Page 52 of The Witch's Spell
I remember the previous dream, the one my subconscious was trying to remind me of. I remember Lucy falling into the chasm in the earth. The quiet afterward. I remember the angry sea rising up to steal my daughter away from me. And I remember what happened in my waking hours, how the ice cracked beneath Lucy’s boots, her startled expression as she met my eyes right before falling through and into the frigid water below.
Remembering makes my shoulders shake harder, makes me drop my head into my hands and dig my fingers into my hair.
“Rowan.” Aurora’s tone is different now. Startled.
As I shake, she wraps her arms around me, holding my shoulders and pressing her head close to mine.
“It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I grit out. “I failed Lucy. She’s dead because of me. And what if—”
I stop myself. But then I recall what Niamh said to me at the harvest festival this past autumn: “I encourage you tospeak with Aurora. Sharing your worries with her may unburden the weight from your shoulders.”
This whole time, I’ve felt it’s my duty—my responsibility—to bear this weight alone. Aurora already carries so much. But as she holds me in the dark, her fingers tracing my naked skin, I feel that I can no longer do this alone. Ineedher, even if I wish I didn’t.
“What if I fail our child? What if something terrible happens and we lose her because of me?”
My words linger there, in the warm darkness of the room. They feel forbidden, and for a long moment, Aurora doesn’t speak. Her fingers go still, making me wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
But then she untangles my fingers from my hair, cradles my face in her palms, and lifts my chin so she can look me in the eye. Though the light is low, her eyes are visible, and she holds my stare with unwavering strength.
“You aren’t going to fail.” Her words are firm.
I open my mouth to argue, to tell her she doesn’t understand, but she cuts me off.
“I know you’re not going to fail because you’re going tobe here, you’re going to try, and you’re going to do the very best you can.Wewill do the very best we can. And that is more than many children can say of their parents. It’s more than I can say of my father.” Her fingers tighten around my face and jaw. “You’re not alone in this. And I don’t want you ever thinking you have to hide your fears from me. Because I have them too.” Her eyes grow glassy, but she doesn’t break our stare. “I’m scared too. I’mterrified. But we’re going to do this together.”
A single tear streaks down her cheek.
And my shoulders feel lighter already. With every shared tear and shared breath, the burden I’ve been carrying for what feels like endless miles finally drops away.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Aurora asks.
“Because I didn’t want to give you anything else to worry about.” I lean forward so my forehead kisses hers. “You already do so much for all of us. I wanted to do this for you, to be strong for you.”
“And youare,” she says. “But being strong doesn’t mean you can’t also be soft, can’t also be afraid.” As one final tear traces the line of her jaw, she smiles. “I thought you already knew this, Sir Rowan. Or did they not teach you that in knight school?”
A snort bursts out of me. “Knight school? Are you mocking me, my queen?”
“Mocking you?Never.”
“No?” My hands find her waist, the cotton of her nightdress soft against my fingertips. “Are you sure?”
She nods, a smile threatening her lips. “Quite.”
With my tears drying on my cheeks, I bring my mouth to hers. And in the dark, I’m reminded of our first time. That night, Aurora’s hair smelled of woodsmoke and summer flowers, and her mouth tasted of honey and wine. She was an unknown, a stranger in the circle of my arms. But now, as she eases herself into my lap beneath our shared blanket and I trace the curves of her hips, her body feels familiar. Though the pregnancy has changed her, made her soft where once she was firm, she’s still my queen, the one I chased through thewoods and captured, the one I made love to as the summer air wrapped around us.
And her lips still fit mine perfectly.
My hands drift lower, to the hem of her nightdress, and she sighs against my mouth as I lift it to her hips. She rises onto her knees and reaches with one hand to find my cock and guide it to the wetness gathering between her legs.
I know Thorne is out on the couch right now, just a few steps away from the closed bedroom door, yet I can’t prevent the moan that slips from my lips as Aurora’s pussy wraps around me. Her walls stretch as she sinks fully onto my lap, and I pull her nightdress the rest of the way over her head and drop it upon the mattress beside us, then capture one of her firm nipples between my lips. As her pregnancy has progressed, her nipples and breasts have become larger. They used to fit comfortably in the palm of my hand, but now they’re heavier, fuller, and she moans as I take one and squeeze it gently.
Her fingers find my hair. She tips my head back, forcing me to release her nipple from between my teeth, then brings her mouth to mine.
We fall into a rhythm, Aurora’s hips rocking against mine, her tongue tracing my lips. I explore her mouth like it’s the first time, let my fingertips trace her neck, her shoulders, the dip of her spine. Her hair falls around us like a veil, trapping us in the dark together, in a space I wish I never had to leave.
Without slowing her pace, Aurora untangles one hand from my hair and slides it between our bodies to touch herself.
