The council hall of the Scales Tribe was carved from black stone that caught every flicker of torchlight and swallowed it whole.
Long tables stretched in a stern rectangle, polished so smooth they reflected the solemn faces gathered around them. No one wore their scales. No wings. No horns. Only human shapes, dark eyes, stiff shoulders, and the kind of tension that made the air heavy.
At the head of the hall sat Gaffer.
He leaned back in his chair, his long legs crossed like he owned the place.
His aura was sure different today compared to other days when he appeared helpless and even the older men around could tell.
Gaffer raised his head and looked at the man by his side. "And why can't I show myself to the people to tell them their king has returned from a journey?"
The man has a very long white beard and an angry face. "You cannot present yourself before the tribe without a wife."
"And who told the people I had a wife?" Gaffer argued.
The man fired back, "The council of elders did. We did because you went on a journey to find that woman and make her your wife, in the first place. Isn't that the reason why you journeyed?"
"The kingdom needs stability, dragon king. And stability begins when there a beating with a beast queen by his side," another elder spoke.
"Your son also needs a mother. If beast-guardians were not so rare, perhaps we would have gotten one for him. But he needs a mother to raise him since there are no beast-guardians in the tribe," another.
"Scales Tribe used to be the best in the whole beast world. Now we are simply one of the bests, battling for title with insignificant tribes. Having at least a woman here would..!"
The first elder spoke again, "And don't forget that we would not give you the Pearl for your son when you have not given us what we demanded. The laws exist for a reason."
A female beast hadn't existed for generations.
So they believed having one female at most was worth regaining their status and pride and the beast world's most powerful tribe. And this was bloody fact!
Having what other tribes don't… that gives you a free ticket to parade yourself as ultimate.
But putting their king in a suffocating position, even threatening him because of it was just pure evil!
Gaffer let them talk until the noise began to itch under his skin. Then he reached slowly into his cloak and laid a folded paper onto the stone table.
The sound was soft.
But the hall stilled around it.
Dozens of eyes followed his hand as he spread the sheet open.
The parchment wore official ink and it had formal stamps. The clean, cold heading of the sheet was: CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE.
It was signed, stamped and legally sealed.
And beside his bold, confident signature, there was a small pawprint in fading-red shade like it was pressed into the ink like a shy kiss.
An elder leaned forward. His fingers hovered above the ink, reverent, afraid to touch it. "This… you're married?" He asked.
Gaffer nodded.
"And this is real? Who verified this?" he asked, his voice thin.
"A scanner from the National Bestiary Institute," Gaffer replied, calm as stone. "Three, in fact. Cross-confirmed."
A younger council member exhaled. "And…?"
Gaffer's gaze was steady. "And it is a beastwoman. Isn't that the point of all the hardships you put me through."
Silence fell so deep the torches crackled louder, as though even the fire was listening.
"So," he continued, the corner of his mouth not quite a smile, not quite anything gentle either, "you have pressed me for a wife and a lawful union so you can flaunt."
His claw tapped the paw-print softly.
"I already have one. Here it is."
The elders shifted in their now creaking chairs, their breaths shuddering. Someone muttered prayers under their breath. Another rubbed his temples, as though trying to massage reason back into place.
"But isn't this paw of a tiny rabbit," one finally managed. "It is so small I can only think it is a beast pet or a beast food."
"It is a beastwoman and not a beast pet," Gaffer corrected. "Do you care for size when it is female?"
"Hah! So it is a rabbit! I hear you sent your battalion to go in search of a little rabbit. How can she be your wife when she is missing?"
"She will be found."
"And until then?" another pressed, hands white-knuckled around his cane. "What of appearances? What of order? What will the people say?"
Gaffer's eyes cooled to steel.
"The people doesn't know it yet that I am married. And I trust you all will maintain them," he said. "The contract stands. The council's demand for a wife is fulfilled."
The arguments kept coming — circling, biting, tiring themselves out against the immovable resolve of Gaffer. Voices rose. Emotions flared. But every time the fire swelled, it broke against that single truth lying quietly on the stone table.
A paw-print in the sheet and it belonged to a Female. A female who was now His.
By the time the council dismissed, the hall smelled of burnt wax and exhausted men.
And Gaffer walked out with the paper tucked safely into his cloak.
When he got back home, the palace was quieter when he returned.
As though the building itself had been crying and finally worn itself out.
He stepped through the long corridor where shattered ornaments had been swept into careful piles. Servants bowed without lifting their eyes.
He went straight to his chambers. "Where's my son?"
A healer met him at the door of the chamber and bowed low.
"He rests, Your Majesty," he whispered. "We…helped him."
He didn't know whether to say, we drowned him in water.
Gaffer inclined his head once and pushed the door open.
Gaffer's chest tightened. He had heard the cry of his son then but was too immersed in his own anger to pay attention.
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching his son's form in the porcelain bowl of water. He was careful not to jolt the still body as he gathered his son gently into his arms.
The silver slim beast stirred. Then pressed his forehead instinctively to his father's chest, as if seeking a heartbeat he trusted.
"She's coming," Gaffer murmured. "Do you hear me, my son?"
The silver slim beastling's eyes fluttered.
"Your new mommy will be here soon."
The beastling made a faint sound — the smallest sigh — and the tension slowly unwound from his tiny body. His breathing deepened, steadied, as if the words themselves wrapped around him like a blanket. He fell asleep again. Peacefully and willingly this time.
Gaffer closed his eyes.
He was a cheater. Linda didn't sign with her paw to any contract. He was the one who called his personal lead doctor and asked if he had a print of the rabbit's paws.
Thankfully, in one of the tests done on the rabbit, the lead doctor needed her paws so he took prints of both paws.
Transferring or copying Linda's paw-print into a contract of marriage was no big fit. Easy-peasy-queasy-won't be!