Page 55 of Heart Cradle
They had passed beyond Elanthir Keep in mere moments, and Maeve had barely caught her breath before the world opened up beneath her. The landscape spilled out below them like something from a dream or one of those impossibly intricate maps found in ancient libraries. All rolling hills and golden glades, deep sapphire lakes tucked between woodland, winding rivers that glimmered in the sunlight like threads of silver and trees the darkest greens to the lightest whites. Maeve held tight to the front of the saddle as Xelaini dipped into a smooth swoop, wings tucked slightly, her tail cutting through the sparse clouds like a oar. Maeve gasped as her stomach pitched, wind tearing through her hair, her heart hammering hard in her ribs.
Thank the fucking gods for straps.
She clutched the leather with white-knuckled intensity, her legs braced tight. She wasn’t sure whether she was about to scream in terror or ecstasy. Eiran’s hand slid over her thigh, steady and warm, his voice low and teasing against her ear. “Breathe, love. She hasn’t dropped a rider in centuries.”
“She better not,” Maeve hissed. “I’d like to live long enough to die of old age, or too many orgasms, not a fucking fall.”
His laugh was a rush of air at her neck. “You’ll die of pleasure first, I promise.”
She could hear the grin in his voice. They banked left, circling low over a sun-dappled glade that opened in the heart of a dense, ancient forest. The trees were tall, their canopies touched with purples and blue, and soft white flowers bloomed in tight circles along the mossy ground.
Eiran leaned in. “That’s the Ancient Grove. It’s where wood nymphs go to marry, old magic lives there. You can smell it in spring.”
Maeve turned her head slightly, catching the subtle floral scent carried on the breeze. It was oddly sweet and sharp, like honey and crushed mint. They passed over a lake so still it looked like glass, the reflection of the sky rippling as Xelaini’s shadow crossed it. Eiran laughed again. “That’s the Landing Lake. I was tackled into it by water sprites when I was about sixty. Thought I could outswim them.”
“And?” she asked, grinning.
“Let’s just say I didn’t make it to the other shore with my dignity intact.”
She burst into laughter, the sound stolen by the wind but no less joyful. Her heart felt light, her cheeks sore from smiling. Then Xelaini’svoice slid into their minds, a purring chuckle like velvet static.“Little One, tell her about the time you and Branfil wandered into Whispering Valley and you tried to impress that snake with your ‘royal prowess.’”
Eiran groaned internally.“Traitorous beast.”
Maeve blinked, concentrating on her thoughts. “Wait, a snake? What did you do?”
“He tried to teach it court etiquette, apparently,”Xelaini supplied smugly.
Maeve doubled over, choking on her laughter.“Oh gods, please tell me it hissed in perfect posture.”
Eiran muttered, “It bit me, actually.”
She wheezed. “Where?”
He grumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, which only made her laugh harder. They flew like that for what felt like hours, but was only minutes. Eiran pointing out towns nestled in valleys, old ruins half-swallowed by ivy, little pockets of glowing magic that twinkled beneath the trees. He told her stories from his youth, sometimes solemn, sometimes outrageous, and Maeve listened like she was drinking sunlight. Xelaini chimed in now and then with dry observations, tossing in details that made Eiran redden with embarrassment and Maeve clutch at her sides. At one point, all three of them were laughing so hard Maeve had tears on her cheeks and no air in her lungs.
They landed on the outskirts of a small village nestled in a sloping valley, smoke curling gently from chimneys, the air rich with the smell of fresh bread and damp earth. The buildings were built of stone and wood, sturdy and worn with time, but welcoming in their quiet way. Maeve climbed down from the saddle, legs shaking a little, not just from the flight, but from the lingering high of it all. Eiran was at her side in an instant, a pouch of silver in one hand and steadying her with the other at her waist.
“Still breathing?” he asked, grinning.
“Barely,” she grimaced. “I don’t know if I’m exhilarated or queasy.”
He brushed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Both is acceptable.”
The villagers noticed them almost immediately, heads turning and voices rising with delighted murmurs. Eiran greeted several by name, pausing to ask after family members, passing silver coins and offering that warm, princely smile that made Maeve’s chest feel stupidly full. She watchedhim with something like wonder. He didn’t just help rule these people, he belonged to them. It was in the way their faces lit up at the sight of him, the casual touches to his shoulder, the open affection in their eyes, and he returned it all with easy grace, like it was second nature.
They made their way to a small inn near the village centre, charming with window boxes of flowers and an old wooden sign swinging in the breeze.
The Old Hen.
Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of eggs, toasted bread, and strong, dark coffee. They found a seat near the hearth, and Maeve didn’t bother hiding her delight when the innkeeper brought over plates of food, eggs fried in herbs, grilled mushrooms, little rounds of spiced sausage, and thick slices of buttered toast. She dove in with the kind of hunger only flying dragons and cosmic-level sex could stir up. Eiran sipped his coffee and watched her with that maddening glint in his eyes.
“What?” she asked through a mouthful of egg.
“You’re beautiful when you’re ravenous.” He purred, his gaze lingering.
She snorted. “You should see me with a proper hangover. Real poetry.”
They lingered after breakfast, enjoying a second round of coffee as people came and went, offering smiles and greetings. More silver was passed and someone brought Eiran a small parcel, a herbal remedy for an elderly relative, and he tucked it away with a quiet promise to deliver it later.
