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The pale king held out his upper pair of hands expectantly.
Herrah glared down at the wyrm but he remained unflinching, not even sparing a full glance at her but rather the crying child in her hands.
As much as she would very much like to refuse and insult his lackluster demeanor for it all, Hornet has been crying for several hours straight, and not even her or the White Lady’s presence could calm her.
As much as it would sting her pride, the child’s incessant bawling has tested her mother’s limits enough today.
Without a word, she unfurled the loud child from her arms and handed the red bundle to the king’s awaiting arms.
Not a second later did the wyrm’s annoyed expression shift into something…soft; something Herrah never thought he could express based off of his stone, cold shell of a face. Even so, the child continued to cry and held no sign of giving up.
Then the Pale King unfurled part of his wings that made up his robe.
Alarm bells rang. Herrah shouted, “Hey-!”
“Hush.” Came the monotone reply. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Herrah growled but didn’t say anything else, opting to watch the king—and ready a couple of threads—instead.
The king unfurled and refurled his robed-wings in a way where only the upper-most left part of his carapace was revealed. He maneuvered the child so her head would lay against the exposed shell.
Her crying began to soften. From half-hearted wails to low effort hiccups, Hornet finally quieted down.
Herrah furrowed her brows in disbelief.
“How.” It wasn’t a question, rather a demand from the bewildered queen. “How.”
Ignoring the guffaw reaction, he explained. “Earth wyrms’ senses derive mostly from feeling vibrations. Young wyrms are new to this, and sometimes, can have a hard time utilizing these senses to the best of their ability until they are older.” He paused, his attention shifting to the red bundle that nestled closer to his shell. Herrah watched as he brought up a free hand to lightly rub the side of her—no, their—baby’s face. The little one mewled, eyeing one of her father’s digits as if wondering whether to sacrifice her comfort for a quick bite, before settling on the former. The wyrm chuckled quietly before looking back at the mother.
He continued. “When they have a hard time sensing something or don’t feel anything at all for a long period of time, they become distressed. When this happens, the parent would put place them close to their chest so they could feel their heartbeat. The vibration of the heartbeat is what helps calm them down.”
Herrah eyed him curiously. “So you’re saying, she has vibration issues?”
“It’s instinct.” The Pale King deadpans. “It’s a common thing for young earth wyrms to want to listen to their parents’ heartbeat when they’re upset.”
“I never would have guessed.” Herrah exaggerated. “As I’m sure you are already aware, spiders are not fans of vibrations.”
The Pale King hummed, looking down at the child for a moment. “She is just as much a spider as she is a wyrm. Though,” He wiggled one of his digits, earning the attention of the little one who has decidedly to forgo her earlier comfort and bit his digit aggressively. Well…aggressively for a baby. “I believe there are several attributes that overlap between the two.”
Baby Hornet continued to “viciously” chew on his digit, which earned a smile from the mother.
“I agree.” She said, “but when she takes over my position as ruler of Deepnest, her spider-side would no doubt matter the most to her citizens than it would to us.”
The Pale King nodded his head, his body stiffer and more mechanical than before.
Yes, Hornet is the heiress of Deepnest and only Deepnest. For a moment—just a moment—the wyrm forget that his child was created out of a political deal between kingdoms, not love. Even so, love pours out of him for his child and the expectant need to share everything he is and has for his offspring, including the kingdom itself.
But no, his child only belongs to Herrah. She wanted her in the first place, not him. No matter if she takes up his wyrm instincts; his soul; his blood…
She belongs to Deepnest alone.
“A fierce leader she would be,” He looked at Herrah, his gaze reserved, but cold. “Just like her mother.”
Just like her father.