Azel looked at Anya... for so reason she was feeling very cute.
’dusa and Edna gave a head pat fetish,’ he thought with a sigh as he walked to her.
dusa was still clinging stubbornly to his sleeve, but even that didn’t stop him from reaching out.
His hand rested gently on Anya’s head, fingers weaving through strands of hair that looked wiry at first glance but proved him wrong the mont he touched them.
It was softer than it looked — softer even than dusa’s silky locks, in its own way.
A subtle warmth clung to it, and the texture reminded him of snow lting between his fingers.
His brows lifted slightly, and he found himself stroking her hair longer than he intended.
Anya lowered her face, almost shy, almost expectant.
For soone who usually radiated manic energy as of late, there was nothing but a quiet trembling in her shoulders, as though she was giving him silent permission.
Azel chuckled. "Did you like it?"
She peeked up at him, cheeks tinted red.
Her sharp grin, the mischievous glint that always seed to spark in her eyes, was nowhere to be found.
Instead, she looked... normal.
Vulnerable.
Almost heartbreakingly so.
"If my prince would allow it," Anya whispered, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, "I’d like you to pat my head anyti you feel like."
Azel’s lips curved.
There was a comfort in seeing her like this and he smiled warmly.
"Of course," he said warmly. "I want to rest now, though."
Without ceremony, he flopped onto the bed.
His body sunk into the mattress, exhaustion tugging at his limbs.
Almost instantly, dusa scrambled onto the bed after him, sliding neatly into the crook of his right side, clinging like she had always belonged there.
Her soft hair brushed against his chin as she buried herself against him.
Azel let his arm wrap protectively around her waist without thought.
Anya lingered, staring at them with envy burning in her chest.
That envious warmth tasted bitter — if Dante hadn’t separated her from Azel all those years ago... would she have been the one naturally curled into his embrace now?
Would she have had the right to be his without question?
Her lips pressed together tightly, but her heart ached.
She wanted that warmth.
"Hey," Azel’s voice broke her spiral.
His crimson eyes peeked over dusa’s hair, looking at her with a mischievous softness that made her breath hitch. "How about you join us? If there’s no trou—"
He hadn’t even finished when Anya leapt onto the bed like a starved cat.
Her arms circled his torso tightly, her face pressing against the left side of his chest.
She clung to him as though afraid he’d vanish if she loosened her grip.
’It’s the sa feeling like when we cuddled,’ She thought reminiscing of the ti they were children.
Azel, on the other hand, simply smiled.
He pulled her closer with his left arm, completing the circle.
dusa on one side, Anya on the other — he was sandwiched between two won who looked to him with equal desperation.
A strange ease washed over him.
And then, closing his eyes, he slipped away — not into dreams, but into the familiar plane where Kyone waited.
He needed to refine the next levels of the Dragon Saint’s Swordsmanship after all.
...
So hours later everyone was seated at a long dinner table, forks and spoons in hand, anticipation crackling like a festival about to begin.
Azel blinked at the sight before him and nearly snorted.
Drew, broad as a bear, stood proudly at the head of the table.
Sohow, the man had decided to wear a fluffy apron covered in wolf fur trimmings and, to complete the image, a hairnet stretched comically across his wild mane of hair.
Azel pressed his lips together.
The apron didn’t fit him.
The hairnet didn’t fit him.
But judging by the silent faces around him, no one else dared say it out loud either.
Drew carried himself with the authority of a general, even as he ladled steaming soup into bowls.
With practiced motions, he dropped a plate in front of Azel.
The rich aroma hit imdiately.
The broth was a deep red, steam curling upwards, and atop it floated tender slices of wolf at that shimred faintly from the cold’s preservation.
The scent was intoxicating — spiced with spices made Azel’s throat wet instantly.
It was as if the very air conspired to remind him of hunger.
[Hey, snag so of that and bring it up~] Nyala’s playful voice coiled in his head.
Kyone humd in agreent. [Don’t keep us waiting.]
’Fine, let’s taste it first,’ Azel thought, grabbing the spoon.
The first sip hit his tongue, and the world tilted.
’Whoa—!’
[Mhm~] Kyone practically purred.
[Delicious. Yessss, this is what I like!] Nyala squealed.
The flavors layered beautifully.
The heat of spice, the gay richness of the wolf at, the subtle tang of herbs — every note sang together like an orchestra.
That was why he loved eating food in this world, it was far better than Hotdogs on Earth.
Before he could stop himself, Azel’s hand dropped the spoon.
The clatter drew every gaze at the table.
"What?" Drew frowned, worry creasing his brow. "Did you not like it?"
But before the man could spiral, Azel rolled up his sleeves.
His hands wrapped firmly around the bowl, and, to the collective shock of everyone present, he lifted it to his mouth.
He drank greedily, swallowing the soup in great gulps, chewing the chunks of at with audible satisfaction.
The broth spilled past his lips, but he didn’t care.
He devoured it like a starving beast, until the bowl was empty.
Dropping it onto the table with a sharp clack, Azel stared straight at Drew.
His crimson eyes glowed faintly.
"More," he said simply.
Minutes later, Azel leaned back in his chair with a groan.
His once-taut stomach was now stretched painfully full, a small bulge visible under his shirt.
He cradled a glass of water, sipping slowly, trying to ease the weight in his belly.
Across the table, Anya giggled into her hand. "My prince, you’ve overfed yourself."
dusa joined her, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she leaned against his shoulder.
Azel, however, only smirked to himself. ’Heh. I managed to snag so for us to enjoy later.’
[I love you!!!!] Nyala’s euphoric shout rattled his head.
[That’s my Esteed Husband,] Kyone added proudly.
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