her emerald eyes looking at him with that eerie, knowing gaze.
That did it. The lethal edge in Damar's posture softened, just a fraction. He looked at his daughter, let out a long, frustrated exhale, and finally turned his gaze away from Thalor.
"For now," he muttered.
"Great! 'For now' is a fantastic start!" I chirped, trying to ignore the way my thighs were screaming at me to sit down. "Noah, Fenric, grab the kids. Let's go get breakfast."
Noah was still grinning, Fenric was acting as the unofficial bodyguard, and Thalor was trailing at a respectful distance, looking like a man walking through a minefield.
How am I going to settle this mess? Geez.
