Page 35 of Blossoms and Bloodlines
Her aura had told him otherwise, but she may not think in terms of forever.
The idea of losing her, of this being all there was, ripped something open in his chest that refused to close.
Her scent was all over him. In his mouth. Under his skin. In his lungs.
And gods help him, he knew.
She wasit.
His mate.
His tether. His undoing.
And if he had any hope of keeping her, of not driving her away the moment she found out what that truly meant, it would take more than instinct and desire.
It would take patience. Honesty. Work.
But he would do it.
Because she was already in his blood, in his bones, and no part of him knew how to let her go.
GAEL SMILED AS HE MADEhis way to Aryon’s place. A jay cackled somewhere overhead. Red leaves spun down like confetti, celebrating the season’s shift. Honeyed light filteredthrough thinning branches. Somewhere, someone was baking with cinnamon and cloves, and the whole town felt suspended in that fragile hush that only arrived when summer finally stopped pretending and let autumn have its way.
To be fair, it could have been any sort of day, and he would have found it beautiful.
Because her scent still clung to him like the afterglow of a dream he never wanted to break. Her sighs still echoed in his ears, low and breathy.
She’d asked him whatlïorænmeant, curled against him, her fingers drawing idle circles over his chest. Her smile had gone soft and sweet when he told her—my only light.And gods, hadn’t she looked like it then. Glowing in the golden spill of morning, her hair in a tumble across his shoulder.
They’d meant to get up. Really. She had work, after all.
But then her hand had drifted lower with wicked intent, and he’d groaned, rolled her beneath him, and kissed the breath right out of her. The sheets tangled around his ankle, her laugh muffled against his mouth mixed with the smell of her arousal, and time had vanished. All that existed was skin and need and the sweet ache of being inside her where he belonged.
Eventually, way later, she’d bolted upright, cursed impressively, and scrambled for her clothes while muttering about lateness and irresponsibility and how this wasdefinitelyhis fault. He hadn’t argued. Not when she looked so radiant while wearing nothing but panic. He’d just lain back in bed, head propped on his fist, watching her with a slow, stupid smile, shamelessly enchanted.
He’d got up, too, at some point. Got ready, and left her with a kiss to the shoulder and a promise to see her later, then had stepped out into the bright hush of morning.
Happy. Filled up. There was still too much unsaid between them, without even considering all the rules he was about to break, but for now, none of that mattered.
The road to Aryon’s wound through quiet streets and into the trees, and Gael took his time, letting peace settle into his bones. And maybe that newly found equilibrium was why the ache hit him just as the path curved toward familiar ground. It was something older, born from shared blood and years of brotherhood.
Gael and Valerian, Aryon and Elara.
Cousins by blood, they had grown up more like siblings.
In the elven tradition, the High Lords always came as twins. Their power was unpredictable until maturity and so for years, no one knew which pair Fate had chosen. Regardless of Gael and Valerian being slightly older, both sets were raised side by side. Schooled together. Trained together. Shaped by the same rites of passage. But when puberty hit, Aryon and Elara’s powers surged beyond anything seen in generations. Elemental affinity. Psychic depth. Raw energy. They were the storm and the stillness.
It was clear then: they would be High Lord and Lady.
Far from being bitter when the truth had revealed itself, Gael and Val had been relieved. The weight of the crown was immense, and neither of them had craved it. But their roles were still significant, just one step below the throne, fully bound by duty and blood. They would always stand at Aryon and Elara’s side. That had never been in question.
They’d each forged their own paths since, made choices that were true to their individual soul, but never forgot their duty and who they were within magiks’ society.
He and Val had been heartbroken when Aryon and Elara left the city and the heart of elven high society for the wild quiet of Mystic Hollow. Back then, it was barely more than a clearing in the mountains, barely touched by civilization. But it made sense.Aryon and Elara’s powers had blossomed into something rare, and with such power came the price of overwhelming sensitivity to others’ emotions. The constant psychic noise of city life had driven them to the edge of madness.
So they had retreated, carved out a simple life in the mountains, close enough to serve their people but far enough to find peace.
Distance, in truth, meant little to them. Still, the ache of separation always lingered. And so, whenever Aryon and Elara returned to the city, or Gael and Val visited Mystic Hollow, they stayed together—as they always had.
