Page 72 of Return of the Darkness
“I’m warm now,” she whispered. He rested his chin on her head, staring up at the red moon with her.
“What are you thinking about?”
“That there may come a day where I do not see tomorrow,” she whispered. “That Zarya may not find Osiris, and nobody will save us.”
“If that happens, we will take as many people as we can and leave.” It was a rational option, but one she could not follow. She would not abandon her people. A week had passed since leaving the Neutral City, which was now on the brink of extinction as the dark crater claimed more of the kingdom each day. How could she decide between those who would sail to new lands and those doomed to perish? “Whatever happens, I will be by your side, your sanctuary.” Alvan moved Larelle’s hair aside to kiss her shoulder.Perhaps Alvan is your destiny,Nerida had said. As they faced the unknown, Larelle knew she wanted no one else by her side. She wanted that sanctuary, someone who was her home after difficult days. Larelle tilted her head, displaying her neck for Alvan’s lips, a silent command she wanted more—wanted him. Alvan’s arms unwrapped from around her to grip her hips instead. She sighed when his lips continued along her neck, his teeth ever so gently grazing her skin.
“My queen,” Alvan breathed, roaming his hand over the silk of her robe; one travelled to her chest and the other down her hip. “My goddess,” he said between kisses. Larelle closed her eyes, a shiver running up her spine when his hand grazed her nipple. “My Larelle,” he whispered. His fingers moved under the lace of her robe, brushing her heart. Larelle gripped the wall of the terrace and pushed back, rubbing against him, knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Alvan groaned and gripped Larelle’s hips, holding her still as he rested his forehead on her shoulder, as though uncertain if she wished to continue.
“Please,” Larelle whispered, and Alvan’s head lifted. “Be my sanctuary.” Alvan’s hands were quick and demanding as he spun Larelle and gripped her face, pressing his lips to hers with hunger. Larelle met him at the same pace, starving as she parted her lips and allowed him to take control. Alvan’s scent of ocean-drownedtrees enveloped Larelle as she pulled back to find the buttons on his shirt. When his lips claimed hers again, Larelle’s fingers were hurried and certain as she worked her way through the buttons before pushing the fabric over his shoulders to run her hands over his muscles.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you,” Alvan murmured, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down her neck until reaching her chest. Her robe slipped off her shoulders, allowing him to graze his teeth over her nipple before slowly lowering to his knees.
“Do you remember what I told you on the steps of the Tabheri Palace?” he murmured, planting delicate kisses on her thighs. Larelle tried to gather her thoughts to focus on his question.
“That you would worship me,” she whispered, sucking in a breath as his hand slid between her thighs.
“I meant every word,” he whispered. His fingers began lazy circles, inching closer and closer, testing her patience. Larelle swallowed back a moan as her hands gripped his shoulders. “The people think they worship you, their queen and saviour from the destruction to come.” Alvan’s chest rose and fell quickly as he watched his queen’s face the moment his fingers finally gave her what she wanted. “What would they say, Larelle, if they knew I was the only onetrulyworshipping you?” Larelle opened her mouth to speak, but words escaped her as Alvan rose from his knees before she found release. Eyes flashing open to meet his, she placed a finger under his chin.
“I want you,” she breathed. “All of you.” Larelle reached for the band of his trousers and quickly unhooked them. His breathing was sharp as he moved closer, resting his head on Larelle’s shoulder, who slowly moved her hand up and down. Her silk robe fell completely from her shoulders as Alvan gripped her waist and lifted her onto the low terrace wall, baring her back to the ocean. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths under Alvan’s gaze as he opened her legs, the silk falling on either side of them. Pulling herto the edge of the cold stone, he moved his fingers between her legs, and her head lulled back. Despite how good it felt, she gripped his hand.
“All of you,” she said, splaying her palms on the stone wall to keep upright.
“Are you granting the prayers of my worship?” Alvan asked, devouring her with his eyes. Larelle smiled shyly and nodded.
Alvan did not delay. He obeyed his queen as his hands gripped her hips to hold her steady at the edge of the stone as he pushed into her. He silenced Larelle’s cry with a kiss and held her still while she adjusted. Six years. Six years, and she finally felt at home again.
“My queen. My goddess. My Larelle.” Alvan kissed her gently before slowly moving.
“Alvan,” Larelle moaned. Her arms trembled as she held herself upright. He quickened his pace.
“Say my name again,” he murmured, digging his fingers into her hips. Larelle’s arms gave out, but Alvan clung to the back of Larelle’s knees, repositioning her thigh to angle deeper. She arched her back further and leant into his other hand to keep from falling.
“Alvan,” she groaned. Larelle relaxed back, her hair dangling over the edge of the wall. Beneath the red moon, as the waves crashed below them, salt-spray splashing their skin, Larelle melted into her sanctuary.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Sadira
The lords recommended a public funeral for Caellum, but Sadira had resisted, only wanting herself and Sir Cain to say goodbye. They had compromised. While there was no public burial, the people had an opportunity to pay their respects, though it was more of an opportunity for them to see Sadira as queen after keeping their wedding private. Despite the complicated history of his family, people seemed to mourn Caellum. Many citizens bowed their heads, with others wiping away their tears. The three women he had saved from the soldiers in Antor had stayed the longest, standing against the back wall with their heads lowered in respect.
That was Sadira’s other compromise—a public coronation. But one step at a time. Therefore, much to Sadira’s grief-stricken horror, she stood on the raised platform at the end of the throne room, watching people slowly trickling past Caellum’s coffin before leaving through the other door. Sir Cain smiled from where he stood at the opposite end of the hall, manning the entrance. His silver armour, highly polished, almost showed her reflection. They counted the hours until sunset, where they would eventually bid farewell to Caellum. Swallowing her tears, Sadira clasped her hands and peered down at her dress rather than the many passing faces. Most pitied her, though some watched with intrigue. Many of the older citizens seemed displeased at Sadira’s crown, having ascended to the throne without a large audience.
She smoothed over the deep green silk on her stomach and hips, the gown tumbling into a waterfall of fabric at her feet. From afar, it appeared black, though its true colour was clear up close. Shepeered down at her dress and chest, where Caellum’s gold wedding band hung around her neck—cold. It sat below the talisman that had become hers in his death. Ever since she draped it over her head that morning, her power itched beneath her skin. Sadira had always been powerful, but part of her wanted to test this rise in magic—to grow a forest through the throne room and cast everyone out. Instead, she sighed. Only Sadira remained for her realm, and she would not let Caellum down. Though she would refuse to find a new fairytale—his last request was one she would ignore. One day, she would argue with him about it.
“Your majesty,” whispered a quiet voice below. Sadira regained her focus and flashed a tight smile at Athena. “May I offer my condolences?” A cane trembled under her hand as she inclined her head to the right, a silent request. Sadira nodded and lifted her skirts, descending the wooden steps. Athena scanned her from head to toe as she did, far more intrigued than usual. “While I hated his family for what they did, I truly am sorry for your loss,” she said. Sadira tensed and clenched her hands tighter.
“It was not their fault.” Athena tilted her head curiously, and Sadira’s next words were spoken with unusual bitterness. “It seems you are not blessed with as much information and foresight as you thought.”
“Regardless of what I do or did not know, I cannot intervene and change paths. You know that.” Athena kept her voice quiet. “And as tragic as this path is for you, you must accept it. Your people need you to.” Sadira’s eyes burned furiously as she assessed the old Wiccan. When Athena winced, Sadira’s misplaced anger faded.
“Please sit, Athena,” Sadira said. The old woman waved a gnarled hand.
“I may be fading away, but I still have my dignity. I won’t sit in front of a grieving queen.” Sadira admired her strength, and a genuine smile marked her lips, even if it was small and short-lived.
“I saw my grandmother,” Sadira whispered. Athena, whousually showed little emotion, leaned forward, her eyes watering.
“You were on the Isle of Gods?” Athena breathed.
