Conspirators.
In reality, that word was far more accurate.
Because while to any adult ear it would sound like ordinary playtime, anyone who actually peeked inside would see the truth. This wasn't innocent fun. This was the makings of punishable shenanigans, especially when one of them was supposedly hiding his identity.
In the drawing room, far from prying eyes, two culprits were tucked under what was being generously called a safety blanket.
Orien, in his proud baby dragon form, had absolutely no idea how a scrap of cloth could possibly qualify as protection. His scales gleamed faintly in the dim light, his stubby horns poking comically against the blanket as if he were testing the limits of its supposed power. In his mind, the human who smelled like honey biscuits was just weak and poor—maybe this was all he could afford.
