Page 49 of Heart Cradle
Maeve blinked. “This feels… indecent.”
Eiran leaned on the doorframe, watching her with a smile. “You haven’t seen indecent yet.”
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were burning, remembering the last time they were together in a bathroom.
“And now.” he said, “The final reveal.”
He pushed open a pair of double doors, and Maeve’s breath caught. The bedroom was a cathedral of dark romance. Heavy panels draped from the ceiling, gathered and tied like the sails of a ship. The bed itself was enormous, canopied in sheer black fabric, the frame carved from deep, burnished wood. More books, of course, lined shelves along one wall, and there were three paintings in gilded frames. A great dark blue beast soaring over mountains, a moon half-swallowed by clouds and a very young Eiran in armour beside a glowing green-eyed hatchling.
Maeve stepped inside slowly. “This is…”
“Our room.” He looked at her, as if worried. “Is it too much?”
She shook her head. “No. Just… completely you.”
He smiled faintly, hand still wrapped around hers. “I built it for myself, never expected to share it with anyone.”
She turned towards him. “And now?”
He met her gaze. “Now I want you to feel at home in it.”
Her breath hitched. Not trapped, but invited, wanted.
Home.
Eiran watched her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered and he smirked, leaning against the carved bedpost like he belonged there, like he was a tragic violin solo. “Ah, but you haven’t seen what happens when I’m feeling broody and betrayed.”
She arched a brow. “Is that when the curtains blow ominously despite the windows being shut?”
“Exactly,” he said solemnly. “And the fire flares on its own, my eyes glow faintly, and I recite poetry in the mirror until I feel better.”
Maeve snorted. “Do you wear a mask?”
“Oh… only on weekends, love.”
She wandered towards the bed and let her fingers brush over the velvet duvet. “It’s impressive though. Dark, regal, it’s very… you.”
“Hmm,” he said, watching her too closely now. “If it’s too much, we can redecorate.”
She blinked at him. “Redecorate?”
He nodded, serious now. “Whatever makes you comfortable. We could soften the palette. Throw in some cheerful florals. Maybe a fluffy rug, a lava lamp, posters of human boybands from the early 2000s.”
Maeve gave him a flat look. “I don’t know what’s more alarming, your knowledge of boybands or the mental image of you lounging on a hot pink fluffy rug.”
“Don’t knock it,” he said with a grin. “I look absolutely fucking fantastic in bubble-gum pink.”
She shook her head, biting back a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re welcome to hang fairy lights over the bed,” he added. “Maybe spell them to blink in time with your heartbeat, oh it would be so very romantic.”
“Shit, stop.” She covered her face with both hands. “Now I’m picturing that and, ugh, no. I’d rather sleep in the stone cell again.”
He laughed, low and genuine, and the sound settled something in her chest. “I’m just saying,” he murmured, stepping closer. “If this ever feels too much like mine, I’d like to make it ours, make it yours love.” Then, as if sensing the moment itself had called for something more real, he reached into the large bag slung over the chair nearby. “I brought this back for you.” he said, unfastening the flap. “From Lisbon.”
One by one, he laid the items out gently on the table between them. Her passport, phone, toiletries, a pile of folded clothes, trainers and finally, her purse. Maeve opened it carefully and held the photograph that had been tucked inside. A younger Maeve, cheeks full and grinning wide, arms looped around her parents. Her mum was laughing, caught mid-joyand her dad looked like nothing else existed but the two of his girls. Her thumb brushing over the image like it might vanish, the breath she took was sharp-edged.
“I thought you’d want them,” Eiran said softly. “I didn’t know what would matter most, so I brought everything.”
