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Gregory was deep in the weekly agricultural report, a dull but informative task he usually reserved for quiet moments during his Thursday office hours, when there was a rap on the frame of his open door.
When he looked up, Gerald was standing in the doorway. He'd been wearing a suit when they'd seen each other at breakfast, but now he was in a shiny running shirt that read "THIS IS BORING" and a pair of shorts.
"Spill soup on your dress shirt?" Gregory asked, leaning back from his desk.
"Planning to wear this to my next budget meeting," Gerald replied.
"You don't attend budget meetings."
"I'm not invited. Probably because of the shirt," Gerald said with a grin. It was a charming grin in a handsome face, but Gregory had known his cousin since birth, and could see faint signs of strain in it. "No, I was going to go for a run. Thought I'd see if you want to come along."
"At three in the afternoon? We're running tomorrow morning, aren't we?" he asked.
"Yeah, I was thinking just a quick out and back. Up through the Daskaz estate, maybe."
That was a short run compared to their usual, but it was a trail, not a road, and hilly. "You bitch about that one whenever you have the wind to talk," Gregory pointed out.
"It's fast, though. If you have to work that's fine. Just had some energy to burn, you know how it is."
Gregory, who had done track and field at boarding school and kept up running since then for stress relief, did know how it was. Gerald, who had only taken it up seriously in his thirties, claimed to hate it -- just that he hated it less than any other workout. Aside from their early morning runs together, he generally only ran with Alanna. Who, admittedly, was still recovering her stamina after having Serafina. Gregory fixed him with a curious look, and he deflated a little.
"Look, some stuff's going on and if I don't go for a run about it my other option is drinking about it," he said. "I'll be fine on my own, it's just that Al doesn't like me trail-running without a partner."
He slipped the drinking in casually, but it was the red flag Gregory had been watching for.
"No, I'm not doing anything urgent," he said, standing. "I'm due in the residence at four-thirty to take over with the kids from Eddie, but that should be plenty of time. Let me change, meet you in the kitchen garden in ten?"
Jerry nodded, looking pleased, and bounded away. Gregory locked his computer, then his office, and hurried up to the residence, where Eddie was sitting on the sofa, supervising the twins as they napped in their bassinet.
"I'm not here," Greg said softly, bending to kiss him as he passed. "Just getting changed."
"What's up?" Eddie asked, getting up and following him into the bedroom.
"Ger wants to go running."
"At three in the afternoon?"
"He's having a moment. I didn't get the specifics," Gregory explained, pulling sweat-shorts on. Eddie tossed him a workout shirt. "Thanks. I'll be back to take over before dinner."
"If he needs the time, just text me. Joan and I can manage the twins if we have to."
"Thanks, but we'll keep it short. Love you."
"Love you back, you're both insane," said Eddie, who by his own admission only ran from the cops.
Downstairs, Gerald was bouncing lightly on his toes in the kitchen garden, chatting in French with Simon, who was harvesting from the basil plants. Gregory gave Simon a wave, then started his run tracker as Gerald joined him, and off they went.
The trail started at a bend in the road, west of the palace, then cut northwest through a corner of the grounds and passed through a gap in the low stone boundary wall that marked the border of the Daskaz estate. From there it veered north to skirt the Daskaz vineyards, turned west again along a ridge overlooking the cultivated land, and passed into a hardwood grove in a series of small but steep hills and dips. The highest point was just clear of the trees, and looked down on the main road and the coast beyond. It was a pretty view, and on clear days you could see the train from southern France pass the border into their country.
Gerald was not the most even-keeled runner; he tended to start at a sprint and took a little time to settle into a more sustainable pace. Gregory followed the pace he eventually set easily, but they were both sweating by the time they emerged from the treeline. They slowed as they came to the overlook, and stopped to stretch and rest by a marble outcrop, convenient for sitting. Ger tossed himself down, catching his breath. Gregory sat next to him, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. There was silence for a moment as they rested and contemplated the view.
"So," Greg said gently. "You want to try something revolutionary and novel, like talking about it?"
Ger laughed a little, bending forward to lace his fingers across the back of his neck, head nearly between his knees.
"I hate running so much," he mumbled. "Hating running gives me a break from my own mind."
"Sounds like you needed it."
"Yeah." Gerald sighed. "You ever just feel like an alien?"
It was a startling question, coming from him, and it surprised Gregory into serious consideration.
"Not sure," he said. Gerald turned to look at him, then sat up, letting his arms rest on his knees. "I never think of it like that, but sometimes it's a little isolating, being king. Nobody but Father really knows what it's like -- even Eddie and Joan don't see all of it. Al maybe gets closest. And it was weird being at university after I came out -- not a lot of gay foreign princes at the London School of Economics. It makes you an object of curiosity sometimes. But I always think of those things as...I don't know, social problems, not me problems."
Gerald made a thoughtful noise.
"Why, do you?" Greg asked. "Feel like an alien?"
"I never used to. I mean, everyone gets lonely sometimes or whatnot, but I was a popular kid, and I have plenty of friends. I think people mostly like me. And most of my job is socializing, even now."
"Which you're pretty good at."
"Thanks. It's...so I wanted to do some more reading about brains, like how they work, what we know about how neurodiversity works," Gerald said. He sounded frustrated.
"Seems like not much," Gregory observed.
"No kidding. I just...wanted to make sure if Sera's struggling, we catch it. But I don't want to be the weird alarmist helicopter dad, seeing problems that aren't there. She's a baby, it's not like it'd be visible for a while anyway. So I thought, the more I know, the less I'll get it wrong."
"Not a perfect rule, but generally true," Gregory said. "Informal family motto, really. Fortuna segua sapienza."
"Fortune follows wisdom?"
"Fortune must follow wisdom."
"Fucking imperative case," Gerald said. Greg laughed. "Yes. I feel like if I want to get any answers I'm going to have to become some kind of amateur neurologist."
"No reason you can't. Go back to school, get a degree. Royal Shivadh University has programs that would be a good start. Or do adult learning, you don't have to actually get the diploma."
"No. Well, maybe, but probably not, you know I'm not very academic." Ger exhaled. "It's just when you read about how we think, how other people think, how they react to things, you start to see how most humans behave, and if you don't see yourself in that..."
Gregory nodded. "Alien."
"Yeah. And it keeps hitting, it's like a punch you don't see coming. I don't think of myself as disabled," he added, somewhat drily. "I have so much privilege. Straight rich cis man. Literally nobility, only child. And I know how other people see me because of it -- charming but flighty. Likable but not dependable."
"That's changing, though."
"Doesn't even -- well, obviously it matters, I shouldn't say that. But what I mean is...I'm not used to being not-normal, for whatever weird idea we all have about what normal is. I was reading today after lunch, about how most brains work, even some ADHD brains, and it's just...not how I work. I'm wired differently, somehow. I suddenly felt like I was watching humanity through one-way glass. It's new, feeling that way, and it just showed up and sat there."
It didn't sound completely unfamiliar; his own anxiety at times could be like that, crouching on his shoulders like a grotesque. Gregory considered this. "I see why your other option was drinking."
"I'm not proud of only having two coping mechanisms, but...." Gerald gestured haplessly. "All these handbooks and theories of mind and systems of regulation, not a lot of it seems functional. For me, anyway. Because apparently I'm an alien."
Gerald was a year older than him, and had always been bigger; there were times in their twenties, especially, when he'd been the comforting adult, the one who was out in the world while Gregory was still in school, the one who showed up to help him get through tough moments. The one who, when Gregory had come out to him, had said, "I knew," and made it feel normal. Ger had been the cool one, always, not him. It was weird to reach out, to pull Ger's head over onto his shoulder and be the one to offer comfort.
"Changeling," he said. Gerald made a confused noise. "You're not an alien, you're a changeling. Weird little fae kid raised by people who didn't quite know what to do with him, but still their kid. Still my cool cousin."
"But we're dads now," Ger said. "I can't be so crazy I can't raise this kid, Greg, if I fuck her up -- "
"Ger. Come on. Everyone messes up with their kids one way or another. Anyway, that's two different problems."
"Two problems?" Gerald leaned back, staring at him. "I have two problems now?"
Gregory held up two fingers. "One, you don't want to be so messed up you pass it down to your daughter. Two, you don't know what to do if she has ADHD too."
"This is not making me feel better."
"I wasn't finished. Just the fact that you want to do right by her, actively, is well out ahead of a lot of people. Uncle Eitan loved you and wanted to give you a good life but he wasn't like, trying to. He wasn't putting work in on it, you know?"
Gerald nodded, digesting this.
"So you're already doing better than Eitan, who was a pretty good dad to begin with. And if she does end up like you, she has you," Gregory said. Gerald blinked. "She isn't a changeling being raised by humans. Her dad's just as weird as she is and he gets her. Maybe you still feel weird about the way you see things, but if she does too, at least she's not alone."
"Doesn't help me much," Gerald said. "But what I want started to be a lot less important once she was born, anyway."
"Yeah, I can't help with the fundamental issue, I guess, much as I'd like to," Gregory said. "Other than usually being up for a trail run if you need one. And you know," he added, as Gerald smiled, "if you needed it, we could make some changes. No wine at dinner, more dry events, that kind of thing."
"Ah, no, that's fine. I have a glass now and then, no big deal. It's not the alcohol that was the problem. Alcohol was just a really bad solution before I knew what the problem was, and it was the only one, so I tend to want to fall back on it," Ger sighed. "Anyway, I should get you back before Eddie comes looking for us."
"Next time, if you like, ask Joan if she wants to go running. She loves it and she bounces off the walls at night if she doesn't get enough chaos in a day," Gregory said, standing and stretching. "Besides, she's tiny and you'll have to slow down, and you really hate -- "
"Running slowly," Ger agreed, then grinned. "Better keep up, Your Majesty," he added, and took off down the trail at full speed. Gregory swore and ran after him, but he didn't catch up until the trail reconnected to the main road back towards the palace.
It was possibly a mistake for Gregory to remark at dinner that night that they'd gone running, and for Ger to mention that Gregory had suggested he take Joan instead next time; Joan latched hard onto the idea of running, something she did genuinely like, with Gerald, clearly the coolest grownup out of all her new family. Like a true ben Jason, she pursued her goal with energy, if not with the usual ben Jason subtlety. She took to popping into Gerald's office at odd times of day, once every day or two, asking if he wanted to go for a run.
The fourth or fifth time she asked, he looked up from his laptop and grinned. "Joanie, beloved small human, do you want to go for a run?"
She came into the office and flopped into the comfy wing chair he'd moved into it, slouching. "Yes. But I can run any time I want. I could run to the fishing lodge and back right now if I wanted. Father said I could, because it keeps me out of trouble."
"So why keep asking me? Greg and I already go running most mornings. If you want to come with us you only have to say."
She gave him an earnest look. "But I want to go running with you."
He squinted at her. "Yes, we've established that."
"No. I mean." She frowned, considering how to phrase it. Joan was eerily smart for a kid her age, but sometimes her brain got out ahead of her vocabulary, and occasionally her emotional intelligence. "I want to go on a run if you do because you need to and it'll make you feel better," she said finally.
Ah. Dad had always said that little pitchers had big ears; she must have overhead Greg explaining the run to Eddie at some point.
"You want to make sure that I'm not sitting here stewing because I want a run and nobody wants to go with me?" he asked. She nodded. "That's very sweet, Joan, but not your job. Part of being a grownup, which I learned roughly two years ago, is asking for help, directly and honestly, when you need it, and part of being a kid is not having to anticipate what grownups want."
"Two years ago you were thirty," she pointed out.
"Some of us grow up a little slower than others. My point is I'm not a puppy, I don't chew shoes if I don't get enough enrichment -- I know I have to be an adult and ask. So I promise you," he said, leaning forward seriously, "even if you're with your tutor or supposed to be looking after the twins, I will come find you first if I need a run, how's that?"
"What will we do if I'm looking after the twins?" she asked.
"Give them a very stern warning to behave themselves while you're gone," Gerald said, and Joan laughed. "Nah, if you're babysitting, we'll throw them in the jogging stroller and take them along, or call Michaelis and tell him his favorite grandchild needs him to look after the rest of them so his black sheep of a nephew doesn't get more mentally ill than he already is. Deal?"
"Okay," she said, but looked like she wanted to ask him something else. He raised his eyebrows, inviting. "Is it frightening?"
"Is what frightening?"
"Being..." she said, then rethought it. "Having ADHD," she said finally.
"Not really. I've never not had it. Now I just have a name for it."
"Father says usually when we're afraid it's because we don't know enough about what's happening," she said. "That's why he's always learning about stuff, so he won't be afraid of it."
"There's a reason the whole country made him king," Gerald said. "He's a smart man, your father."
"Were you scared when you found out, though?" she pressed.
"No, I wasn't scared. Sad, maybe. Surprised for sure. I figured they'd just tell me I was your standard-issue flake. Finding out there was a reason I couldn't ever quite hold things together was kind of a relief, to be honest."
"But it's not now," Joan observed.
"Well, sometimes when you're afraid, you study what you're scared of, and you stop being afraid. Sometimes you stop being afraid of the old thing because your research has found you three new things to dread," he said, smiling to make sure she understood he was joking. Joan was usually pretty adept with people but she was also a serious young girl, and she took things very much to heart.
"Like what?" she asked.
"Finding out you're different. You know it's rough to be different, I know you do. I didn't think I was different at all, and then I discovered I was really different. I told your father I felt like an alien."
Joan considered this. "Well, Father is king, so we already took you to our leader," she said, and he burst into surprised laughter.
"I'm so glad you're here," he said, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Lord, what a perspective. You're right. Anyway, he says I'm not an alien, I'm a changeling. A baby the fairies left for my parents to raise. Maybe not everyone gets me, but they're still family."
"Like being adopted," she said cautiously.
"A little like," he agreed.
"Your parents must have really loved you, though," she said.
"I'm sure they did. Why do you say that?"
"Because even if you were a changeling they still raised you. Dad says being adopted means they picked me special. Your parents didn't get to pick you but even if you were a weirdo they still raised you. Like they probably hugged you and gave you toys and books and stuff."
Gerald smiled a little at Joan's very age-appropriate idea of what parental love looked like. "True. Tell you what," he added, "Gregory and I aren't running tomorrow morning. Come by the office after you're done with your tutor tomorrow afternoon and we'll go running. Probably good for me to do it sometimes when I'm not upset by something."
Her smile was quick and brilliant. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, sure. We'll see how you do, get you on a 5K training schedule," he said. "Next fun run I do, you can see if you want to come along."
"Okay!" she said, bounding up, clearly about to go lay out running clothes for tomorrow. "Seeya at dinner, Uncle Ger!"
He picked up his phone when she was gone and texted Eddie. I know you guys didn't raise her from birth but you've got a hell of a kid.
What'd she do? Eddie asked, clearly anticipating a horror story.
Just something kind. No broken windows, he said. I'm taking her running tomorrow.
Another royal falls to your obsession with cardio, Eddie replied. I'll make sure she wears the right shoes.
Running with Joan was actually good fun -- he hadn't realized that being able to easily outdistance her didn't just mean that he had to slow down, but also that he had to actually work on setting a pace. And that he could get away with teasing her by running out ahead to make her catch up, then pulling away just as she did. Joan could be very sensitive to anything that whiffed of bullying, but she just kept laughing and trying to catch him, until they'd nearly finished the longer of the trails that covered the palace grounds, a little over two kilometers. He let her grab him around the waist as they reached the kitchen garden, and collapsed obligingly when she tried to pull him to the ground.
"Your legs are twice as long as mine," she said, as they picked themselves up. "It's cheating to run faster when your legs are longer."
"Unfortunately, the world is rife with cheating," he said. "You keep knocking over the cheaters, though, it's a good look on you."
She seemed pleased by that as they walked into the kitchen, where Joan immediately pilfered bananas from the fruit basket for them. They ate sitting at a little table in the corner, so as to be out of Simon's way.
"Do you feel better?" Joan asked, watching Simon concoct a sauce for the fish they were having for dinner.
"You know, I do?" he told her. "I wasn't even feeling all that bad, but they say moving around and being active is a good way to cheer up."
"Father says so," Joan agreed. "Dad does too but he makes it weird."
"Oh?"
"Well, Father says being active produces endorphins that make you feel good. Dad says if you're speeding through the foothills in a rusty minibus on your way to see if you can go on a hike and find a bear, you're not worried about existential philosophy. Like, you can't question reality while you're trying not to get eaten by mosquitos and then a bear. It's just silly."
"Eddie had a pretty wild childhood," Gerald reflected.
"Do you think he was telling the truth about almost being eaten by a bear?" Joan asked earnestly.
"You should ask your Granny Ceece," Gerald told her. "Papa Tully might lie for a joke but Granny Ceece will always give you the straight truth, that's what Monday told me."
She filed away this tidbit of information, and he could see her already considering what other truths she might be able to acquire and use.
"Anyway," he continued, "I don't need a run very often, but that doesn't mean we can't go running. I'm serious, talk to Greg about coming with us in the mornings. Or maybe you could take lessons at the football academy, they run laps for punishment there. Now, you have to wash up before dinner and I have to go home and lie amusingly to my own child, so off with you."
"Serafina's a baby. She doesn't understand you."
"Kiddo, she's in the majority in that," he said, kissing her forehead. "Go. Say hi to your dads for me and Grandfather and Grandem if they're at dinner."
She bounded away, which was probably how he didn't see the renewed thoughtfulness in her expression, the same expression Gregory made when he was considering strategy.
The weather in Fons-Askaz was mostly agreeable year-round, and working in a public park did have its perks. Every few weeks, everyone would troop down to the fishing lodge instead of gathering in the palace dining room, and Michaelis and Jes would host a meal -- rustic food, an evening outside on the banks of the lake or at least huddled around a firepit near it, swimming and socializing and sometimes politicking even if it was just family. It was a good time for Gregory to consult his father if he had a political thorn in his side and needed advice, or for Jes to talk over new ideas for podcast episodes with a thoughtful audience.
Sometimes it was purely social, though, and people would break off into little groups to crack jokes or talk about music or books, or American TV shows they sometimes only got after being dubbed in French or Italian. Gerald was sitting in one of the mismatched chairs, holding Serafina so Alanna could have an uninterrupted chat with Jes and Eddie, when Michaelis eased down into the empty chair next to his. Without being asked, Gerald passed Serafina over to his waiting arms.
"I see her nearly every day and every time I see her she still seems bigger," Michaelis said, studying her affectionately.
"We keep feeding her, I guess that's what happens," Gerald replied. "I was skeptical but Al read it in some baby book."
"Yes, your parents kept feeding you, too," Michaelis said, grinning at him. "I warned them it was spoiling you."
"And look at me now," Gerald said, stretching out.
"Indeed. A father and a provider. And an indulgent uncle," Michaelis said, nodding at where Joan was in the little boat, in the shallows of the lake, getting a lesson in rowing from Gregory. "Joan says you took her running recently."
"Ah! Yeah, she liked it, and I got bonus points with Greg for wearing her out. Sweet kid. If I'd had the knocks she's had in life I'd be a holy terror. More than I was."
"She said she liked helping you," Michaelis said. "I've had this third-hand and it was probably indiscreet of her, but she said you were feeling a little isolated. At least that's what I took from it. Something about having to run to keep the aliens away?"
"Well, it's a game of telephone, but a short one," Gerald said, considering. "She shouldn't have said anything, but she's a kid, and I'm not baring my soul to a twelve-year-old. I know what I tell her might not stay with her even if she means it to. I just told her I sometimes felt different, and running helped."
"Different?" Michaelis asked, watching Sera kick her legs.
"I've always been the black sheep a little," Gerald said. "I never minded, it's a fun job to have -- well, maybe I minded sometimes, but that was on me," he added. Michaelis glanced up at him, frowning, a hint of guilt in it. "Everyone feels that way sometimes. And anyway the past is a big snarl of stuff I'm not going to unpick unless I have to."
"I realize I've never done therapy, but it feels like maybe don't tell your therapist that part if you want to keep that resolution," Michaelis said.
"Too late. He's going to make me do it someday but I'm going to make him work for it," Gerald said. "It's nothing to worry about, really. What Joanie was getting from Gregory was just about him helping me deal with dad anxiety. Worrying I'm too weird to be a good parent. Worrying I passed the weird on," he added, stroking Serafina's nose with a finger. "But as your very intelligent and well-reared son reminded me, if I did pass it on then she's got someone who understands, built right in. And Alanna has had to remind me a couple of times that I would kill anyone else trying to be Sera's dad, so I can either be fully committed to being Dad or be paralyzed because I can't do right by her, but not both."
"Hard to simply tell yourself not to worry, though," Michaelis said. "If it's any consolation, it's very common. I was nervous about being a father -- we'd spent so long hoping for it that when it happened I was worried one wrong move would bring down the whole house of cards. Eventually I went to Eitan about it, just before Gregory was born. I told him how worried I was, asked him how he stayed so calm about it."
"What did he say?" Gerald asked, fascinated.
"He said he hadn't been calm a moment of his life since you were born," Michaelis said. Gerald laughed.
"Did he really?"
"He said he just had a good poker face, which I knew, and that every time you cried he and your mother both worried they'd scarred you for life somehow. Very reassuring, actually. Eitan always gave off such an air of confidence. I was too earnest to be as cool as he could be without even trying."
Serafina began to sniffle and then to make soft, coughing sobs that heralded a real upset; Gerald reached for her and Michaelis passed her back. She settled once she was in his arms, cradled just-so against his shoulder the way she liked it. (So that if he did displease, she could immediately rupture his eardrum with a shriek.)
"You'll do fine with Sera," Michaelis said. "But I suspect even when you don't believe it, you do know it."
Gerald nodded. "It does get baked in a little."
"And aside from fatherhood?"
Gerald looked at him. He thought he'd steered them pretty deftly away from the heart of the matter, especially since there was little Michaelis enjoyed more than talking about parenting and the babies. On the other hand, he'd been a grandfather for only a few months, and a politician for decades. A misdirect by his wayward nephew was hardly a real distraction.
"I may have joked a little about feeling like an alien sometimes," he said. "It's not serious. Or, it is, but I'm handling it."
"I want to make sure you have help if you need it," Michaelis said quietly. "I know you've said the past is the past but I still wish we'd done something sooner, seen it sooner. If you feel alone, if you think we aren't going to be there when you need us, I want to know how to repair that."
"Uncle Mike, if I thought you wouldn't be there for me, I wouldn't have come to Greg to go running. Or Joan, for that matter. It's not the family that's the problem. It's the world," he said, rocking Sera gently as she visibly drifted down into sleep. "Which is admittedly a fight well above my weight class, but I'm learning how to compensate."
"How can we help?"
"Aside from being patient with me? I don't know that you can. It's okay," he added, seeing the dismay in his uncle's face. "Look, I've been a dad for about two minutes, but I know sometimes kids have to deal with problems on their own. Sometimes it's Sera trying to get her entire foot into her mouth, sometimes it's me figuring out how I'm going to fit myself into a space that's not quite tailored to me. If I need help, much like Serafina, I will scream-cry until my demands are met."
"Well. See that you do," Michaelis said. "For what it's worth, whatever you think of yourself, you are one of the most human men I know, Gerald."
Gerald smiled. "Thanks. I'm working hard at it. I'm going to go see if I can transfer sleeping beauty here to her car seat, so she's got better lumbar support, because apparently that's another thing we have to worry about now."
"I suspect Gregory and Joan may need my sage advice about boats," Michaelis agreed. "Glad to hear the hiccup is temporary."
Gerald knew Michaelis was from an older generation that wasn't as easy talking about emotions; his own father, Michaelis's older brother, had been similar. But it did occur to him, as he eased Serafina away from his shoulder and into her seat, that "the hiccup is temporary" was an extremely funny way to describe a personality crisis. And that three full generations of the family had now had heart-to-hearts with him about this.
"Think we should try to get home while she's sacked out?" Alanna asked softly, coming up behind him, leaning on his shoulder to watch Sera sleep.
"We could. If you want to stay longer I can just pop the car seat out, keep her with me," he replied.
"No, I'm tired anyway."
"Want me to go say our goodbyes?"
"Would you?" she asked, kissing his cheek.
"Sure. Take a seat, be five minutes and I'll drive us home."
He did the rounds, accepting a hug from Joan and promising to stop by the kitchen on Monday morning to try Eddie's new recipe. By the time he got back to the car, Alanna was asleep, but she'd put a chocolate bar on the driver's seat: his favorite, Violet Crumble. In her car seat in the back, Serafina was snoring quietly. He opened the candy bar and took a bite, then set it aside, backing the car onto the access road into town and heading for home. Alanna woke up about halfway there, but Sera didn't awaken until they were home and putting her in her crib, at which point she decided screaming was her new favorite hobby.
"It's fine," he told Alanna, who looked exhausted. "Go, sleep. I've got an hour still before the Adderall fully wears off, I'll take her. Hey, kiddo," he added, bouncing her gently as he carried her into the living room while Alanna disappeared into the bedroom. She continued to cry, but at least stopped wailing. "Sorry, I know, the mortal realm sucks," he murmured. "But at least if we are changelings, the humans seem kind. I'll let you know if I start developing magic powers."
He settled into the corner of the sofa with her propped in his lap, opened a book he'd dug out of his own childhood library a few months ago, and started to read.
"We are looking for the potato cat," he read, and Sera's sniffles slowly dried up. "Is this a potato cat? Does it look like a potato? No! It's too red! This is the beetroot bird..."