Chapter 5 Rhianelle
Iwake with the phantom sensation of hands still on my skin.
The dream clings to me like morning mist, carrying echoes of the ruined palace, the masked man and the way he made me come apart against that wall. My body remembers even as the details grow hazy. The ache between my thighs is real enough, sweet and insistent.
Landon has taken me in our dreams.
Heat floods my face as I dress. My fingers fumble with laces as memories crash over me.
His mouth on me, his hands pinning my wrists, the way he commanded me to run.
After the tender lovemaking on the altar, he takes me again with my cheek pressed to rough stone and his hand fisted in my hair. I let him, and I beg for more.
Gods. We’ve done that. My mate and I, in dreams.
I know dreams can connect people, especially those bound by magic. The mate bond must have carried me to him while we slept.
Would he mention it when I see him? Perhaps he will give me a knowing look or one of those private smiles meant only for me.
The thought makes my stomach flip with nerves and anticipation.
Morning air bites pleasantly at my cheeks as I follow the path toward the training grounds. Leaves burn gold and crimson overhead, crunching beneath my boots whenever the wind scatters them across the trail. My bad leg aches with every step, but the dull throb has become familiar enough to ignore.
Silver birches line the path, their pale trunks glowing in the early light. As I pass beneath them, my thoughts return to Landon. Perhaps he will whisper, “I missed you,” softly enough that only I can hear. Something to acknowledge what we’d shared.
I can hear the wyverns before I see them. The leathery snap of wings, the rumbling calls they make to each other. The training grounds sprawl across a wide plateau, ringed by standing stones that have been there since before the elves claimed this land.
Landon stands near the cliff edge, conferring with Tarian the keeper.
My breath catches.
He looks beautiful in the morning light.
His red hair is only partially dyed black today, the copper roots catching the sun like wire.
He has rolled his sleeves to his elbows, revealing strong forearms marked with old scars.
The mate bond hums between us, that golden thread I’ve felt since the day I woke up.
I approach slowly, my heart hammering. Would he turn and know? Would I see recognition in his eyes?
He turns at the sound of my footsteps, and his face brightens with a smile.
“Rhianelle.” My name in his voice is warm. “Ready to work with Coral?”
I search his expression for any sign of recognition. A knowing glint. A private smile. Anything.
Nothing.
He looks at me the same way he always does. Landon is gentle and attentive but completely oblivious.
“I...” My voice comes out strange. I clear my throat. “Yes.”
Maybe he is simply being discreet, too polite to acknowledge the dream here where anyone might see us.
“Where is she?” I ask, trying to sound normal even as heat creeps up my neck. I can’t stop remembering. His hands in my hair, his voice in my ear calling me thief.
“Last I saw, investigating the feed storage.” His smile is rueful. “I think she’s hoping to steal breakfast.”
We walk together toward the stables. I stay close to him, hyperaware of every movement. I notice the way his hand swings as he walks and the breadth of his shoulders beneath his coat.
These hands were on me last night. This voice commanded me to beg.
“Sleep well?” he asks as we walk.
My face flames. “I—yes. Did you?”
“Well enough.” He glances at me with mild concern. “Are you feeling all right? You look flushed.”
“Just warm from the walk,” I lie.
He doesn’t remember.
Or if he does, he is giving no indication whatsoever.
Disappointment curls in my stomach. I’d been so certain we’d shared something. The dreams were supposed to be mutual. That’s how it works in the old stories.
The path narrows ahead, rocky and uneven where the morning dew still lingers in shadowed places. I am not paying enough attention, too caught up in my thoughts.
My boot catches on a loose stone and I stumble.
Landon’s hand shoots out to steady me. “Careful.”
His fingers close around mine.
I freeze, waiting for the electric shock I felt in the dream, for the fire that raced up my spine when the masked man touched me. That sense of recognition so deep it felt like my soul crying out there you are, I found you.
Nothing comes.
There is only the familiar warmth of Landon’s hand and the gentle pulse of the mate bond between us.
It is comforting and steady, but nothing like the consuming fire I remember.
Being near him feels like standing beside a hearth, while touching the masked man felt like stepping directly into the flames.
“Rhianelle?” Landon’s voice holds concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I realize I’ve been standing there, staring at our joined hands with what must have been a strange expression.
“Sorry. Yes. I’m fine.” I pull my hand back, confused and unsettled. “Thank you.”
He smiles and gestures ahead. “The ground’s tricky here. Watch your step.”
I do, but my mind is elsewhere.
Why doesn’t touching him feel like touching the masked man? They are the same person. The bond has brought us together in dreams.
Maybe dream magic is just different. More intense, more visceral. The boundaries are thinner there and our emotions are amplified. That has to be it.
Perhaps Landon simply doesn’t remember the dreams. Some people don’t recall their dreams upon waking. The bond has pulled us together while we slept, but perhaps only I retain the memories.
The thought is both disappointing and strangely relieving. At least I haven’t imagined it. The evidence of my body tells me that much.
I force myself to focus as we reach the stables.
The sharp tang of wyvern musk clings to the morning air.
We find Coral nosing around the feed storage, exactly where Landon said she would be.
She waddles over to me excitedly. Her stubby tail swishes back and forth as she chirps at the massive wyverns in the training ground.
Landon has promised to teach her to fly.
I watch the older wyverns launch themselves into the sky with ease. Their wings beat in perfect rhythm. Coral tries to mimic them, flapping her small wings so hard she nearly tips over. I steady her with a hand on her flank. She chirps at me, undeterred.
Above us, three riders from Landon’s squadron practice aerial formations.
Their wyverns are massive with wingspans that could shadow a house.
They move in perfect synchronization, banking left in unison, then diving before pulling up at the last moment.
The sound of their wings is like thunder.
Coral watches with her whole body quivering, making small sounds of longing.
I steal glances at Landon as we walk, trying to reconcile his quiet gentleness with the commanding presence from my dream. The one who pinned me against a wall and made me beg for forgiveness.
Is it really the same person?
Heat blooms in my cheeks again and I look away quickly when he glances over.
I draw a slow breath and force my thoughts away from the dream.
Landon clearly has no memory of it, and searching his face for answers will not make him remember.
Whatever happened between us last night will have to remain unanswered for now.
I push the ruined palace and the masked fae to the back of my mind. None of it belongs here. Coral needs me. She deserves my full attention, not a rider distracted by dreams.
Tarian circles Coral with his arms crossed. The wyvern trainer is an older fae, with dark hair pulled back from his face and faint lines around his eyes. Scars mark his hands, earned from centuries of handling wyverns.
“She ignores commands, breaks formation and treats every lesson like play.” His gaze follows Coral as she wanders away for the third time. “She has no discipline whatsoever. A wyvern her age should hold position. She should respond to commands. Look at her.”
Coral has her nose wedged into a crack between two stones, investigating something invisible.
“She’s still young,” I say.
“I have trained wyverns for three centuries.” Tarian turns his stern gaze on me.
“Young is not an excuse. It means now is exactly the time to correct her, with firm handling and consistency. Every time she breaks position, every time she ignores a command. Let it go now and you will fight it for the next hundred years.”
Coral extracts a pebble from the crack and eats it.
Tarian says nothing. His eye twitches.
My wyvern has indeed abandoned her position to investigate a patch of wildflowers growing through the training-ground stones. She noses through them delicately, for all her bulk. A butterfly lands on her snout and she goes cross-eyed trying to look at it.
“Coral,” I call gently. “Come back, sweetling.”
She looks up at me, one flower dangling from her mouth and makes a pleased rumbling sound deep in her throat.
“We need to train now.” I take a step toward her. She bolts in the opposite direction.
Landon moves to intercept but Coral darts past him. She’s surprisingly nimble for something her size. I chase after her, my boots slipping on the dew-wet grass. Her chirps sound almost like laughter. She thinks this is a game.
The training ground is larger than I first thought, extending past the main plateau into a series of terraced levels. Coral leads me on a merry chase through all of them, her pale scales flashing in the sunlight. The morning dew soaks through my boots as I run.
“Coral, please,” I say, trying to sound stern. It comes out more like pleading.
She slows to inspect a brightly colored stone. I lunge. She scampers away at the last second and I stumble. Landon appears at my side, offering his hand. I take it, and he pulls me upright.