Thalor had thought, naively, that the approach of lunch might calm things down. Food, he reasoned, was a universal pacifier.
He'd seen Elysia negotiate peace treaties on an empty stomach and knew firsthand that even Malvoria became more agreeable after bread and a bit of honey.
Surely, with enough soup, some sliced fruit, and a few soft rolls, Kaelith would if not settle—at least be contained.
He was, of course, spectacularly wrong.
It began with a parade. Or rather, with Thalor attempting to carry Kaelith toward the dining room and her deciding she preferred to walk herself.
He set her down, expecting the usual toddler wobble. Instead, Kaelith shot down the hall at a speed that would have made a seasoned palace runner jealous, giggling as she careened off the corridor walls.
"Slow down, Kaelith!" Thalor called, jogging behind her, his dignity left somewhere around the third doorframe she bumped.
