Riley feigned innocence.
Though really, he felt he was not at fault in this. Before Liam stuck his little nose into things, they hadn’t planned on revealing any of it to anyone.
And for the record, he did buy food for the birthday. Which was exactly how he landed in the humiliating, soul-crushing, gut-churning disaster of calling the great lizard, "Honey."
Bleh.
Even now, just remembering it made his stomach twist. But at least he had a stomach that could twist.
He had once bragged about how much he regretted not striking back when he was venting his grievances, but in truth, all he had gained was a bit of resistance and none of the technique needed to actually chop a head off.
Still, he would practice.
Although right now, what really needed chopping was fruit.
Eventually, he let himself get caught by his panting mother. Save for the scolding about not saying something earlier, she still worked her magic, taking control of their makeshift kitchen with practiced ease and helping him prepare a meal.
At first, she looked dubious about the ingredients Riley had bought. Dragons, after all, had a reputation for unusual tastes.
"Are you sure Lord Orien would like things like hamburgers, fried chicken, and spaghetti?" she asked, brows knitting.
"He’ll like it," Riley said firmly. "So much that you probably won’t hear the end of it."
Her doubt only deepened. "Riley, son, are you seriously serving corndogs to the dragons?"
"Yes, Mom," Riley deadpanned. "Don’t worry. I’ll serve fruit and grilled vegetables too. Not that they’ll go for it, considering their usual diet."
That was when she asked it.
"What about the dragon lord?"
The question slipped past his ears at first, and he answered without thinking. "He’ll eat the same thing."
The sudden silence that followed nearly made him sweat. He glanced up to find his mother had stopped cooking. Her expression was dead serious, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Riley Hale," she said slowly, "is that how you won over the dragon lord? Did you discover their favorite food???"
"Mom! What are you even talking about?!" Riley almost dropped the knife. His protest only earned him a knowing pat on the shoulder.
"Fine, fine," she said, sighing like a martyr. "My baby is all grown up now and doesn’t want to talk about these things with his mother. But since you don’t want to talk about that, then what about gifts for the little lord? Surely you’re fine talking about that topic?" Her tone had shifted from solemn to teasing, and Riley’s ears burned.
"We only found out today," he muttered, glaring at her, "and I don’t think the dragon lord would permit us to go outside... but it’s a youngster..."
"Don’t worry, Mom. I have something to give him from our family. And all this food you’re cooking for him? More than enough. We’ll probably hear complaints, but if you listen carefully, you might be surprised, Mom."
Oh, but how mistaken Riley was. Because the baby dragon who came face-to-face with what awaited him could not utter a single complaint.
Not through the tears and the snot.
This wasn’t Orien’s first birthday. Far from it.
But it was the first one he was spending with humans.
And it was definitely the first where he was sitting down comfortably at a table instead of being forced to watch his back against smug dragons whispering about his parentage the moment he stepped outside the nest.
His grandparents were kind, yes, but like any other dragon, they bowed to custom. Rules. Appearances. The suffocating nonsense of tradition.
Not his uncle, though.
His uncle had always been the exception. A dragon lord who bent for nothing and no one. Orien had heard the whispers about him never even celebrating his own birthday. That, apparently, was unheard of. But Kael had simply ordered everyone to stay away. No gatherings, no feasts, no sycophants pretending to care. Just silence. And no one dared oppose it. Not when they feared—or respected—his strength too much.
One day, Orien swore, he would be like that. One day he would look every insufferable gossip in the eye and tell them exactly what they could do with their "birthday celebrations."
But today?
The table was piled high with dishes that filled the air with scents so strong his snout twitched uncontrollably. Platters stacked, plates gleaming, things that looked suspiciously edible and ridiculously inviting. And right in front of him... a tower.
His eyes blinked rapidly. Once. Twice. Thrice.
The tower wobbled slightly as Liam leaned forward eagerly, eyes sparkling. "Lord Orien, come on! You have to make a wish, then blow the candle!"
"Huh?! What are you talking about, little sprite???" Orien’s wings fluttered in confusion.
"Lord Orien," Riley interrupted, suppressing a grin, "we don’t exactly have a regular cake, but I figured you’d like this instead. It’s called pancakes. And for humans, it’s a custom to make a private wish, then blow the candle."
Liam nodded so fast he looked like his head might fall off. "I made a wish on my birthday and it came true! So you really should make one, Lord Orien!"
Orien froze, his snout dipping slightly. Make... a wish?
The tiny dragon was caught off guard, but faced with Liam’s beaming enthusiasm, there was no way he could brush it aside. A distinguished dragon had dignity, after all. Clearly, the only proper thing to do was humor the little sprite who assisted him earlier.
What could he possibly wish for, though? Wasn’t he already perfect? Handsome, powerful, and rich?
Well... maybe not rich enough compared to a certain farm. But still.
Maybe freedom, then. Yes. Freedom. Because he didn’t want to go back to that nest.
Riley, watching quietly, swore he saw something flicker in the dragonling’s eyes. A shift. A real, thoughtful wish, like Orien was actually taking it seriously. Apparently, his little brother had some strange magic of his own—getting baby dragons to listen.
Orien leaned in, puffed his cheeks, and blew.
"Fwuh—!"
The flame roared higher.
Everyone jerked back instinctively, and Orien panicked, wings flapping. Had he done it wrong? Was he about to be punished?
But then Liam’s awestruck voice rang out like a bell. "Soooooo coooool!"
The tension broke. Laughter filled the table.
Orien blinked. Then blinked again. Slowly, he straightened his back, cleared his throat, and said with all the pomp he could muster, "Of course."
Still, he cut his eyes sideways toward his uncle, silently begging for help. Because if he tried to blow again, there was no doubt more fire would fly out of him.
Thankfully, his uncle seemed to understand, and with an almost lazy flick of his power, the candlelight vanished just as Orien pretended to blow. Likely from pity, but Orien accepted it as a massive favor bestowed on his birthday.
The pancake tower was officially "safe."
"Happy birthday, Lord Orien," the Hale family chorused warmly.
Orien’s chest swelled. Finally. Finally, he got the signal.
It was time to eat!
But was it really just that easy?
They were just going to eat right away?
But then he got asked what he wanted to try first, and was informed that as the celebrant, he got to eat first, Orien felt like he might actually take off!
Whoa, they didn’t even have to wait three hours, and then there were litanies!
And now he was told he’d get to start the meal?!
What kind of birthdays do these humans have?!