Chapter 8
MERAK
I clutch Gwen’s hand as we descend the steps of the inn and emerge onto the cobblestone street. Snow flurries drift down around us, and I pause briefly to adjust the hood of my mate’s cloak, making sure she’s well protected from the cold.
My mate. My heart warms every time I remember that she’s mine. Even if she doesn’t know it yet. Even if it will take her time to accept the truth.
The dark blue gown and cloak truly suit her, contrasting beautifully with her flawless skin, which is so much paler than mine. The garments also make her dark eyes stand out, eyes that some might say are too large for her face, but I find utterly breathtaking.
Everything about her is lovely perfection.
She smiles up at me, then glances around the town. I sense the excitement building within her, and I think of her affinity for maps, trade routes, and strange trinkets from faraway lands. I can’t help but smile back at her, this sweet little human whose spirit is more adventurous than my own.
I like flying great distances, and I especially like when my scouting duties take me far from the Winter Court army.
However, that enjoyment mostly stems from the certain safety of solitude.
When I am alone, no whispers follow. Though it’s been years since anyone referred to me as the Lord of Nothing, the memory lingers, and I still wish to outrun it. Or more precisely, outfly it.
I tighten my hold on Gwen’s hand. Her enthusiasm for exploring Ellonnar is contagious, and I find myself genuinely looking forward to showing her the markets, gardens, and other places I promised to take her.
I imagine it will be a joy to see those places through her eyes, bright and open with wonder.
“Come, my dearest. Let’s find the markets first.” I lead her down the street, and we walk among the faefolk who are out for a morning stroll.
Mindful of Gwen’s short human legs, I set a slow pace.
She peers left and right and occasionally glances behind us, trying to take everything in at once.
Most of the homes are constructed with wood and painted in every color imaginable, though some of the larger buildings are fashioned from dark gray stone.
Tall trees grow in between the streets and walking paths, many of them heavy with ussha-blessed fruits.
Street musicians can be heard in the distance, their flutes and rhythmic drums weaving through the chatter of passing faefolk and the sweeping wind.
When the market district comes into sight, Gwen’s eyes widen and she gasps softly.
I savor the intensity of her excitement through the bond. It feels warm and exhilarating, and I instinctively pull her closer so I might better bask in her emotions.
After we reach the markets, I make a point of continuing at a leisurely pace.
Whenever I sense she’s intrigued by a particular vendor’s wares, I pause and allow her to admire everything properly.
But each time I ask whether she wants me to purchase anything for her, she shakes her head and says, “Thank you, but no.”
She still believes the gowns, shoes, cloak, and other items I had delivered to the inn are too much. But it’s not enough. I want to give her more. I want to show her the entire realm and shower her with exotic gifts if only to witness her face lighting with wonder.
When she isn’t looking, I occasionally slip a coin to a vendor, furtively purchasing one of the items her gaze lingered upon. I carefully tuck the trinkets in the rucksack I brought along, hoping she does not notice. I intend to surprise her later, once we are alone back at the inn.
As we finally reach the garden that rests in the center of town, Gwen pauses to study the glimmering blue roses that line the walking path. Most are covered in frost, though since they are ussha-blessed, they are able to thrive in cold weather.
She peers up at me, face flushed, eyes bright with awe, and the affection I already feel for her promptly deepens. It becomes endless as the frozen northern seas that stretch beyond the known realm.
My chest tightens with emotion.
Gods, please let her feel the bond soon.
Let her feel me.
“I’ve never seen flowers like these,” she says thoughtfully.
“Sometimes when I sat on the stone walls of Braemar and looked toward the forest, I caught glimmers of ussha-blessed trees and shrubbery, but I never glimpsed flowers or any fruits or vegetables that glow and sparkle with fae magic. I-I can scarcely believe this is all real.”
“Soon, ussha will finish spreading across both the human and orc lands, and no place will remain untouched by fae magic. Flowers such as these will become abundant, even in cities like Braemar.”
Her eyes suddenly darken, her excitement fading.
I inwardly curse myself for mentioning Braemar. She misses her home city. She misses her family. And I have just reminded her of everything she has lost.
Before I can think of something comforting to say, dark clouds roll swiftly across the sky, blocking out the sun entirely.
A strong, frigid wind suddenly sweeps downward, blowing Gwen’s hood from her head.
The force of it even causes her to stagger, though I quickly steady her with a tug on her hand.
The snow begins falling harder, then harder still, and the wind howls through the streets.
A blizzard.
Gwen gasps and steps closer to me, lowering her head as she wrestles to reclaim her hood.
I immediately lift her into my arms and turn away from the gardens.
As the visibility worsens, I glimpse faefolk running toward the houses and shops in search of shelter.
I surmise that most of those fleeing the storm likely hail from the Autumn Court.
“What is happening?” Gwen calls over the wind.
It’s just a blizzard, I say through the bond, speaking directly into her mind for the first time since I saw her standing on the auction platform. Do not be afraid. I am taking you back to the inn.
As I rush through the storm, I relish the brutal chill of it.
It sinks into my skin, permeates my bones, and makes me feel vividly alive.
I could remain outdoors in weather such as this for days without suffering any harm.
But Gwen is human, and I must get her inside near a warm fire as soon as possible.
When the Sapphire Lantern finally comes into sight through the raging snow, I run faster and practically burst through the front door, allowing a gust of icy wind and snow to sweep inside with me.
The proprietor looks up from behind the front counter, his features briefly twisting with annoyance before smoothing into a polite smile when he recognizes us.
After kicking the door shut behind me, I carry Gwen upstairs, eager to get her warm and spend more time alone with her. My sweet, adventurous mate.
I vow here and now that one day I will show her the entire realm.
Once the fighting against the humans and orcs finally ends, we will journey together across every territory, and I will show her all the wonders she has longed to glimpse with her own eyes.
No more staring wistfully at maps and dreaming of distant places.
I will give her the real thing. I will give her everything she has ever desired.
Perhaps I don’t need to build her a permanent home somewhere. Perhaps she would be happiest traveling from place to place beside me.
Still, if she ever wishes to settle down, I will build her a house fit for royalty.
Then I consider whether we might have children together. I suppose in that case, we would need a place to settle down, a cozy home to raise our children in. Warmth fills me at the thought.
It is a future I find myself longing for more than I would have ever expected. Since I never believed I had a fated mate, I had long ago suppressed any hope of having children. And yet, with Gwen, it is something I find myself desperately wanting.
I carry her into the suite, shut the door behind us, and set her down so I can more easily remove her damp cloak.
Then I guide her toward the sofa near the hearth, pleased to discover a roaring fire already blazing there.
It would seem a servant came by during our outing to tidy up the place and rekindle the fire.
Naturally resistant to the cold, I didn’t bother wearing a cloak myself, but I take a moment to allow the melted snow to evaporate off my leathers before taking a seat beside Gwen. I place a hand gently atop hers.
She studies me with a questioning look. Though I regret that our excursion was cut short, perhaps the storm was a blessing in disguise. It distracted her from her thoughts of Braemar and her family.
I am not even certain what I might’ve said to comfort her otherwise. I certainly would not have promised to take her home.
No. I will not be parted from her.
Come what may, she is mine.
“I’ve never seen a storm like that before,” she says. “A fierce snowstorm swept down on Braemar just before the Winter Court army attacked, but it was nothing like this.” She gestures toward the windows where snow swirls so thickly that the mountains aren’t even visible.
“Storms such as this were once quite common in the Winter Court,” I say, remembering the blizzards that sometimes raged for days around the mountain manor my parents built after leaving Vaelnor. “It pleases me that such storms are now appearing in human and orc lands as well.”
“It pleases you?” she asks softly. “Why is that?”
“Because it means there is a strong concentration of ussha specifically from Winter Court lands in this region. The ice clouds are already evidence of that, of course, but the storms are as well. Winter Court magic is spreading.”
A thoughtful look falls over her. She turns away from the windows and gazes at the fire, and I sense she’s thinking about the days to come. Not just her own future, but the future of the realm itself. She’s wondering what the human and orc lands will look like a few hundred years from now.
If I told her that she would live long enough to see it, would she believe me?
She is my mate, and as long as we physically consummate our union and she remains at my side, she will absorb my winter magic, allowing her lifespan to match mine.
She will likely live for thousands of years.
Given her adventurous heart, I can’t help but think she would be buoyed by the news.
Yet I remain hesitant to reveal what we truly are to one another.
Soon, I tell myself.
Perhaps by the end of our time in Ellonnar, she will have warmed to me enough that I can trust she won’t outright reject our mating bond.
But then my thoughts drift to Vaelnor and the black frost. Am I deceiving her by keeping parts of my past from her? Though the black frost hasn’t been seen since the day of my birth, the recurring dreams and the shadow figure that often lurks at the edge of my vision still unsettle me.
The wind howls louder outside, and she suddenly scoots closer to me on the sofa. After she flushes, I realize it wasn’t intentional. The sound of the storm simply startled her, and she instinctively moved closer to me for protection.
I shift nearer to her as well, allowing our thighs to touch, and wrap an arm around her. She freezes for a brief moment, but eventually she leans her head into the crook of my arm and emits a contented sigh.
My spirits soar.
She is softening toward me.
I can sense it.
And as I hold her close before the roaring fire while the wind howls wildly outside, I come to a startling realization. For the first time in my life, I feel anchored in place. I no longer feel the restless urge to run—or fly away—in search of the safety of solitude.
I only want to remain here. With Gwen.
The wind roars louder beyond the walls of the inn, and I draw her more deeply into my arms. She does not resist. Instead, her fingers curl lightly into my shirt, and she soon relaxes against my chest, even emitting another soft sigh.
Warmth fills me. I press a quick kiss atop the crown of her head, breathing in her lavender scent.
I delve my fingers into her soft, luxurious hair and start caressing, unable to stop touching her.
If I thought she wouldn’t protest, I would lift her into my lap and cradle her even closer to my chest.
Then I feel it. Her utter contentment. It reaches me easily as her mind brushes against mine.
She likes the coziness of the suite and the warmth of the fire, finding it a pleasing contrast to the storm raging outside, but she also likes being in my arms. A sense of safety flits through her, and I concentrate harder, trying to discern her exact thoughts.
I nearly growl when they finally reach me.
This moment feels perfect, she thinks. Too perfect.
Why do his arms feel like the sweetest refuge?
Why does he continue treating me with such gentleness?
He’s a highborn fae lord. A soldier from the Winter Court army.
His people conquered mine, and yet the more time I spend around him, the less he feels like my enemy.
I kiss the crown of her head again and continue listening to her thoughts, pleased by what I’m hearing.
Yes, she will soon surrender to me.
She will soon agree to consummate the mating bond.
My mate. My dearest Gwen.