Chapter 6 #3
He could still feel the place where his emotions had passed into hers and how she’d let them move through, nearly pulled her under before she matched them with her own.
And it had destroyed him.
He hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. Not so fast. Not so deep.
She may not even want this to be serious.
Maybe it had been a release, a breaking point, a beautiful mistake born from the weight of whatever was growing between them. Maybe, to her, it was just heat. Just hunger.
Just a hook-up.
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 was it.
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 MADE his way to Aryon’s place.
A jay cackled somewhere overhead. Red leaves spun down like confetti, celebrating the season’s shift.
Honeyed light filtered through 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 what l?oraen meant, 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 was definitely his 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.
Gael smiled as Aryon’s home came into view, nestled among the trees like it had grown there. Stone paths curved through sweet flowering plants, and a gentle stream wove through the landscape like a silver ribbon.
The house was large but quiet in its majesty, made of warm natural wood and enormous windows that invited the forest in.
When Gael stepped inside, morning light spilled through the glass in soft streaks, the place itself exhaling peace.
He found Aryon in the greenhouse alcove off the main room, kneeling on the stone floor with his hands submerged in a wide ceramic basin.
The water shimmered faintly, not just from the light but from the subtle ripple of magic running through it.
Aryon moved with meditative intention, coaxing balance into the water, grounding himself in its rhythm.
Tiny floating blossoms circled the surface like stars orbiting a gentle sun.
Elara was there too, sitting on a low armchair just beside the window, legs folded beneath her, sipping tea from a wide, chipped mug. She looked like she belonged to the stillness, as much a part of the space as the vines curling along the windowsill.
They each had their own homes, their own spaces, but of course she was here this morning.
Of course she knew.
Her presence wasn’t just casual, and this wasn’t just tea.
She had helped orchestrate the threads between he and Beth, yes, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be consequences. Even if she’d helped with the first sparkle, she was still going to ask what he meant to do about the blaze.
Gael moved to Aryon’s side, crouched, and dipped his own hands into the basin without needing to ask what was being done. The water was cool, and the gentle sway of energy helped settle the lingering hum still pulsing through him.
“If it were anyone else,” Aryon said quietly, not looking up, fingers still skimming the surface, “I’d say that’s a walk of shame right there.”
Gael chuckled, unrepentant. “No shame here.”
“I figured.”
Gael didn’t respond right away, but let the silence settle, the ripples of the basin slowly fading around their fingers until Aryon stilled his hands.
The blossoms stopped circling. The water calmed.
Then, with a tiny gesture, Aryon drew the remaining energy from the basin, letting the water evaporate into a warm mist that dissolved into the air.
Without a word, they rose together and moved back into the house.
Aryon set water to boil and began steeping tea, plucking dried herbs from unlabeled jars.
Gael retrieved the mugs without needing to be asked.
Elara had already claimed a barstool at the kitchen island, her mug empty now but still clasped between her hands like she wasn’t ready to let go of the warmth.
He could feel their emotions: the quiet press of tension, the flicker of worry under Aryon’s calm and Elara’s cool. He’d never expected anything else.
When the tea was ready, they took it outside to the back terrace as the morning sun began gaining courage, burning off the last of the dew. Gael took a slow sip, then set his cup down. “Let’s hear it, cousins,” he said. “Might as well get to it.”
Aryon sighed, long and weary. “I think you figure we need to talk about Beth.”
He’d known it was coming. Still, the words hit like a gust through the chest. His shoulders tensed despite himself. “Go ahead. Straight to the point, please.”
“She’s human,” Elara said, tone harder than her relaxed posture suggested.
“I noticed,” he said dryly. “I’m observant like that.”
The High Lord and Lady exchanged a glance. Then Aryon said, “We have to ask if you intend to keep pursuing her. A relationship with her.”
“You must know the answer to that.”
“We do.”
Gael wrapped his hands around the warm cup and steadied his voice.
He knew—with absolute certainty—that his cousins would stand with him.
He’d seen it in their auras, felt it in the comfort of their presence.
But he also understood that the High Lord and Lady bore more than names; they bore duty. And duty had claws.
It was for the cousins, not for himself, that he kept his voice pleasant. “The rules that prohibit me from pursuing such a relationship are not absolute. It’s for the High Lords to decide where the line is drawn.”
Elara nodded, solemn. “Yes.”
“Are you going to enforce them? Because I will not give her up.” He set his cup gently on the table and leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap.
“What I will give up, if that’s what will be asked of me, is my claim to the throne line.
Strip the title. Erase the record. But I won’t be apart from her. ”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then both of them looked at him, Elara first, then Aryon, and in their faces was a mix of awe, happiness, and fear. Not for him. For what might come.
“Is she...” Elara began softly.
He nodded. “She’s mine.”
Aryon exhaled slowly, then took a sip of his tea. Maybe he just used the motion to stall, to let the moment breathe. Stars knew he needed to.
“Last year,” he said, then. “When Jade returned, she was on the verge of surrendering the Mountain’s call. She knew the Oreads’ laws better than most and came to us convinced she wasn’t the right one to ascend as Chief.” He paused. “No one in their history had ever refused the Mountain before.”
He looked down into his mug like he could still see the conversation playing out. “I told her that just because something has never happened before, doesn’t mean it never will.” Then he looked back at Gael and gave a slow, easy shrug. “Times change.”
“I’m starting to get confused,” Gael said, his frustration rising. Ready for a fight, he had expected opposition, and they were siding with him? Were they?
“What kind of High Lords would we be,” Elara said, her voice softening, “if we allowed change for others, but not for our own?” She leaned forward, her tone growing serious.
“Those rules were arbitrary even then. How many marriages in the high family were arranged based on lineage purity, ignoring the bond between partners? And how did those unions end up?” She shook her head.
“The laws of lineage came from a world long gone. Our duty isn’t to blindly, myopically, protect the past. It’s to move our people forward. ”
“There are a few rules that need to be set in stone. Some that we will always enforce,” Aryon added. “Telling people who they should be with is not one.”
“So, you’re not ordering me to stop seeing her? You’re not pushing for me to keep the bloodline pure?” Gael asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
“We are not,” Elara said firmly. Then, with a huff of laughter, she added, “There are four of us, for crying out loud. Unless we all fall for humans or different magiks, I think the bloodline will survive. And if we do all fall for others, maybe it means it was time. Maybe it means the old ways were overdue for change.” Her smile faded as quickly as it came and her eyes hardened.
“But understand this, Gael. Our support doesn’t shield you from everything.
Our silence won’t protect you from the storm that’s coming. ”
Gael’s gaze dropped. His shoulders tightened, the calm in him retreating like a tide. “My mother.”
The twins nodded in unison, and Elara spoke up again.
“And ours. And the higher ranks. There will be a fallout. Hushed and unfair. Many won’t be kind to her.
” She paused. “Beth is one of the strongest women I know. She will not cower, should she choose to stand beside you, but she deserves to know what she’s walking into. ”
Gael nodded. “I agree. I will talk to her. Soon. If I throw this entire fated mates thing on her, she might feel pressured.”
Aryon frowned. “The bond works for her, too. She will soon feel it, if she isn’t already.”
“I hope so, but she has a thing about being told what to do,” Gael said with a tight smile. “Pointing out that fate itself is telling her that she and I are two parts of a whole, destined to be together, might not go as smoothly as you’d think.”
Elara chuckled softly, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “You’re not wrong. Just don’t procrastinate. The wind has ears, and it carries whispers.”
Gael gave her a wary glance. “I’m aware of that. But I’m not exactly in a hurry to face the storm.”
Aryon’s expression lightened as he set his cup down. “The storm won’t stop, but it can be weathered. And know you’re not facing it alone.”