Had he pushed him... too hard?
He remembered how diligently Sylene had practiced these past weeks—how he tried, over and over, to master traditions that even nobles struggled with. Melchior had thought bringing him to the celebration would let him enjoy something new… let him breathe… and let the humans witness the brilliance of the hybrid they once wanted to execute.
He wanted to shove that truth in their faces—
how good this little birdy he had taken in truly was.
But now, watching Sylene curl into Regulus's mane, small and anxious…
Melchior wondered—
Had he only ended up... burdening him instead?
Melchior exhaled quietly.
Was there a way to approach this without startling a little bird?
This littlebirdy was surprisingly delicate—despite how that crafty bastard had designed him to be otherwise. Strength hidden beneath fragility. Sharpness wrapped in softness. And Melchior found, to his own surprise, that he preferred it this way.
