Page 11 of Heart Cradle
Maeve blinked. “That’s terrifying.”
“Oh, wildly, but he lives like he fights, fast, loud, and with no concept of consequences. First into every fight and last to leave. He once kept sparring with a dislocated shoulder just to win a bet with Calen.”
Maeve raised a brow. “What was the bet for?”
“A fruit tart,” Eiran said. “Which he immediately gave to Laren.”
Maeve paused. “Laren?”
Eiran’s smile turned faintly pained. “The female he’s been hopelessly, stupidly in love with since they were barely old enough to hold swords. She knows, of course. But Laren…” He trailed off, then added, “She’s not the settling type. Not for now, maybe not ever.”
“And that doesn’t stop him?”
Eiran laughed softly. “Nothing ever has. He’d walk barefoot across a battlefield if she looked at him like he mattered. And she does care, she just won’t cage herself for anyone. Not even him.”
Maeve’s chest ached, just a little. “Shit. That’s…”
“Tragic?” Eiran offered. “Entertaining? Entirely their fault?”
“All of the above,” Maeve said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not exactly making a case for your family’s survival instincts.”
“We make up for it with allure and devastatingly good looks” Eiran said with a shrug, dragging a hand through his hair, not knowing if he had made things worse.
He was distracting. In a completely unfair, difficult to look away from sort of way. Broad-shouldered, tall, effortlessly handsome. His white shirt clung just enough to show the muscle underneath, subtle, strong, like he actually used it. However, it was his face that kept tripping her up. Not the symmetry of it, or the dimples, though, yes, fine, those were also adorable, but his eyes, a bright, impossible blue. The kind of blue you couldn’t pin down, cerulean, sea glass, tempest lit ocean. Whatever colour they were, they were looking straight at her now. Steady and curious. Like he was trying to read her in real time and fuck, the nerve of him, sitting there all relaxed, like he wasn’t the reason her cheeks suddenly felt very warm in the shade. She cleared her throat and gestured vaguely at the Chain cool against her wrist. “Do they know about this?”
His expression shifted, just a flicker, like he was pulling back from whatever thought he’d been halfway into. “They knew something had changed. The Magicers felt the activation. It wasn’t huge, but it left a mark. Magic like that always does, especially when it’s been dormant for so long.”
Maeve frowned. “You mean they’re tracking me?”
“They can’t track you,” Eiran said carefully. “But they can track magic. Once the Chain had stirred, once it had contact with the Fae Lands again, they could locate it. After that…” He gave her a wry look. “My father sent me.”
She raised a brow. “What, to retrieve me?”
“No, to retrieve it,” he said. “He didn’t want soldiers or fanfare, just a simple recovery. So he sent the prince with decent manners and allegedly calming energy.”
Maeve’s mouth curled. “And how exactly am I a link to the Fae Lands?”
Eiran winced, just slightly. “It must have sensed our bond, veiled as it was.”
“You don’t need to dance around it,” Maeve said, voice steady. “I want the truth, please.”
Eiran’s fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup, his expression turning quieter. “The truth is, we don’t know much, not really.”
Maeve raised a brow. “That’s reassuring.”
He smiled faintly. “It’s rare. One bond in every few generations, if that. Some fae go without ever hearing of one appearing in their lifetime. Even when it does, it’s not studied. It’s private and revered. Fae don’t question gifts from the gods, they accept them with humility.”
She looked unconvinced. “So the fae never thought to investigate?”
“We’ve tried,” he said. “But the bond doesn’t behave like other magic. It doesn’t follow rules, it doesn’t respond to spells, tests or logic. It simply... is.”
Maeve stared at him. “So, I’m magically married to a man who doesn’t know what the magic means. Fantastic!”
“That’s one way to put it,” he said softly. “Another is, you’re bound to someone who would spend lifetimes trying to understand you. Not to figure you out, not to solve you. Just to… witness you. To learn the shape of your silences, the reasons behind your laughter. To know how you take your coffee, and why you flinch when the wind sounds like footsteps. If the gods tied us together, Maeve, it wasn’t for convenience. It was for depth, and I intend to earn every inch of it.”
Her heart was doing that traitorous thing again, unfurling. She hated it, loved it and feared it. She wanted to run, but needed to stay. Her eyes were wide, like she was trying to see through him, or make him disappear. “I don’t know if I’d call this calming.” She breathed. “I mean, fuck, Eiran. You can’t just say things like that. You talk about lifetimes like that’s a normal amount of pressure.”
She stood abruptly, needing motion, needing distance that didn’t help. “I’m not used to being... witnessed. It’s not a comforting thought and to be honest, it’s terrifying.”
