I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.

Mallos was going to have to make sure the next nanny was English. There was no way that Arthur would have tolerated that Spanish accent in any son of his.

He sounds like me, he thought as he wrapped his arms around the toddler, feeling the warm weight of the child’s body as Ned leant back into the hug. What was wrong with that? Ned was Mallos’ son too. Or instead of. Only?

It made his head spin, his heart ache and his pea of a conscience twist uncomfortably. The Arthur who visited occasionally in his head never seemed to regard anything with approval. Sometimes Mallos imagined his hard, stone-faced expression reflecting in Ned’s identical eyes and had to look away.

“He tickled one kind of dragon.” Mallos confirmed, pulling the story out of thin air. He held his hands a head’s distance apart and focused on generation a three-dimensional holographic image of the Earth. It spun lazily as he gestured to the top of the world, showing Ned where the Arctic Circle was. “Niber dragons live in the Arctic Circle; particularly Siberia, here.” He pointed. “They’re ice dragons which fear fire. King Alfazar discovered that tickling Niber dragons makes them laugh so much that they melt.” The globe shimmered and vanished. Mallos dropped his hands onto the floor behind him and leant back, crossing his legs. “Nah, I learnt dragon tickling from King Arthur.” He answered in a serious tone. “Pro dragon tickler, old Arty.”

As Ned climbed into his lap, Mallos straightened his shirt where playtime had pushed it askew and ran his hand through his hair.

“Niñera had to go see her family. A naughty fairy turned them into pigs again.” He leant forward warily as Ned reached over his knee to grasp his toy, but it was obvious the toddler was fine. “Don’t worry. I gave her a potion to turn them back.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the child, whose attention was diverted back to the book again. Ponies. Alright then. Mallos grinned and gave a mock salute, before pushing Ned gently to his feet and instructing him to go and put his shoes on. The toddler was too young for a proper horse at the moment. He’d be able to start learning on the ones in the stables in a few years, and could have one of his own once he was competent enough; for now, they would just have to improvise. Once Ned had his shoes on, Mallos lifted him up onto his shoulders.

“Dad-riding,” he explained, “good practice for pony-riding.”

They ‘rode’ through the house, sliding down the banister to the ground floor, out the back door and down the steps into the underground garage. Once they were down there, Mallos pulled Ned up and off his shoulders and lowered him gently to the floor, before straightening up to survey the fleet of cars.

“Shall we take the Enzo?” He asked Ned, tapping the bright red Ferrari’s badge. “It has a pony on the bonnet. Or…” He peered across the garage, narrowing his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I have a Mustang in here somewhere.”

Mallos
I've learned enough to know I'm never letting go