Page 45 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
There's steel beneath the gentleness, a determination that speaks to everything I've learned about him over these pastweeks. He's laying it all on the line, putting his heart in my hands with the same courage he showed when he stepped between my daughter and death tonight.
"Because I'm done pretending this is casual," he continues when I don't immediately respond. "I'm done acting like what we have isn't, and if that's not what you want, Brynn, then tell me?—"
"I do." The words burst from me before I can think them through, cutting off whatever he was about to say. "Want you. Want this. I'm just..." I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I've been burned before. When Cyprien stole my heart and left me behind."
The name tastes bitter on my tongue. I've never said it out loud before, not to anyone in Eryndral. It's been my secret shame for ten years, the mistake that gave me Rhea but nearly broke me in the process.
Ciaran goes very still. Something flickers across his face—recognition, maybe, or disbelief. "Cyprien?" he repeats slowly. "Is he the sculptor?"
I nod, my throat tight. Of course he'd know the name. The art world isn't that large, especially on Kaynvu. Cyprien was brilliant, charismatic, the kind of artist whose reputation preceded him into every room.
"Is he..." Ciaran's voice is carefully controlled, but I can see the tension in his jaw. "Is Cyprien Rhea's father?"
Another nod. This one costs me more, dredging up all the old pain I thought I'd buried. The memory of believing I was special, that he loved me enough to stay. The crushing realization that I was just another conquest, another pretty face to warm his bed before he moved on to the next commission, the next city, the next woman naive enough to fall for his charm.
To my complete shock, Ciaran chuckles. Not mockingly, but with what sounds almost like relief. The sound is so unexpected,so at odds with the gravity of what I've just confessed, that I can only stare at him.
"That makes a lot more sense now," he says, shaking his head slightly. "When I felt Rhea's magic tonight, when I was working to counteract the poison... it felt so familiar. So much like Nya's."
My brow furrows. "I don't understand."
"My brother," he says simply. "The sculptor I mentioned when we first met, the one I said I haven't seen in years? His name is Cyprien."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I feel the blood drain from my face, my hands starting to shake again for an entirely different reason. "Your brother?"
"My older brother." Ciaran's grip on my face gentles, his thumb stroking across my skin in a gesture that's probably meant to be comforting but only makes my head spin faster. "Cyprien Delyth. Talented, charming, and utterly incapable of thinking about anyone but himself."
Delyth.Rhea's father's surname. A name I never knew because he never bothered to share it, never stayed long enough for such mundane details. But now, looking at Ciaran's sharp features, the aristocratic line of his nose, the way he holds himself—I can see the family resemblance I was too blinded by attraction to notice before.
"Rhea is my niece," he continues, wonder creeping into his voice. "That's why teaching her poetry felt so natural, why her magic responded to mine tonight. Why her eyes always felt like looking in a mirror and she made me think so much of myself."
I can't speak. Can't think. The man I've been falling for, the one who just declared his love for my daughter, is the brother of the man who shattered my heart and left me pregnant and alone. The cruel irony of it steals my breath, makes my chest tight with something between laughter and tears.
"Brynn." Ciaran's voice cuts through my spiral, anchoring me back to the present. "Look at me."
I force my eyes to focus on his face, on the concern etched in every line. He's watching me like he's afraid I might bolt, like he's already calculating how to convince me to stay.
"This doesn't change anything," he says firmly. "Not between us. Not between any of us. Cyprien may be Rhea's father by blood, but he's never been her parent. And blood or not, I've come to love her just as much as you do."
The certainty in his voice, the way he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, cracks something open in my chest. Because he's right. Cyprien gave Rhea life, but he's never been part of it. Never held her when she was sick, never taught her to read, never stayed up all night worrying about her future.
"And now I understand," Ciaran continues, his other hand finding mine again. "I understand why you've been so careful, so afraid to trust. Because now I really know what you went through."
24
CIARAN
The pieces fall into place with a clarity that's almost painful. How did I not see it before? Those violet eyes with their silver flecks—exactly like mine, like Nya's, like every member of the Delyth bloodline stretching back generations. The way she tilted her head when I taught her about meter and rhyme, the same unconscious gesture I make when I'm working through a particularly complex verse. The familiar resonance of her magic tonight, calling to mine like an echo.
Of course Rhea is my blood. Of course.
But Brynn still looks like she's in shock, like knowing I'm related to that bastard of my brother could change her mind. And now that I know he's the asshole standing between us, I'm more determined than ever to show her she has nothing to worry about.
"Brynn." I cup her face in both hands, forcing her to look at me. "Listen to me very carefully."
She blinks, her lips parting slightly as she waits for whatever blow she thinks is coming.
"I am nothing like my brother." The words come out fiercer than I intended, but I need her to understand. "Nothing. Cyprienis selfish and reckless and incapable of putting anyone before his art. He's brilliant, yes, but he's also a coward who runs the moment things get complicated."
