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Roan was hiding in the darkness and lamenting the words he had exchanged with Sylvia (the dragon). He continued to stare, entranced by the superbly crafted cradle in the nursery. Esmay would never think to search for him there and he drifted off into a light slumber and dreamed...

Joy! Esmay returned his affection.

She loved him? Nay...just a dream to torment him!

Smiling together they glanced down at the tiny infant contentedly asleep in the cradle that had once held and rocked her. What a fair child, with rosy cheeks and dark hair, sleeping so peaceful, contented and....so cherished, so loved, not hidden away, forgotten and beaten like he often was.

She seemed sad about not having a child. If they were so blessed, Esmay could have a child she could love after he was long gone, part mortal and immortal. She would never be alone again and the thought pleased him. 

He dreamed on and tears streamed down his face. Rogue tears he would never reveal to the world.

 King Alban was at the very edge of Creek House now. He could see the lights from within the windows. He smelled smoke, the lingering stench of burnt flesh. Every muscle, every fibre of his being was at attention. 

He used his staff to test the ground ere he took a step. As he suspected, a ring of magic guarded the outskirts. It was strong magic and he would have to call on the Power of the Ancient Ones to break its power.

He thought he could hear Roan's voice, laughter and that of a woman. His brother was in danger...a different sort of danger.