Page 111 of Heart Cradle
She nodded once, stepping into the room with that same strange, held tension and they didn’t speak for several long moments. The fire crackled softly behind them.
“Would you like to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the hearth.
She did, and he produced two cups of wine. They made small talk, pointless, harmless things. Weather, horses and whether Calen would ever shut up, but beneath it hummed something bigger, something fragile, furious and aching. She smiled, at one point, at something he said. Not one of her usual grins, the coy, sharp, knowing ones. But a real one, unarmoured and it pierced through him like sunlight through crystal. He was staring again and he couldn’t help it.
After a lull, Laren stood. “I should…”
“Don’t,” Fenric said suddenly, rising with her. He reached for her hand and held it with care, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Please. Just… don’t.”
“I love you,” she whispered. “And thank you, for waiting. For seeing me when I wasn’t ready to be.”
His breath left him. “I always will. Laren, I don’t just love you. I crave you, I ache for you. I think about you when I’m supposed to be thinking about politics or magic or training. You live in every corner of me, it’s never felt like obligation. It’s just you, it’s always been you, it will always be you. I am… only for you.”
Her eyes glistened as she cleared her throat and gave him a crooked smile. “Good. It seems as if we’re on the same page then, Fen.”
He huffed a stunned laugh, blinking hard. “Will you stay?” he asked. “I won’t touch you. I just… want to sleep beside you. My heart feels like it’s clawing at my ribs.”
She tilted her head at him. “Only if you keep your clothes on.”
He laughed, a real one this time. “Deal.”
Minutes later, they slid beneath the blankets like they’d done it a thousand times before. Fenric remained clothed, his long dark hair pulled back. Laren, now dressed in a buttery soft tunic and leggings conjured with a flicker of intention magic, looked entirely at ease beside him. He didn’t hesitate, he pulled her gently to his chest, tucking her close and breathing in her scent like it would anchor him.
She let him, but arched a brow against him. “I thought you said no touching.”
“This isn’t touching,” he murmured. “This is just so our souls can finally rest together. They need it, we need it.”
She let out a soft, surprised sound, and melted into him completely. “I always thought I needed space,” she whispered after a while. “To roam, to wander, to be untethered. But I think… maybe I just needed you.”
“You can have both, Laren.” Fenric's voice caught in his throat. “You always could.”
She smiled into his chest. “Good night, Fen.”
“Night, Moon,” he replied.
Chapter Forty-Nine – Smoke at Dawn
Fenric moved quietly, easing himself from the bed with a careful grace that betrayed his usual swagger. He didn’t want to wake her. Not because he regretted the night before, fuck no, but because he knew how deeply Laren guarded her pride. She’d spoken the words he’d waited centuries to hear, and he refused to let the morning twist that into awkwardness or regret. As he reached for the door, her voice, soft and drowsy, caught him mid-step. “Where are you going?”
He froze, hand still on the latch. “Didn’t want you to wake up and feel… foolish or cornered. I thought I’d slip out and spare you the uncomfortable morning-after.”
Laren pushed up onto one elbow, hair tousled, eyes still hazy with sleep. “Fen, I’ve waited over a century to be ready. I love you, I’ve tortured you, and yet you still think of me.”
He turned back to her fully, and she crossed the room, placing her palm to his chest. “I think about you above all else,” he murmured, and bent to kiss her, lightly.
She leaned into it for a moment, then pulled back with a smile. “Where were you planning on going?”
“Rivakar’s restless. I thought we might go for a ride, clear my head before the city stirs.”
Laren tilted her head, already pulling on her boots. “Think we could try a hunt? I haven’t had real practice with my longbow in weeks.”
He grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”
They left hand in hand, slipping through the quiet Keep like mischief, barely making a sound as they crept down to the stables where Rivakar waited, snorting softly as they approached. “She is always welcome,”the Blightflare murmured in Fenric’s mind.“You’ve waited long enough.”
They saddled up, and Rivakar launched them into the pale blush of dawn. Moraveth sprawled beneath them in muted hues of stone and silver. They soared, diving, spinning and laughing into the wind, but as they flew towards the outer city, the wind changed, carrying smoke and panicked shouting.
Fenric stiffened in the saddle. “There’s trouble at the gates.”
