Page 117 of Heart Cradle
She tried to glare at him, but her lips twitched. “Sort of.”
His face, pure warmth. “So beautiful.”
They walked in step for a moment. The sconces along the walls flickered with faelight. The stone danced with floating runes, marks of protection and old magic designed for additional security. “I thought I’d feel more ready,” she murmured.
“You are,” he said. “Readiness isn’t calm. Sometimes it’s standing exactly where you’re supposed to be while your heart tries to climb out of your throat.”
“Dramatic. Cheesy. Who knew?!”
“Comes with the territory.” He bumped her shoulder lightly. “Fae prince, occasional drip.”
She laughed, the sound catching against the nerves in her chest.
Ahead, the corridor opened into the high walk that overlooked the southern gardens. Evening light filtered in through the archways, low and burnished. The scent of moonflowers carried on the wind, soft and dizzying.
Eiran slowed. “The dragons were calling you Chainling again earlier. During patrol.”
Maeve groaned. “I know, I heard them. All of them.”
“They don’t mean it unkindly.”
“I get that. It’s just... eerie when twelve minds whisper it at once.”
“You should’ve heard what Brontis called Calen and Venleo after they flew too close to the cliffs last week.”
Maeve raised a brow. “What were they, the Flying Idiots?”
Eiran grinned. “More like ‘Captain Cliff-Fuck and his loyal flying dipshit’. Soren almost fell off from laughing.”
“Shit, and I thought mine was bad.” She exhaled, the breath tugging something looser in her chest. “Still. I need to say something, I don’t want to be named after an object. Not even that one.”
“Then ask them again,” Eiran said gently. “They’ll listen.”
“I will.” She hesitated, then added, “And thank you. For not calling me that, not even as a joke.”
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re not a Chainling. You’re my mate. That’s it.”
They kept walking, the high arch narrowed ahead, leading to the great hall. Music murmured just beyond, soft strings and a slow drumbeat. People were already inside and Maeve slowed, Eiran didn’t pull her forwards. “Sometimes I still think about Lisbon,” she said, eyes fixed on the warm glow beneath the doors. “How I saw you and didn’t know why my whole chest opened. How I felt the weight of the world, and then there was you.”
“Now who’s the drip?” Eiran’s voice dropped, rough with the memory. “You glared at me like I’d ruined your life.”
“You probably had, I just didn’t know it yet.” She smirked. “You were wearing that white shirt.”
His grin turned wry. “Tight enough that it should’ve been illegal?”
She nodded. “You stood in front of me like you were a Bond villain.”
“You tilted your head like you were about to arrest me.”
“Hmm, I’d like to see you in cuffs actually.” She said before they both chuckled at the memory.
Maeve asked. “What do you think it is? The Chain. Why it found me? Why it feels like more than just an artefact?”
Eiran looked at her then, studied her. “I think it’s a guide, and I think it chose you because it knew you’d listen when others wouldn’t.”
She swallowed. “Do you ever worry it’s too much?”
“For you?” he said. “No, never.”
