#unfortunatly that means a heck of a lot of slate building stuff and adalyn delivering him food and making small talk with him

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.2

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

2000 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

Adalyn wakes early. She’s used to getting up at sunrise to start baking, and up in the Spires with the balcony door propped open, she has an unimpeded view of the lightening sky.  

Slate had woken earlier still and is nowhere to be found. There’s evidence of his stirring here and there. A blanket in a pile by the chaise. Crumbs at the table. A covered plate of cold toast waiting for Adalyn. She bites into it, relishing the jam Slate had procured.  

She’s tempted to go back to bed. To sleep in until the sun finishes rising. To loaf about and relax, perhaps with a book. But she’s not yet game to go through Slate’s collection, and the threat of boredom chafes at her skin.  

Instead, she dresses for the day, gathers up some of her cleaning supplies, and makes for the kitchen. She’s not sure what state she’ll find it in but is looking forward to using the area herself.  

Light streams into the windows as she makes her way down the Tower until finally, she enters the passage that leads to the kitchen. Its dark, but thankfully short, and when she finds the dining room, the skylight illuminates the area enough to see her to the kitchen. 

Adalyn swears under her breath as she locates the flint and steel and lights the nearest brazier. Perhaps lighting is another thing she’ll have to talk to Slate about. 

When the kitchen is lit, Adalyn leans against the counter and surveys the place. Her legs are wobbly from the trek – it had been nice to stretch them, and she can move without discomfort now, but the hike will still take some getting used to. 

The Matron’s staff had tidied the kitchen. Dishes had been washed and put away, and any remaining food had been sealed and put in the larder (dried fruits are all that remain). Still, there are crusts and crumbs scattered about, and the fire pit is overflowing with ash.  

Adalyn sinks into cleaning. She marvels over the plumbing as she wipes and washes the counters. She puts on a pot of tea when she works, settling into the familiar routine. She even rummages through the larder for ingredients, and once the counters are clean, starts baking some bread and biscuits. She’d brought her starter yeast from home, and Slate’s kitchen is stocked with everything else she needs.  

By midmorning she’s surveying the fruits of her labours with satisfaction. There’s a platter of sweets to snack on, jam sandwiches which she eats on the spot, and a tea set which she resolves to take upstairs. She sets aside a handful of other things to take to the Tower, so that she won’t have to descend to the kitchen each morning for supplies.  

Throughout the morning Adalyn had noted a distant rumble. It had been almost comforting. In the stillness beneath the mountains, with Adalyn’s busywork being the only sounds, it soothes her to hear something else. 

When she finishes her work and takes a moment to breathe, she listens to the sounds with curiosity, then recognition. The occasional boom and slight tremors beneath her feet could be indicative of a cave in but had been too consistent. It’s more likely Slate, at work somewhere within the Spires. 

She glances at her food, then around the kitchen. There’s honestly not much else for her to do, and with the rest of the day stretching out before her, she decides to explore. 

She sets off in the direction of the byway, following the distant sounds of earth rending, retracing her steps through the dining hall and a winding passage before she emerges into the enormous cavern. At the size of it she blanches. Awe inspiring as it is, the walls are still unremarkable, and she worries that she might lose her way. She’s looking around for landmarks, anything to help mark one passage from another, when she notices the pile of stones beside her.  

Their purpose immediately becomes clear. Adalyn notes the number of stones and their arrangement – unique. Each door marker is different from the next. She resumes her exploration, walking alongside the stream and taking in the sights. Plant life creeps down from the ceiling, spilling over the edge of the cave opening, high above. The area is almost lush. 

She doesn’t have to walk the entire cavern, thankfully. The sounds are coming from just across the main-way, and she eyes one passage speculatively. The gouge marks around the edge of the doorway are fresh; debris and dust litter the ground and a set of footprints, visible even to her, track through it all. She spies a bundle of white and stoops to examine it. A shirt, discarded in a heap. 

She’d go in after Slate if it weren’t for the darkness. At its thickness, she balks. Even if the wyvern were through the passage, she has no way of knowing about any hazards.  

“Slate?” She calls. 

The noise ceases. For a moment she hears nothing. Then there’s the crunch of footsteps. 

“Adalyn. Are you alright?” 

The air swirls with dust. Adalyn waves the particulates away from her face and coughs. “I brought you lunch, though it might be early.” 

Slate emerges from the darkness, pausing at the threshold of the shadows. “It’s never too early to see you, dearest.” 

Adalyn squints at his outline, using the expression to cover her embarrassment. “Do I get to see you?” 

He straightens, and steps out of the corridor. Contrite, he runs a hand through his hair, smearing a white streak through it. “Sorry. Difference in eyesight, I guess.” 

He’s shirtless, in his demi form. There’s a layer of filth and grit covering him, almost creating patterns against his grey skin and dappled scales. 

She eyes the swarths of them: thick and dark on the backs of his arms and shoulders, lightening colour at his sides, and thinning into skin over his chest. There’s a fresh scar above his left pectoral, and Adalyn recognises it as the place where Slate had removed a scale. 

She drags her eyes away from his chest and forces a polite smile. “Did you want to wash up first, or...” 

Slate gestures towards the cavern. “Let’s go over there. You can sit in the light, and I can take a dip in the stream.” 

Adalyn takes a seat at the bank before unwrapping their food. She sets the remaining sandwiches aside for Slate while she picks at a biscuit. She watches with bemusement as Slate kicks off his shoes and socks before stepping straight into the stream. She catches sight of his back – tessellated scales the colour of coal – and the amusement slips her mind. 

“What are you working on today?” 

His arms are wreathed in shadow, fingers tipped with long claws. Adalyn watches, riveted, as he dispells the claws into puffs of smoke and begins rubbing water up his arms and chest. His skin from the forearms down is still shadowy, and cloudy water streams off him in rivulets. 

“I’m carving the passage from the main-way to where your quarters will be.” 

“By hand?” 

“The first time, yes.” 

He climbs the bank to sit beside her, and she wordlessly hands him a sandwich. He smiles his thanks. “What about you?” 

Adalyn sighs. “I don’t know. To be honest, without a bakery to run, I fear I might get quite bored.” 

“What did you used to do with your free time?” 

She leans back, watching a cloud pass. “Cook. Clean. Garden. Sometimes spin and sew.” 

“Do you like doing those things?” 

“Yes, sometimes. They help me feel in control.” 

Slate considers while he finishes his food. Then rests his hand in his chin. “We could find you a project. I always have several to keep me busy.” 

She grins. Slate seems the type to keep multiple pots on the burner. “You got a list, or something?” 

He straightens and counts on his fingers. “Finish the blueprints for your quarters, carve out the passages and main spaces, contract a smith for fittings, designate a permanent space for my workshops, build said workshops, prototype different elevators,” he pauses, and a blush touches his cheeks at Adalyn’s expression. “To start.” 

She enjoys his enthusiasm. Even if she finds it hard to relate. “I thought you’d finish the Tower first.” 

He brushes some crumbs away and reaches for a sweet. “I don’t want to crowd you longer than necessary. Your space is my top priority.” 

Some of her mirth fades, and she tries to keep a neutral expression. Part of her fixates on those words, searching them for further meaning. Perhaps he is being genuine.  

Tentatively, she replies. “I don’t feel crowded.” 

She misses the way he looks at her, somewhat sharply. Fearing he had misstepped. “You don’t? I- well, I know how humans value their privacy.” 

She purses her lips. Part of her very badly wants to protest the distance he’s literally building between them. But she doesn’t want to push, and risk seeming clingy.  

She lets the topic drop. “So what project do you suggest I take up?” 

He thinks. “You like cleaning.” 

A nod. 

He looks almost pained as his picks his next words. “I suppose I don’t mind if you go through my things. Organise them, I mean.” 

She’s torn again. She wants to react with brevity. Tease him for his tastes. ‘What if you don’t like my system.’  

Instead, she approaches the situation with growing anxiety and caution. She wonders if having her in his space, touching all his things, will drive him to push her away faster. She’s practically a stranger. And he’d been so frustrated with his family meddling.  

“If you’re sure. I know it could be a bother.” 

He shakes his head. His fingers creep towards hers. “It’s not. You’d have to try really hard to bother me. Just wait until tonight. Some of the magical artifacts can be aggressive, and I’d better point them out.” 

She eyes his hand, next to hers, and some of the tightness in her chest lessons. Anxiety temporarily assuaged, she manages a smile. She stands and readies to leave, allowing herself some humour. “Okay dearest.” 

--- 

When Slate joins Adalyn for dinner he is both late and sodden. He lands on the balcony and lingers there, sheepishly wringing his clothes out. 

“There is a bath here.” 

“I don’t want to track dust through my room,” he says before going to fetch a towel.  

Adalyn had rekindled the fire herself and lit the braziers, and dinner is set out when he joins her at the table, once more in his human form. She wonders if there’s a particular reason he chooses the form so frequently. 

“Sorry I’m late. My timepiece is broken.” He bites into a pastry and lets out an appreciative groan.   Adalyn hadn’t found any substantial supplies in the larder and had managed to make some fruit pies with the jam preserves. He swallows and smiles at her. “How are you finding the keep?” 

She shrugs. Adopts a teasing tone. “There’s room for improvement, I suppose.” 

“Oh?” 

“I don’t want to seem like I’m complaining.” 

“Please. Complain to me.” 

“Perhaps you could build an exit or two? I’m getting plenty of fresh air from the balcony, but it’d be nice to go for a walk on the surface.” 

“That’s a quick fix. Though I’d be careful walking around the karst. There’s a lot of places you could fall.” 

“We’re also down to bread and cheese. Some supplies wouldn’t go astray.” 

Slate nods. “I go hunting every few days, but it’s slipped my mind, with all the changes. I’d planned to visit the valley tomorrow; we could stock up then?” 

“What are your plans in the valley?” 

He smiles, coy. “Oh, you know. Post some letters. Check in with some craftsmen. Pick up a gift for my wife.” 

“You’re too sweet.” 

“Right?” 

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll forgive your tardiness then.” 

“Was that all you wanted? A door and some food?” 

Adalyn narrows her eyes. “I could make a list if it pleases you.” 

“I love lists.”

---

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