CHAPTER 274: SERVING ME SOMETHING FAMILIAR

Meredith.

The moment my inner conversation with Valmora quieted, the door opened softly.

Draven stepped back into the room, his arms were laden with a large wooden tray, and even from where I sat, the aroma drifted toward me—warm, spiced, and achingly familiar.

My lips curved without my permission, already recognizing the scent of roasted moonroot bread and the faint tang of blood-berry wine.

"Here, they are," he announced simply, setting the tray down on the low table before us.

There were skewers of seared dusk-hare, still glistening from their own juices, thick slices of herb-dusted moonroot bread, and small clay jars of the fermented wolf-brew that had once been a rare treat back home.

My stomach tightened with a pang of nostalgia I hadn’t expected.

"I thought I’d missed them," I murmured, leaning forward to look. "It’s been so long."

He glanced at me, his expression softening. "And that’s why I decided to bring them to Duskmoor, though I asked Madame Beatrice to keep the rest in the kitchen. These are for now."

I blinked at him, a smile tugging at my lips. "Why didn’t you just ask a servant to bring them?"

His answer came with that quiet confidence of his, low and certain. "Because I wanted to bring them myself. Today, I feel like serving my wife."

A laugh slipped out of me, light and full, before I could stop it. "Draven, you make it sound so grand."

"Isn’t it?" he asked, arching a brow as if daring me to disagree.

I shook my head, chuckling, though my heart warmed in a way that made my chest ache.

Watching him— the most feared Alpha of Stormveil, carrying a tray of our traditional food just because he wanted to—I couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast between the man the world saw and the man I had in front of me.

He settled beside me, reaching for a piece of moonroot bread before breaking it in half and offering me the larger piece.

"Eat. You’ve been waiting for me for days. At least let me feed you something familiar."

I accepted it, our fingers brushing, and bit into the bread. The taste was as I remembered—dense, earthy, laced with herbs that lingered on the tongue.

A little sigh escaped me. "I didn’t realize how much I missed this."

He watched me closely, his gaze steady, almost possessive. "Madame Beatrice told me how much you loved it when you were back in Stormveil. I won’t forget the things you enjoy."

Though I only ate small food portions back then, I was surprised Madame Beatrice took note of what I ate the most.

Draven’s simple sentence, delivered in his quiet way, lodged in my chest. Heat crept into my cheeks, and I turned my eyes back to the tray, hoping he didn’t notice just how much that admission affected me.

After enjoying the hearty meal together, I reminded Draven about his promise to Xamira—that his little girl was probably waiting for him.

And together, we left for the drawing room.

We had barely stepped into the room when Xamira bounded up to Draven, her little slippers pattering against the floor.

"Daddy!" she squealed, tugging at his sleeve before he could even fully sit down. "Your wife and I built something amazing while you were gone!"

I chuckled softly, watching her animated little face. She always lit up whenever she was excited.

Draven arched a brow, looking between the two of us, like he was just learning about it.

"Oh?" His voice carried that weighty calm of his, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch with the beginnings of curiosity.

"Show him, My Lady," Xamira whispered eagerly, turning her bright eyes to me.

I couldn’t resist her enthusiasm. With a smile, I reached into my phone and opened the gallery, pulling up the pictures I had taken earlier of the castle we built with her blocks.

Sliding closer to Draven, I tilted the screen toward him. "This is what she’s so proud of," I explained softly.

His eyes lowered to the photo, studying the colorful little fortress that Xamira and I had pieced together—the towers reaching high, the gate wide, the blue flag perched proudly at the top.

But what made me watch him closely was not his reaction to the castle itself, but the way his gaze softened.

Xamira pressed her cheek against his arm, smiling up at him. "Do you like it, Daddy? Your wife helped me with the walls, and I built the towers all by myself."

Draven’s lips curved, the faintest smile tugging at him. "It’s well built," he said, his voice low and approving.

His gaze lingered on the image for a long moment before sliding to me. "You helped her with this?"

I gave a small nod, warmth rising in my chest at the way he looked at me. Though I didn’t know what was surprising about it.

Regardless, I said to him, "She was the architect. I was only following instructions."

Xamira giggled at that, puffing her chest out proudly. "Daddy, I even drew my favourite animal too."

She ran to fetch the crayon drawing from the table and placed it carefully in his hands. A bright, messy bird stretched across the paper in blue and yellow.

Draven held it with a kind of reverence that made my throat tighten.

He studied it as though it were worth far more than paper and color. Then, without looking up, he murmured, "It’s beautiful."

Xamira hugged his arm tighter, and I saw the proud glimmer in her little eyes. My heart melted quietly in that moment—watching her bask in his approval, watching him soften for her.

Draven’s thumb brushed the edge of Xamira’s drawing one last time before he carefully set it aside on the table, as though it were something to be preserved.

His gaze then shifted to me, steady and unreadable, though there was a flicker of warmth still lingering there from his daughter’s joy.

"You know," he said after a pause, "I haven’t forgotten. I will be testing your training this evening."

The words pulled a flutter of nerves through me, though I managed a small nod. "I will be ready by then."

His lips quirked faintly, the kind of almost-smile that carried its own weight of meaning.