36. Ayna
Ayna
My room looks only half as pretty when I stare at it bleary-eyed from a fitful night’s rest. Tori’s words haven’t left my mind, and I don’t mean those about Myron helping me shift. I’m grateful the most powerful Crow alive will be there to guide me through my first deliberate attempt at shifting, no matter the mixed feelings meddling in my stomach.
Clio returned half an hour ago, startling me out of my bed as she popped up beside it with a message from Andraya and Pouly saying they’d be honored to help the true queen of Tavras in any way they can, and that they’ll be putting their network to good use.
Good news at last. We all needed a heap of it.
She conjured simple fighting leathers from that place between worlds where she keeps summoning things from, and dropped them on top of the covers with the words, “Don’t lose them during shifting. I’d hate to have to get you new ones.” Then, she disappeared, leaving me to a nervous stomach and all sorts of worries over how I might end up naked during shifting the way I had the first time when Herinor had to get a blanket to cover me.
Struggling out of bed, I pick up the leathers then head into the adjacent bathing room to wash up and get ready.
I have about half an hour before everyone else will be awake, so I decide to go for a short walk through the gardens.
Yesterday’s guard greets me at the door, tilting his head as he lets me pass before falling into step behind me.
“You don’t need to follow me everywhere,” I inform Garrison, shamefully remembering how appealing he appeared to me not even a day ago.
“The king ordered you escorted if you don’t have one of your friends with you,” the male says in his deep baritone, trotting along as I make my way down the stairwell of glimmering stone and into the hallway leading to the back door.
I’ve spent enough time in this palace to memorize the layout and find some shortcuts that might come in handy should I ever need to bolt.
“Why?” It’s a question I should have asked a long time ago. “Does he not trust me?
After a brief pause, during which I’m certain Garrison is fishing for a proper response, he heaves a breath. “I remember a time when another human with magic first came to live here. He sent guards after her everywhere, too, to make sure she didn’t run into trouble. It might be a habit. Or an instinct. I’m not one to judge what my king does.”
“Thanks, Garrison.” It’s all I can think of to say. He is doing his duty after all, and I’m not his queen to order him around.
We’re almost by the wide oak door when I spot a figure in the shadows where the corridor to the kitchens meets the main hall.
Hands flying to my daggers, I spin on the spot, ready to fight, and thank the Guardians for remembering to arm myself before leaving the room.
“Oh no, please—” A melodious, clear voice carries from the shadows, and I need to blink as a fairy my height steps out of the doorway she’d backed into, obviously hiding until she realizes I am ready to kill. “There’s no need for those.”
Garrison is in my path so fast all I can make out is a blur of leather and steel, blocking the sight of the female ahead. “Stand back,” he hisses over his shoulder at me while I try to figure out who we ran into. Then he bows his head at the female. “Is there anything I can do for you, Your Majesty?”
Your Majesty…
“Thank you, Garrison. I was merely hungry.” The female holds up a plate of pastries that make my mouth water. It’s all I can see of her even when I try to glimpse around Garrison’s broad frame. “Tell Recienne he can call off the search party.” She bubbles a laugh, and I instantly like her.
“Your Majesty.” I step to the side, inclining my head at the Fairy Queen everyone has referred to but nobody shared any details about .
She’s beautiful, delicate features set in a heart-shaped face. She doesn’t look older than me even when I know she’s been alive for more than a hundred years. Raven black waves fall over her shoulders in wild tangles as if she hasn’t bothered brushing them this morning. Eyes of liquid amber scan me from the distance, and her mouth quirks into a smile of delight.
“I’ve been wondering when I’d get to see you, Ayna of Tavras.” The Fairy Queen inclines her head, placing a long-fingered hand on her stomach, and I nearly forget my manners when I spot the rounded belly she protectively cradles.
“You’re pregnant.” All right, I do forget my manners.
The female laughs, walking up to me and entirely ignoring Garrison as he tries to shift between us like a living shield. “Ayna isn’t going to hurt me, Garrison.”
Reluctantly, the male makes way for his queen to pass, and she stops within arm’s reach, holding out her free hand.
I take it, wondering if she expects me to kiss it or shake it when she squeezes mine, a warm smile on her lips.
“I remember that’s how human equals greet each other, or has that changed since I left the human realms?”
I’m so surprised that I barely stutter my agreement. “Human equals. Not a queen, though. Not really.” At least not one wearing a crown.
The Fairy Queen places her hand back on her belly, grimacing like the baby just kicked her ribs. “He’s never quiet, that little monster.” She laughs again, the sound so unbelievably cheerful I can’t find my voice. “Pastry?” She holds out the plate. “I haven’t talked to a human in forever. Not that you’re entirely human according to Recienne. He is wondering how your shift will work out today, by the way.” She loops her arm around mine, guiding me back toward the kitchen, and I let her. Who am I to stop a pregnant human-turned-fairy from breakfast? If I get to have a piece of pastry in the process, all the better.
Garrison follows us with a step distance, attention on my daggers like he worries they might accidentally slice the Fairy Queen open.
The kitchen is smaller than I expected. Then, this is a magical palace, and who knows what sorts of powers are at work to keep things going? Preparing meals with magic most definitely doesn’t require the same task force as a human kitchen does. Pots and pans are sitting in a corner, ready to be used; in an open oven, bread is baking, and a male with a crooked nose and two curled horns so big they cover the sides of his skull stops to bow at us mid-motion. A glance at me and he summons a plate from thin air, loading it with an assortment of pastries from the platter at the center of the working island at the heart of the space.
“I hope you’ll enjoy them.” His eyes twinkle as he lets the plate float toward me, waiting for me to pluck it from the air before he returns to his task with another bow.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can push out, too flabbergasted by the display of domestic magic.
The Fairy Queen leads me across the kitchen to an adjacent dining room that appears to be for the staff.
“Recienne and I sometimes come here when we want to get away from court duties.” She picks up the caramel- scented croissant on top of her pile and bites into it with a moan. “Elliot makes the best pastries.”
When she motions for me to follow her lead, I take a bite of the crooked thing the cook chose for me and almost groan with delight at the explosion of buttery sweetness in my mouth.
“I prefer to eat down here most days because Recienne and I chose not to announce to the world that we’re expecting just yet. In times of war, it’s always best to be careful with vulnerabilities. I’m sure you’ve already seen for yourself that my mate is a master at doing just that.”
Those first conversations with the Fairy King come to mind, the mask of the unforgiving king he presented when we first came here. How he managed to keep his mate out of our conversations. Even Clio’s evasiveness makes sense now. She didn’t want to spill their secret. Not even to me.
“I understand.” And I do. New life is precious in the human realms where children are part of a natural progression of the world while, here, they are rare treasures. I wouldn’t want to leave anything to fate by potentially alerting my enemies to my pregnancy.
“How have you been dealing with the whole magic situation?” She looks me up and down over her plate, a conspiratorial expression on her features, and brushes her hair behind her ear. They are rounded like any human’s.
“I’m still adjusting. Clio has been helping me a lot.”
“She’s the best to coax those new powers out.” She takes another bite, considering me. “But your mate has certainly been there for you as well, given your magic is more similar to his than to ours .
“He is doing what he can.” It sounds like a lame excuse, but it’s the truth. Myron has been doing what he can. It’s not his fault we were thrown into battle without time to prepare, and he is still ready to aid me with my shift or anything else I ask him for, I’m certain of that.
“Magic takes time. Even with a hundred years of using it, there’s always something new.” Her words should be an encouragement. Instead, my stomach drops at the prospect of always wondering if I’ll accidentally blow up something or someone when I try to achieve a task by magic. The Fairy Queen laughs at my expression. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” She finishes her pastry and gets to her feet, making Garrison snap to attention as she turns to the door. “Be careful on your mission today, Ayna. It will be nice to continue this conversation some other time.”
I barely get to stand before she’s out the door, plate of pastries in one hand and the other resting on her belly.
When I make my way back to the suite, the door to Myron’s room is open. I stop in the common room, right between two silver brocade armchairs, listening for sounds informing me he’s in there, but all I can hear is the soft snoring from Herinor’s room and the grumpy morning humming from Kaira’s mingled with that of running water.
“Myron?” With a few strides, I’m at the dark wooden threshold, trying to decide if the view of his empty room is a relief or disappointment .
A single bed stands against the sand-colored wall right of the door, between a desk and a narrow, empty bookcase, all made of the same dark wood as the door. The window across the room is open, crisp morning air carrying Myron’s scent from the rumpled sheets to my nose. I inhale a deep breath, relishing the familiarity and the fact that there is no one to witness this moment where I allow myself to remember what Myron of Winghaven means to me.
“You can come in.”
I nearly hit my head on the door frame as I jump at the deep rumble of his voice.
“I… I’m… I didn’t… Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.” My heart is pounding in my chest like it’s a creature of its own, and my head swims from the force of his scent as he shakes out his wet, dripping hair.
Myron is standing in the doorway to the bathing room I missed while being so focused on his bed , dressed in nothing but a beige towel slung around his hips and a look of pleasant surprise on his face.
“I mean it. This room is always open for you. You don’t need to knock or ask permission.” He tries to smooth his features over, but a hint of what he’s really saying is shining through anyway. Please stay.
I collect myself, grabbing onto my daggers for support. “I was looking to see if you’re ready. I want to try a few times without the others first so Silas won’t tease me about it for the rest of my life if he finds me naked.”
Myron looks at me like I just spoke a foreign language.
“Shifting. I mean shifting,” I clarify .
Why is my pulse racing? This is my mate. I’ve seen him naked before. Why can’t I form a clear thought at the sight of droplets of water running down the grooves of his abdomen, vanishing in the soft material of the towel covering his?—
My lower lip cracks open where I’m biting into it, and I’m not proud to say I taste blood before the day has properly started.
Myron’s eyes scan my face, cautious amusement dancing behind the collected expression he’s pulled up. He runs his fingers through his hair, sending a fresh assault of water dripping down his chest, and I need to take a deep breath to clear my head. If only the air wasn’t Myron-scented.
“I’ll just put on some clothes.”
I’m about to turn on my heels and walk out the door when he gestures to the bed. “I’d offer you a chair, but the one at the desk is broken.”
He wants me to stay . Sheepishly, my eyes dart to said chair, confirming that one of the legs is missing, before continuing to the bed.
“Do you think it’s…” I clear my throat as my voice fails me. “Do you think it’s a good idea for me to be in here while you?—”
“We’ve been mated for a while, Ayna. Our current … situation … doesn’t change anything.” He pauses, arm already reaching for the shirt hanging on the doorknob. “Not in that regard, at least. I have nothing to hide from you. Body or soul.”
He grabs the shirt, sliding one arm into the black fabric, then the other, and then pulls it over his head. My fingers ache to peel away the wet strands of hair sticking to the side of his face. I sit on the bed, shoving my hands under my thighs.
In my shoulder, a stinging pain is informing me the numbness is lifting further, and I can’t help but flinch, biting harder into my lip as the sensation spreads all the way to my neck.
Myron is in front of me so fast I nearly shy away. Nearly—but he places his hands on my thighs in a silent plea to stay where I am as he kneels in front of me, eyes alive like the ocean in a storm. “What is it?”
Had I been braver, I might have reached for his face and brushed those stubborn strands of hair away after all, but staring at him is all I can do. Taking in the warmth of his palms as they continue to rest on my thighs is all I can do.
The scent of wind and pine and the winds blowing along the coasts of Eherea fills the space between us, and Myron keeps waiting for my response.
I don’t have one because the pain in my shoulder is already fading, tuned out by the nearness of the male who knows how to make me forget my own name.
The shimmer of light inside my chest is pulsing once, twice, throbbing against my ribs like a heartbeat of its own, and I remember to breathe.
“Nothing,” I whisper, my left hand finding its path into his hair, fingers tangling with the drying waves. Myron’s eyes close, nostrils flaring as he scents me, the tip of his nose grazing the inside of my forearm. His brows and lashes are dark as night, stark shadows painting the angles of his face, and the top buttons of his shirt are still open. It would be easy to slide my hand down his neck, under the fabric…
“I miss you, Ayna.” His words aren’t more than a breath, a sigh as my fingertips wander to the nape of his neck, but his hands remain firmly planted on my thighs, fingers curling into my flesh as if to hold themselves in place.
Leaning into my touch, he tilts back his head, lips parting with a low moan that shoots through my veins like a flare of fire. A drop of water is resting above the side of his lip, daring me to kiss it away. He doesn’t flinch when I trace the outlines of his face with my index finger, leaving my other hand tangled at the back of his neck, doesn’t move his hands even an inch. His breath stutters from his mouth in hot gusts, heart thumping so loud even I can hear it.
There are no questions, no expectations. All he does is relish what I’m willing to give, drinking in my touch, inhaling my scent.
I could watch forever the way his brows draw together the slightest bit when my finger glides along the edge of his jaw, the way his tongue flicks over his upper lip when I reach the crest of his chin, lingering there. I could stare at him all day, forgetting that we have a purpose or a mission.
Trust Royad to remind us as he stumbles in through the still-open door and stops with a cough.
I pull my hands back so fast I could swear I tear a few hairs from Myron’s scalp.
He doesn’t move.
“I thought a king knelt before no one,” Royad says, leaning into the doorframe and tapping a finger on the wood .
Myron’s eyes blink open like stars coming to life in the falling night, his gaze finding mine and lingering. “Before no one but my fate.”
Fate, not mate. I’m sure I heard him right.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s almost time to go.” Royad sounds as awkward as I’m supposed to feel, but Myron’s gaze has captured me, and I’m no longer part of this universe. I’m part of his.
“Then get the fuck out of here until it’s actually time to leave.” Myron’s growl reverberates through the room, through my bones, like a command, and the heat shooting up my thighs is no longer just the one his skin emanates where his palms linger.
Royad disappears so fast I almost miss him grumbling, “Better not let Recienne wait.” And he shuts the door behind him.
“We should really be going,” Myron says, making no move to actually follow his own advice. “I don’t care if we let Recienne wait a year and then some, but you need to manage shifting before I’ll allow him to throw you into the skies.”
Heat flares in his gaze as I fidget under his touch, his fingers sliding an inch up my thighs.
“If I don’t stand up now, I won’t leave this room before I’ve fucked you raw.”
I whimper, my core melting at the mere thought of what he suggested. I’m ready to entertain the idea, daring him to try, when a rough knock followed by Herinor’s grumpy voice stops me from doing something I might regret. “Time to go! ”
Myron’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, but the desire living there a moment ago has been carefully tucked away when he slowly stands, one hand lingering just above my knee until the last possible moment while the other is keeping his towel from slipping. I don’t dare lower my gaze when he drops it to reach for the pair of pants draped over the backrest of the chair and slips into them.