Chapter 44
Elariya
“When we Burned For Each Other”
The ballroom rose around me in layers of silver and gold, a display of opulence and impossible beauty.
I’d seen places like this in the mortal realm, but nothing came close to the beauty surrounding me.
Flames burned steady in their sconces, gilding the hall in molten light.
Flowers I had no names for bloomed in arrangements that defied gravity, their petals luminous as frost. The marble beneath my feet shimmered faintly, as though lit from somewhere deep within the stone.
The air carried the scent of spiced wine and something sweeter, wild and unfamiliar.
It should have stolen my breath.
But all I could see before me was the dangerously beautiful Fae prince.
Wolfe moved through the crowd like darkness made flesh. Formal attire only sharpened him — refined the danger rather than hiding it. His raven hair caught the light in dark, lethal glints. He loomed tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of strength better suited to battlefields than a ballroom.
The crowd parted without realizing they were doing it.
Not dramatically, not with fanfare or announcement, simply a natural shift that created a path between us.
The music continued but it felt distant now. Muffled. Like I was hearing it through water or from another room entirely. Or another realm.
I was vaguely aware that I was moving toward him too. And each step I took made the bond pull stronger. The very bond Arielle had warned me about.
I was glad she wasn’t here to see it take effect. She’d met Bastian outside, so I’d decided to come in on my own.
I thought I’d be fine and completely in control. I was so eager to tell Wolfe about the progress I’d made today with my magic, and all the things Magdalena had taught me that I didn’t think of anything else.
I was fine and in control, until I saw Wolfe.
I’d felt the stirring of the bond low in my belly from the moment the carriage drew near the palace, but now that I was near him, it had become undeniable, a tether wrapped around my ribs, drawing tighter with every breath.
My magic stirred beneath my skin in response, recognizing him, reaching for him.
The closer we got the more everything around me shrank, and the glittering nobility with their watchful eyes faded into shadows.
My breath came shorter when Wolfe reached me. He closed the remaining distance between us with one more step. Now he was barely a pace away. Still, he felt too far from me for relief.
“My Lady,” he said quietly, the words meant for me alone.
“My Lord.” I dipped into a curtsey, but my gaze never left his.
He extended his hand. I placed mine in it, and he turned my wrist, lifting my knuckles to his mouth. His lips brushed my skin in a slow, deliberate kiss.
The contact sent a quiet pulse up my arm. It was potent I had to take a breath.
His eyes darkened as he observed. “You look beautiful. Like a queen.”
“Thank you,” I replied, lifting my chin despite the tremor in my breath. “You…look like you intend to devour the room.” Gods, I hadn’t meant to say that, but the words just tumbled out of my mouth.
A faint curve touched his mouth, then it deepened into an unhurried smile. “No. Not the room, Ziyka.”
The meaning behind his words wasn’t lost on me. Then it lingered in the space between us, impossible to ignore.
His fingers closed around mine, and heat raced across my skin. I’d almost forgotten he was still holding my hand.
“What… do you want to devour?” The words escaped again, but this time the bond hummed with approval, telling me I was asking all the right things.
His smile widened revealing his very long elongated canines. My lungs seized. Heat shot straight to my groin and all I could think of was him feasting on my skin, grazing it with the sharp tips of his teeth.
“Come here. I’ll show you.”
I moved closer like I was attached to strings. He moved to me too, angling his head to meet my lips.
“Ahem.”
The sound cut through the moment like heat cracking glass.
I froze, Wolfe's mouth mere inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin. And the quiet protest of the mating bond. It hated protested the interruption.
A snarl of frustration echoed through my body but I maintained my composure.
Wolfe's pulled back with visible effort, his eyes flashing with something dangerous before he saw who had intruded.
I followed his gaze.
Standing beside us was one of the old Fae Kings of Vaelthorne.
He looked to be in his late sixties in mortal years so he could have been over a thousand years old.
The sexual haze cleared from Wolfe’s eyes and he smiled, greeting the king with a firm hand shake.
“Your Grace, thank you for coming,” Wolfe said.
“The pleasure is all mine, my dear boy.” The king was the second person I’d heard refer to Wolfe in such a warm familial manner.
“King Archemii, this is Elariya.” His gaze shifted to mine briefly before he finished. “My mate.”
The pride in his voice was unmistakable. It thrummed through the air between us, settling around my shoulders like a mantle.
“Elariya, this is King Archemii,” Wolfe’s smile widened. “He’s ruler of the kingdom of Heulyn and one of my father’s closest friends.”
I acknowledged him with a vibrant smile and bowed. “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Only days ago, I said similar words to Prince Maelor. This time felt right. Truer.
“And you, my dear.” He glanced from me to Wolfe. “She is most lovely, young Nightblade. Your parents would have been exceedingly proud.”
My spirits lifted on hearing that. I'd braced myself for cruel whispers and thinly veiled judgment, for the weight of a thousand eyes finding me lacking—the half human, half mage girl who'd somehow ensnared a Nightblade.
But his words settled over me like a balm, easing the knot of anxiety that had coiled tight in my chest.
“You remember how your mother adored the Ravenwood realm,” King Archemii added, glancing at me with awe.
“I do. And thank you.” Wolfe nodded and returned his focus to me. “I think my parents would have been exceedingly proud too.”
The sharp blast of a ceremonial trumpet split the hall.
The music and conversation stilled completely.
A herald stepped forward on the balcony of the royal circle, clad in midnight blue velvet trimmed with gold brocade. “Presenting,” he called, the words ringing clear and resonant. “His Highness Wolfe Nightblade of Galaythia, and his chosen mate, Lady Elariya.”
All eyes turned toward us. King Archemii bowed first, then stepped aside with a graceful sweep of his hand. Wolfe inclined his head in return.
As we advanced toward the royal circle, the crowd lowered in unison.
It happened in waves — a ripple spreading outward from our path like stones cast into still water. Heads lowered. Spines bent. Hands pressed to hearts in gestures of respect and deference.
Not just for him.
For us. For what we represented in this moment.
Wolfe’s presence beside me was steady and grounding. His hand settled at the small of my back, guiding me forward into what felt like the first steps of my new life.
When we reached the royal circle, the hall erupted in cheers.
This was the celebration we never got to have after the wedding.
An older male dressed in the same regal attire as Wolfe, detached himself from the royal circle and stepped toward us.
Although I didn’t know his face, something almost like recognition pulled on my insides. It was more of a feeling or a vibe. A bad one.
He didn’t wear a crown but he carried himself like a king. He was tall and silver threaded through dark hair that framed a face that bore similarities to Wolfe’s.
Even before Wolfe’s posture shifted beside me, I knew who the male was.
Dreynthor.
The horrible uncle.
He stepped forward with a smile that looked practiced, measured, and wrong.
The warmth that had filled the space moments ago cooled at the edges. But I kept my smile in place, slipping easily into the mask of pretense — the one that said I knew him, and that he did not unsettle me.
He stopped before me and took my hand without asking. His fingers were cool, his grip polite.
He bent and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
“Welcome to the family, my dear,” he said smoothly. But his eyes did not match the words.
I held his gaze and smiled wider. “Thank you, your Grace.” I loathed calling him that. He didn’t deserve the title.
Wolfe’s hand found mine again the moment Dreynthor released it. He gave me a quiet squeeze mean to reassure me.
It worked and the air steadied.
Dreynthor turned to face the crowd, and the applause fell away at once. He spread his arms wide, palms open — every inch the gracious ruler.
“Welcome, honored guests, treasured friends and allies. Tonight, we gather to celebrate the union of my nephew and his lovely mate.”
Well at least he was putting on a good act. I had to be grateful for that.
I tried to listen as he continued saying something about legacy, alliances, the strength of Galaythia but the sound of his voice blurred at the edges. The bond had stirred again, low and restless, fidgeting beneath my ribs.
It tightened.
Not because of Dreynthor.
Because Wolfe shifted beside me and he was holding my hand.
As if sensing my unease, he glanced across at me. His jaw worked and he made an attempt to loosen his collar slightly. Somehow, I knew he felt it too.
My thoughts were confirmed when he turned his head and his eyes found mine.
His gaze roamed over my face, tracing my features slowly, before settling on my lips. Then his thumb traced lazy strokes over the center of my palm. Sparks of electric pulsed through me and my mouth watered for more.
“Wolfe.” Dreynthor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp enough to sever the connection.
It was only when Wolfe turned to his uncle that I realized Dreynthor had been calling his name, and he hadn’t heard a word.
Dreynthor and the crowd below watched in quiet expectancy, waiting for his answer.