Page 48 of Heart Cradle
Eiran smirked, looking out into the night.
“Oh fuck me,” Maeve muttered. “She’s watching isn’t she.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he said, brushing his knuckles down her arm. “She’s just protective.”
“Like her master,” Maeve says with one raised eyebrow.
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear and his hand grasping her hand. “I’m not her master. I’m her chosen, her paired.”
They turned towards the door, Maeve followed Eiran deeper into his chambers, each step revealing more of her mate. The main room opened before her like something pulled from an oil painting, moody, opulent, and lived-in. The walls were rich with texture, dark plum and ink-blue fabrics stretched between carved beams, woven through with faint golden threads that shimmered.
Shelves lined nearly every surface, crammed with books so old they smelled like dust and age. Some were stacked haphazardly, others lovingly displayed with bookmarks and ribbons trailing from their pages. The scent of leather, aged parchment, and something warm, cedarwood and spice clung to the air. She realised it was him.
“This is…” She turned in a slow circle. “Not what I expected.”
Eiran raised a brow as he lit a few low-hanging lanterns with a flick of his fingers. “Disappointed?”
“No,” she said, stepping farther in, brushing her hand along a heavy velvet curtain. “Just surprised. You live like a brooding academic with a flair for drama. Who would have guessed?”
He chuckled. “Academic, yes. Brooding, sometimes. Dramatic?” He gestured to the grand fireplace carved with fae runes and dragons mid-flight, flames flickering behind a mesh of wrought gold. “Always.”
The floors were wide-planked wood, so dark they were almost black, partially covered by thick rugs in indigo and garnet, their patternstwisting with ancient symbols and constellations she couldn’t quite recognise.
“Come, love,” Eiran said, offering his hand and she took it without thinking.
He led her past the sitting area, a low, deep couch layered in cushions and throws, a half-finished glass of wine on the nearby table and into the next space.
“This is the library,” he said.
The room widened into a circular expanse, every wall a towering bookcase. Ladders on gliding rails arched overhead like cathedral beams. There were maps unfurled across tables, scrolls in delicate holders, and orbs of glowing faelight floating in the corners like watchful eyes. An enormous desk dominated the far end, scattered with open tomes, notes in Eiran’s slanted hand, and a crystal vial that pulsed faintly with magic.
Maeve blinked. “You read all of this?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Most of it. The rest is for when I can’t sleep.”
“Do you sleep?”
“Only when I’m not thinking about you. Even then, I only sleep to dream of you, love.”
Her heart kicked in her chest, she looked away. “So cheesy, again.”
“Hmmm, but true.” Before she could reply, he pulled her gently along. “Study is this way.”
The study was smaller, more intimate. A round table in the centre was covered in more maps marked with pins and thread. Notes pinned to the walls alongside charcoal sketches, some of cities, some of beasts, and one of her.
She stopped. “Is that…”
Eiran followed her gaze. “Yes.”
Maeve stared at the sketch. It wasn’t polished, but it was her. Hair windswept, eyes distant. Drawn from memory.
“You’ve been sketching me?”
“I had to, when you were gone.” He just looked at her, honest and unapologetic and something inside her wobbled.
He cleared his throat and then touched her hand again. “This way.”
The bathroom was next, if you could call it that. It was more like a bathing sanctuary. A sunken bath, wide enough for a complete football team, was carved into dark stone. Crystal sconces spilled soft golden light across the room, glinting off copper fixtures and ivory tiles inlaid with violet and gold. Perfumed oils lined the edges, paradise certainly.
