However, that didn’t mean they didn’t work at all. They said that they simply utilized their pastimes to work at home. Also, they didn’t stay completely indoors either; quite a few worked in the castle even after getting married and having children. When Ruri had asked those women for child-rearing advice, the only response she’d received was “Just give them mana when they get hungry.”
That was barely advice. It was no help whatsoever. She’d even asked several other people, and they’d come back with almost the same answer, leaving her at a loss. After that, Ruri had reflected on the situation once again. When the pregnancy had been discovered, Euclase had quickly made preparations—more for Ruri’s safety during childbirth than for the baby itself.
Of course, the mother’s health was important for humans, but humans spent more time on preparations to raise the child. Honestly, the only things that had been prepared for Citrine were a basket to sleep in, a cushion to line it, and a single blanket.
When Ruri first saw that, she had asked, “Huh? This is it?” She’d been surprised, and anyone who wasn’t familiar with dragonkin child-rearing would have had the same reaction. That was how little they’d prepared for the child.
Citrine ate mana, so he didn’t need a bottle. Since he didn’t eat food, he didn’t need diapers either. No one wore clothes in their dragon form, so clothes weren’t necessary either. Granted, Riccia had made clothes that could be worn in his dragon form, but nothing really needed to be specifically prepared for Citrine. It was natural to feel anxious about whether this was truly enough.
Chelsie spoke as if to laugh off Ruri’s worries. “Claus told me that doctors check on him regularly and court ladies come to check on him every few hours, right?”
“That’s right.”
“They wouldn’t do that much for an ordinary dragonkin child. They’re giving him special treatment because he’s your child and a Beloved himself, but they would leave a normal dragonkin child be.”
“This is special treatment? This?” Ruri repeated, her eyes saying she didn’t believe it. However, no matter what Ruri thought, dragonkin logic wasn’t changing.
“When I gave birth to Claus, I only gave him mana once a day as a meal and worked in the castle the rest of the time,” Chelsie explained.
“Once a day doesn’t sound good...”
“It’s normal, I assure you,” Chelsie replied as if it were common sense.
Ruri began to feel like she was the one talking crazy. However, Rutile, who had been on the sides, interjected with a very complicated expression.
“Pardon me. It would mean trouble if Ruri believes what you’re saying, so I must interject with a correction. Lady Chelsie, your child-rearing method was unusual even for the hands-off style of the dragonkin. Clause often complained about your extreme lack of care for your children.”
“Chelsie-san...” Ruri glared at Chelsie. But the other woman didn’t look particularly embarrassed, maintaining her usual aloof expression.
“They grew up just fine, so it’s all right.”
“No, it is not fine!” Rutile shot back.
While Claus had grown up to be a capable aide to the king, in Ruri’s world, it definitely would have been reported as abuse.
“No way Clause could be built that soft when he’s got Beast King blood flowing through his veins. It’s not a problem.” Chelsie had three children with Andal, including Claus. However, being a dragonkin, bound to only have one love in their life, she’d had no intention of joining the Beast King’s harem and sharing her husband with other women, so she’d raised her children as a single mother in the Nation of the Dragon King.
She was quite the independent woman. While that was admirable, it was clear that her child-rearing methods weren’t worth emulating.
“Incidentally, I heard that the reason Claus grew up without any issues was because the hired help took good care of him. After all, Lady Chelsie, who served the king at the time, was apparently a workaholic and rarely had time to be at home,” Rutile tacked on as an aside.
“I thought Chelsie-san could have been someone to consult me about child-rearing...” Ruri slumped her shoulders dejectedly.
“There is no need for consultation. Dragonkin may take forms that appear indistinguishable from humans, but they are the race that stands at the top in this world. The two are not the same. Dragonkin infants are not so weak that they need constant supervision like human young do,” Chelsie stated.
“Yes, I understand that, but...” Ruri peeked over at Rutile.
Rutile then said, “I don’t fully agree with what Lady Chelsie is saying, but I don’t think getting too involved will do any good either. You are worrying too much, Ruri. Dragonkin aren’t weak, so you don’t have to care for them as much as human infants. Then again, I do think Chelsie is too hands-off, so I don’t think you should use her as a frame of reference...”
“Urk...” Ruri hadn’t expected Rutile to agree with Chelsie too. She found herself clutching her head over the stark difference between human and dragonkin thinking.
Citrine didn’t cry at night, didn’t cause any trouble, and only gently reminded them when it was time to eat. The rest of the time, he slept. He was that easy to care for. There was so little to do for him that it left Ruri feeling disappointed. She had to accept that this was how dragonkin were, but she wondered if there was a tad more she could do for her son, though any more would be excessive by dragonkin standards.
Humans and dragonkin—they were similar yet different races, so Ruri was the one who needed to be flexible with the way things worked. If the child had been human, Chelsie would have understood her concern, but the child was a dragonkin with Jade’s blood. That meant Ruri had no choice but to adapt to the dragonkin child-rearing method.