[ this is starting to get familiar, actually—holding hands or her shoulder against his arm, kisses in greeting or comfort. it's a far cry from her discomfort the first week, where she seemed to have to rally all her courage for a dare. she's already grown. what's he been doing, meanwhile? only growing more timid.

maybe things have changed for him a little, though. because the extra second she spends at his cheek feels—different. warm and fluttery. kisses don't mean anything to him, except maybe when they suddenly do. ]

Likewise, dear Rosamund.

[ he cups a hand over hers, turning his cheek against her palm, along the grain of his scales. ]

I told you when you got here, didn't I? That you're beloved. We may only be stumbling along, but I hope you never doubt that. I've scarcely met anyone as fearsome and compassionate as you. [ more like the dragon protecting a tower than the princess sleeping inside of it. ]