Page 73 of The Shadowbound and the False God

He kept her pressed close against him, so that he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. With his cheek against the crown of her head and his fingers woven into her hair, he whispered those precious words over and over: “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

She didn’t have to speak to say it back. When she finally raised her head to look at him, he could see it in her red-rimmed eyes and tear-soaked face. The way she looked at him was enough tosettle him; he thought for a moment that he might cease to exist entirely outside of her gaze.

And when her lips met his, he could feel it, too. He could feel every bit of it—ofher—caressing and soothing and mending and easing all those ancient, vicious parts of him that he’d never learned to love on his own. She dug her fingers into him as if she wanted to reach inside him, as if in doing so she could pull out all that darkness herself with her bare hands. If anyone could, it would be Aisling. There was no emptiness with her in his arms, no fear or hate or anger. There was only this. There was onlythem.

Kael inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent as she kissed him again with renewed fervor. It was as intoxicating as it was calming; it was everything he remembered it to be and everything he’d so longed for even without realizing. It was his homecoming. He sank deeper into the kiss, his grip still firm enough to anchor himself to this moment, to this reality, because a part of him was terrified it might slip away. That maybe Yalde had found a new form of torture: instead of holding him in his darkest fantasies, forcing him to live out a forbidden dream.

But Aisling’s lips were warm and soft and if this was all an illusion it felt so, so real. Her fingers tangled into Kael’s hair and the pull at its roots sent a shiver coursing through him. The longing that pooled in his core was a sensation that he couldn’t deny—and had very little desire to. Kael tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his chest tightening with emotions too immense to name. She was his sanctuary, and he wanted her to know it.Neededher to know it.

Breaking away just enough to press his forehead to hers, their ragged breaths mingling between them, Kael whispered once more, “I love you, Aisling.”

She drew back a bit further so that she could look straight into his eyes when she said, “Then you need to make me a promise.”

Her statement brought him pause, his heart stuttering at the weight of the wordpromise. Guilt settled over him once more as he was forced to recognize that he hadn’t been good at keeping promises in the past. But for Aisling, he would change. For Aisling, he would do anything at all.

“Ask whatever you wish of me, and I will swear to it without question.”

“Promise to tell me the truth, always. Even if it hurts.” She paused, then added,“Especiallyif it hurts.”

“I promise.” He meant it. He’d keep it. This time, things would be different.

Aisling sat up a little straighter; Kael shifted as she adjusted her position in his lap. She wiped her eyes again, then his. He leaned gratefully into her touch.

This time, things would be different.

Sleeping had done him good—Rodney awoke feeling ready to take on the realm. Or, at least, ready to try.

He set himself up in a different chamber this time from the tiny one he’d crawled into before. The ceiling was higher in this one, and it would more comfortably fit a second body. It was deeper, too: he’d followed a passage that ended in a steep decline that he slid down on his backside when he lost his footing on a spot of loose dirt. It was cool and quiet. Here, he could feel the richness of the earth all around him, pressing in on him not in a way that was threatening or claustrophobic, but like a protective embrace. Just as the tiny chamber had been exactly what he’d needed before, this was perfect for what he needed now.

Somehow, the Enclave knew.

Both Aisling and Kael had gone, so Raif volunteered to go first. Rodney called directions to him from that low chamber, secretly hoping a short slide would humble the guard captain just a bit. But Raif navigated the decline gracefully and with ease, and soRodney did his best to hide the dirt streaks on his jeans to avoid having to admit to his own fall.

“You seemed to know what I was getting at before,” Rodney said. He directed Raif to sit, then sat cross-legged in front of him. He took in the male’s countenance: at ease, very nearly relaxed, but it didn’t fool Rodney. At the barest hint of a threat Raif would be on his feet, at least one weapon drawn and foe identified in the time it would take Rodney to blink. It was impressive, if terrifying.

“I understand the concept.” Raif’s tone was clipped. He wasn’t looking forward to this any more than Rodney was.

“Then you know what you’ll give?” A silent nod was the soldier’s only response, so Rodney prompted: “Tell me about it.”

Raif didn’t flinch, but the ripple of tension that ran through him was anything but subtle. Rodney pretended not to see it—less out of respect than self-preservation. He waited quietly instead for Raif to speak first.

“Did you know that my father was Captain of the Guard before me? Not under Kael; under the previous king.” After his initial reaction, Raif’s gaze was now level and steady.

Rodney shook his head. “I don’t recall making the acquaintance of many Unseelie soldiers before yourself. At least, not willingly. Never made a habit of it.”

“Araouane.”

The one word was all Raif had to say to spark recognition—of course Rodney had heard of him. Most in Wyldraíocht had, especially those in proximity to the Unseelie Court. Rodney considered where he was at the time,whohe was at the time. It would have been around when he first met Lyre, as Olin perhaps. If that were so, he would have certainly met Raif’s father, likely from the sharp end of his sword. Olin’s work as a trader of goods had made him few friends and too many enemies.

Raif noticed. “So you knew him.”

“Knewofhim, at the very least.”

“Then,at the very least,you knew his reputation,” Raif said.

Rodney nodded. Araouane was fierce and formidable; it was said there wasn’t an enemy he faced that he didn’t cut down. Fatal with a sword and even more so with an arrow, he was known the realm over as the late king’s most lethal weapon. He was just as skilled in strategy: those few times he wasn’t leading his warriors into battle, he’d organized his companies so they were very nearly invincible. But for as legendary as Araouane was, the tales never mentioned his family.

“He had a sword in my hand sooner than I could properly support its weight, and he conscripted me into the ranks as soon as I came of age. I served under him for a long time; the kind of male the stories made him out to be was exactly the kind of male he was.”

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