Page 118 of Heart Cradle
Her throat ached with the steadiness in his voice. The music swelled beyond the doors, voices rose and footsteps approached from a hallway behind them. They stood there for a moment longer, then he said, “What did my mother say to you? That day she pulled you aside.”
Maeve laughed softly. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”
“I’ve been fucking dying to know. Well, what was it then?”
“She offered me a way out,” Maeve said, smiling faintly. “Said if I had any doubt at all, she’d walk me to the stone herself. No judgement, no consequence.”
Eiran blew out a breath and looked at her, jaw tense. “And… do you?”
She squeezed his hand. “No,” she said. “Not ever.”
The doors to the great hall opened before them and scent hit first, spiced wine, charred sea herbs, slow-baked citrus breads, smoke from hearth-pits and skewers. The perfume of the night-blooming flowers curled through it all, floral, sharp and sweet. Sound followed, the low thrum of strings, goblets clinking, bursts of laughter, and the occasional bark of teasing from across the room. The noise rose and fell like a tide.
The hall was a marvel, long curved tables gleamed beneath floating lanterns shaped as clustered stars, drifting screivens and gliding dragons. Dishes from across the allied realms were laid in gleaming rows. Velvet-leaf dumplings from Eldrisil, stonefire ribs glazed with plum wine from Armathen, ocean-glass oysters misted with salt-frost from the Storm Coasts, moss cakes and fogfruit from Edhenvale, and wild grain rolls with spiced orchard stew from Melrathen itself. Each plate shimmered with softenchantments, rune light tracing their edges to keep them fresh and at the correct temperature.
At the centre of the hall stood the high dais, crowned in plum and emerald linen and faelight. The royal family and realm leaders were already gathered. Queen Hayvalaine was speaking softly to Orilan, Taelin was mid-argument with Branfil about something that involved scout lines and Aeilanna and Nolenne sharing a quiet joke with their heads bowed close. Fenric and Laren were already seated, Fenric’s hand high on her thigh, Laren’s smirk daring anyone to comment and Calen caught Maeve’s eye and raised his goblet, while Soren gave her a wide, enthusiastic grin.
Maeve hesitated, so much colour, so many voices and so many eyes. The room was warm and bright, heavy with anticipation but brimming with joy. And still, Eiran’s kept her hand in his. As they approached the dais, the room quieted slightly.
Orilan stood and raised his goblet. “Tonight,” he said, his amplified voice carrying easily across the vast space, “we feast not for war readiness or alliance, but for joy, for the joining of two mates who have changed the course of this realm, not through conquest, but through courage, choice, and the favour of the gods. To my grandson and his mate. May your light endure whatever darkness may come. May love be your anchor for whatever crests the far horizon, and may your union stand unshaken, even as the winds begin to rise.”
The hall erupted into cheers and applause and he raised his cup once more, expression sly. “And should any great-grandchildren arrive before I turn to stone entirely, I’ll consider it a personal triumph.”
As the raucous shouts echoed through the hall, Eiran turned to Maeve, his hand finding her waist. She rose onto her toes just as he bent, and they met in a kiss that was full of all they’d endured to reach this moment. The hall erupted again, some shouting their approval, others thumping goblets against tables and Eiran pulled out Maeve’s chair, pressing a kiss to her temple as she sat.
“Not a bad speech, I suppose,” Fenric interrupted. “Could’ve used a few more dramatic pauses.”
“Oh, we’re keeping score now?” Calen asked, reaching for a platter of spiced roots. “Didn’t realise we were grading our King.”
“I grade everyone,” Fenric said with a smirk. “You’re an arsehole.”
“Quiet, both of you,” Hayvalaine said fondly, accepting a filled goblet from a servant. “Must you ruin the one heartfelt moment we’ve managed all week? Trust this table to sabotage it without blinking.”
Fenric glanced at his mother, crossed his eyes in theatrical defiance over his goblet, and drank, utterly unrepentant. Eiran cleared his throat and stepped forwards again, the laughter still echoing faintly as he glanced around the hall. “My mate and I would like to thank you all for coming.”
He turned slightly, offering Maeve his hand. She rose beside him, her fingers threading with his.
“It’s been lovely to meet so many of you,” Maeve said, her voice warm but steady. “To learn about your realms, your customs and to know your kindness. A baptism of fire perhaps, but one I’m immensely grateful for.”
A ripple of fond laughter moved through the hall. Eiran looked at her for a long moment, visibly moved, before turning back to the gathered guests. “I am blessed beyond measure to be gifted a mate,” he said, voice low but clear, each word weighed and sure. “I know this, and I will spend the rest of my life thanking the gods for that gift.”
He glanced at Maeve again, something fierce and fragile in his expression. “She is the other half of my soul. I do not function without her. The bond we share will be recognised tomorrow, but tonight… tonight I will tell you this. It already lives in me, breathes in me… it rules me.” His hand tightened gently on hers. “Maeve is my sun, my stars and every planet in me revolves around her. She is my waking thought, my sleeping breath, my joy, my hunger and my peace. She is the home I never thought I’d find. She rules my heart, my mind, and my body and I will be her ever-faithful, ever-loving servant for all the days I draw breath. I begin with her and I end with her. There was nothing before and there will be nothing after. Only her, always”
Maeve let out a soft breath, willing her voice to steady as she glanced towards Yendel, smiling. “I was told by a very dear friend, that mate bonds are sacred and require the careful stitching of two souls. Not too much, not too little. That you must care for yourself as much as your mate, because your half, your wholeness, is their gift too.” She looked out at the gathered crowd, then back at Eiran. “I was broken before I found him. Eiran has helped me heal, yes. But I’ve helped myself too. I am stronger for his love, but I am happier because I’ve come to love myself again. The bond makes me feel like he’s the most important part of my life. But my love for him, what we’ve chosen, knows that he is.”
Another pause followed Maeve’s words, then Soren rose to his feet, goblet in hand, his smile a little too bright to be entirely innocent. “To Maeve and Eiran,” he said, raising his glass. “To soul-stitched love, to healing and to firelight in dark places. To Maeve, for finding the one person who makes you willing to say things that would’ve made your past-self gag.”
“And,” Calen added, casually lifting his own glass, “to Eiran, may he one day recover from the look Maeve just gave him when she imagined all the things she plans to do to him later.”
The hall erupted into more noisy shouting and clapping and Fenric knocked back his drink then muttered, “Gods, I’m drinking to that!”
“Ooh, and me,” Laren chimed in brightly, clinking glasses with the nearest hand. “Can we all get one of those looks? Just once?”
“Enough,” Hayvalaine said dryly, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “It’s a wedding, not a tavern contest.”
“Pity…” Laren pouted into her wine. “I was winning.”
Eiran and Maeve finally sat, plates before them, the laughter still echoing. Maeve smiled and leaned towards Laren. “Are you lot always like this?”
