Page 53 of Cherished By the Gargoyle
Fiora steps closer, her green eyes searching mine. “All these years we watched you grow alongside Aurora. We just wanted to say”—she glances back at her sisters—“we are truly sorry for… everything, Thalric.”
Swallowing hard, I nod.
Maribel looks at me. “If there was a way to change the spell I used to soften Malvara’s curse, I would do it. For both of you,” she adds. “But it cannot be undone. I’m sorry.”
“We know it isn’t fair,” Lyria adds. “But at least you can still be together, even if…” Her wings shift, the faint tremor betraying her own sorrow. “Even if it is not in the way you wish.”
I say nothing. My silence is stone, unyielding, holding back the roar deep within.
Because she is right. I will bear any heartache to remain near Aurora.
Even if it breaks me.
CHAPTER 33
AURORA
Istand rigidly beside my parents in the vast throne room, my pulse skittering nervously beneath my skin. My stomach twists into a tight knot as the immense doors slowly creak open, their echoing groan reverberating off polished marble and gilded columns.
Anticipation coils in my chest, mingling with dread as the herald’s voice rings through the throne room: “His Highness, Prince Ryllen of Andoryn.”
I stand between my mother and father, my hands clasped to hide the trembling. Thalric and his father, Eldrin, hold their posts behind us like silent, watchful shadows of stone.
Prince Ryllen steps through, and for a breath my world narrows to a single, startling thought: no one told me he was Fae.
His dragonfly-like wings unfurl in a sweep of shimmering blue, their translucent membranes catching the light as he moves. His hair is long, perfectly straight, silk-white that spills like moonlight over his shoulders.
His ears are elegantly pointed, his face is handsome, aristocratic features and full lips that curve into a charming grin, flashing the barest hint of fangs.
He is taller than me, lithe and lean-muscled. His intense, sapphire eyes lock onto mine, and all I can think is: he is not Thalric.
Ryllen is nothing like my Gargoyle with his strong jaw and the harsh, angular planes of his face. With his deadly talons, powerful leathery wings, and his tail that betrays his emotions so readily, and a steady rumbling purr that reminds me I’m safe and protected when I’ve had a bad dream.
“Your Majesties.” Ryllen’s voice is smooth and deep as he bows to me and my parents. “Princess. Thank you for welcoming me so graciously. I came as soon as I received your raven with the news of your return.”
“Thank you,” my father replies. “The Goblin witch—Malvara—is aware that my daughter has come out of hiding. I propose we have the wedding at once to safeguard her against the witch’s curse. The priest has assured me it can be performed at dawn.”
The words settle in my chest like a heavy stone.
Ryllen nods solemnly, his gaze flickering back to me, concern softening his striking features. “Her safety is paramount. However, might I request a private moment with the princess first?”
“Yes,” I reply, before my father can answer for me. “I would… like that.”
Ryllen extends his arm toward me, elegant and courteous. My fingers tremble slightly as I place my hand upon his forearm. Together, we leave the silent tension of the throne room behind.
He leads me toward a grand balcony with a breathtaking view of the gardens below. “I’ve heard the gardens here are especially lovely.” Ryllen turns to me. “Would you care to walk with me there, Princess Rose?” he asks, using my proper name.
“Aurora,” I correct him. Even if everything else has changed, I will at least keep the name I’ve known all my life. “I prefer to go by Aurora, Prince Ryllen. It was the name my guardians used while I was… in hiding.”
It feels strange to say it aloud. Part of me keeps thinking all of this is some sort of strange dream and that I’ll wake up in my bed back in the cottage at Oakvale.
“Aurora,” he replies solemnly. “You may call me Ryllen.”
“Ryllen,” I repeat his name and offer him what I hope is a friendly smile. “And yes, I’ll accompany you to the gardens.”
Ryllen pauses, an unexpectedly playful grin tugging at his mouth. “May I carry you? It will be quicker than the stairs, and perhaps more enjoyable.”
Hesitantly, I nod. With effortless grace, he gathers me into his arms, holding me securely as his wings stretch out wide and we lift into the air.
