Page 85 of Heart Cradle
“Hmm.” Maeve rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. “When you put it that way, it does sound a little ridiculous.”
His grin softened, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. “And it’s not ridiculous for me to want to burn the world down for you?”
She sighed, her voice soft but steady. “Of course not. But I think we can hold off on the world-ending vengeance for now, don’t you?”
Eiran’s grin turned wicked. “Only because you said so.”
Maeve reached up, cupping his cheek, her eyes full of love and fire. “You’re impossible. Bloody mad and impossible.”
“Yes,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. “But you like it.”
“I love it, actually,” she breathed, as their lips met.
Chapter Thirty-Nine – To Burn and to Shield
The dining room in Elanthir Keep was warm with mid-morning sun, pouring through the tall arched windows and glinting off gold-threaded banners. The air smelled of soap, coffee and fresh bread, it was homey, rich, and faintly ceremonial, as if the Keep itself knew what was coming. The table was crowded with familiar comforts: platters of fluffy scrambled eggs, glistening berries, herbed butter, flaky pastries, and a dark roast so smooth Maeve had seriously considered pledging her undying loyalty to it. She sat between Eiran and Branfil, across from Soren, who was already halfway through his second plate and in the process of negotiating a third with his stomach.
Conversation was light, mercifully so. Maeve leaned into it, letting herself breathe for the first time that morning. For a few rare, stolen minutes, it almost felt like a normal day. That illusion shattered the moment the messenger entered. He carried a sealed letter, grasped in one hand. The wax was dark green, imprinted with the royal crest of Melrathen and beneath it, the ancient motto curled in script.
To Burn and to Shield.
Eiran sat up straighter taking the letter with a tight smile. “It’s from Father,” he said, recognising the handwriting, voice sharp with sudden clarity.
That pulled everyone’s attention like a thread snapping tight. “Well read it then, knobhead.” Fenric said through a mouthful of bread.
Eiran ignored the comment and broke the seal cleanly, and unfolded the page. His eyes moved quickly, scanning. His mouth drew into a thin line before reading aloud. “To Prince Eiran, I write from Eldrisil. Your grandfather, your mother, and I have travelled here to meet with your grandfather Veralis and the Council. Our intent is to secure open support against The Pale Court’s increasing aggression, and ahead of the possibility of war.”
Soren was the first to break the hush that had fallen over the table. “They didn’t tell you they were leaving?”
Eiran shook his head once, sharp. “No, which means it they didn’t want anyone intercepting the plan.”
He glanced towards Branfil, who nodded slightly in confirmation, rather than surprise. Eiran looked back at the page and continued. “Branfil is to begin organising the binding ceremony. It will be held four weeks from today. Invitations are to be sent to all allied and neutral realms. Avelan must also receive theirs. Let them decline publicly, or not at all.”
Calen cleared his throat. “We’re sending an invitation to Vargen and Petra?”
Eiran gave a dry huff, but his gaze stayed on the letter. “Apparently.”
Maeve blinked. “Who’s Petra?”
“Vargen’s niece. Absolutely ruthless and will likely kill any of us on sight but she is… divine.” Soren said.
“Hmm, thank you for that most sincere synopsis Soren.” Branfil leaned back slightly, folding his hands over his stomach. “They’ll receive an invite, symbolism matters. Especially now, the Chain reappearing, your mate bond. If Avelan refuses to attend, they openly refuse peace.”
Eiran continued reading aloud, “Maeve is to continue training daily. Combat and flight drills with Prince Soren. Magical instruction under Princess Aeilanna and the Keep’s appointed magicers. She is to be battle-ready.” He glanced sideways at her with one brow raised. “Flight training starts today, love. Jeipier needs to learn formation and tactical manoeuvres, and so do you.”
Maeve sipped her coffee with steady hands. “Got it.”
Eiran moved to the final portion. “You will assist your brothers in interrogating the prisoners captured from the southern skirmishes. Work with Prince Fenric and Prince Calen, prioritise extraction of strategic information. We expect a fully detailed report upon our return, if not before.”
Fenric blew a lock of hair from his eyes, “They left you in charge of interrogations?”
Eiran folded the letter and set it down with deliberate care. “Looks that way, knobhead.”
Branfil cleared his throat, already rising. “I’ll begin preparations today. Invitations will go out before tomorrow’s eve.”
Before anyone could respond, the heavy beat of wings against stone echoed from outside, followed by the sharp metallic click of dragon claws on marble. The doors swung open and Nolenne and Aeilanna strodein, still in travel leathers, boots dusty and hair wind-tossed, cloaks smelling of flight, fire and high altitudes.
“We just got back,” Nolenne said, stretching as she approached the table. “Whatever’s going on, I’m guessing it can’t wait.”
