How could she have forgotten that the whole purpose of the endeavour was for fledglings to be the result? And how could she possibly have young when her life was not yet her own? Not truly. Not when it was entirely possible she would be executed for returning where she did not belong, and the thought alone was a knife through her, but to add her little unborn into it?
Her breath was coming in sharp little pants, and suddenly Grim was doing his best to extract the loaf away from her, and she glanced down, realising crumbs were raining down due to her abuse, and she released it with a cry of dismay.
She was ruining breakfast. And even worse, ruining what would have led to a perfectly wonderful time between the two of them as well, and she could not quite contain her whimper, Grimult tossing the bread back where she had found it and pulling her close. “You are shaking,” he murmured, and there was no doubting the concern in his voice at the sudden change in her. “What has brought this on?”
She bit her lip, trying to gain some mastery of her emotions, but they were all a jumble, and she did not know what to say. She did not want to speak of the concern she had for what might become of her when they returned, not when Grimult was liable to simply lock her away here and refuse for either of them to go at all.
But she had also promised him honesty, the fullness of truths in their entirety, and she could not betray him in that. Not now.
“I cannot have a fledgling now!” she burst out, cheeks flaming with shame and despair, even as she shook her head. “There is too much I do not know, about what will happen to me, to... to us, and...”
A hand covering the back of her head, a thumb brushing against the fluttering pulse point at her neck, a low hum. “I would agree with you,” Grimult murmured in return, and she could not deny her surprise. “Which is why I would suggest you do not choose one at this time.”
Penryn gulped in a breath of air, glancing back at him. “Choose one?”
Grimult’s brow furrowed. “Yes, choose.” He blinked once, and some realisation came, and it was his turn to appear briefly embarrassed, but he did not pull away from her. “You do not know much of our kind, do you?” it was a comment more to himself than to her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that she was not truly a part of his kind. But that was not wholly correct, was it? Not if he brought her in, gave her his family’s name, chose her to share his fledglings with.
“I know what was there to be read in the books available to me,” Penryn reminded him with a shrug of her shoulders. “And I suppose this was known by too many to need to be written down.”
But not by her. Because the sages did not think it necessary.
She did not welcome the rise of resentment, not when it spoiled her stomach and made her hands tremble all the more. But it came regardless of her wish, that something else was robbed from her. Even such a basic knowledge of herself.
“In our kind,” Grimult began, and she noticed that he did not quite manage to look her in the eyes, instead focusing on a point just above her head. “The woman has to decide to welcome the...” He huffed out a breath. “That is to say...” he glanced down at her, and Penryn did not know what he was looking at until he moved his hand down to cover her middle, lower than her waist. “My father gave me an excellent speech on the subject, but of course I was too mortified at the time to remember all of his words.” His lips were back at her temple, placing a kiss either for her comfort or for his own, but she found herself relaxing either way, easing back against him and finding the peace, the calm that came when he was near. “That a wife must be wooed. That she must be shown that their home is safe and ready, that he has proven his love and devotion to her, time and again. And then, and only then, would a fledgling come.”
Penryn’s brow furrowed. It was a sweet sentiment, but did little to explain what was happening.
And how she was supposed to simply choose the matter.
“But... how?” she asked, shifting so she could look at him. “How am I supposed to... is it not something that simply... happens?”
Grimult cleared his throat and shook his head. “Mother was a bit more plain in her explanation.” And there was no mistaking the pink that crept upward from his neck toward his ears, and she was glad she was not the only one embarrassed by the subject. Not because of what it was, but because of her ignorance, and that held a great deal of frustration as well. At least on her part. “A lot of willingness, intention, and...” Grimult took a moment to collect himself, and Penryn had to force herself to be patient. “And stimulation,” he finished, looking all the while as if he was doing his best not to think of such things in relation to his mother.
Stimulation?
Intention?
She felt small and foolish and the uncertainty made her feel far too much like the girl she used to have been, full of questions without answer, only pert responses that left her wondering all the more.
“You look so worried,” Grimult observed, pulling back so he could look at her, and she did not mean to be. This was not what she had
