Chapter 12
Lorian
What am I doing? This wasn’t the plan.
And yet, Maeve is right behind me, her small form like a beacon. I have to use all my strength to refrain from staring at her like a fool.
Glitter sprinkles from my clothes onto the wooden steps of the porch as I fumble with the keys. The small brass key slips in my fingers, leaving a trail of pink sparkles on the doorknob. I'm acutely aware of Maeve standing just behind me, her presence like a physical touch against my skin.
"Sorry about the mess," I mutter, finally getting the door open. I step aside formally, gesturing for her to enter first.
"Pretty sure you're the mess in this situation," she says with a small smile, nodding at the glitter trail I'm leaving in my wake.
I watch her face carefully as she steps inside, taking in my living space.
Her green eyes sweep across the stark white walls, the plain furniture arranged at perfect right angles, the complete absence of decoration or personal items. The only splash of color comes from the row of medical textbooks arranged alphabetically on the bookshelf.
For the first time, I see my home through someone else's eyes.
Clean. Orderly. Empty.
It's as if no one lives here at all. My home is just a space where someone exists. The contrast between this space and the vibrant chaos of Maeve's cottage hits me with unexpected force.
I brace myself for a comment, a joke at my expense.
Instead, Maeve simply removes her coat, hanging it on the empty coatrack by the door.
The sight of her bright-green jacket against the white wall is jarring.
She just stepped into my home, and she’s already the only splash of life in my colorless world.
"Let's get you cleaned up," she says simply, turning to me with those clear green eyes like jewels.
"I have clean clothes in my bedroom," I say, then immediately feel heat rise to my face at the potential implication. "For me to change into. After we remove the glitter."
"Do you have a clean towel and some dish soap?" she asks, mercifully ignoring my awkwardness.
"In the kitchen. Through there." I point to the archway leading to my equally pristine kitchen.
I watch with fascination as Maeve moves through my space, bringing life to it simply with her presence. Her curls bounce with each step, catching the light from the fixtures. She opens cabinets with confident curiosity, finding what she needs without hesitation.
"Your kitchen looks like it's never been used," she comments, wetting a clean white towel under the tap.
"I don't cook much," I admit.
"What do you eat?"
"Food."
She glances over her shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Was that a joke, Dr. Reizenhart?"
"An attempt at one," I concede.
Her laugh fills the space, warming it in a way the heating system never could. She returns to where I stand awkwardly in the living room, still shedding glitter with every movement.
"Hold still," she instructs, stepping close to me.
Without further comment, she begins gently washing glitter from my face.
Her touch is light but confident, as if she's done this a hundred times before.
Probably has, given her profession. I wonder how many children she's cleaned up after craft disasters, how many skinned knees she's tended to with those gentle hands.
The quiet between us stretches as I watch her beautiful, soft face.
My vision blurs around the edges and her skin glows as I look at my True Mate.
I know it’s not real. I know it’s just in my head, but it doesn’t matter.
My True Mate, caring for me, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
My skin tingles everywhere she touches, and I fight to keep my breathing even.
She smells of soap and lavender, of soft and clean things.
Her scent fills my senses, making me lightheaded.
"Close your eyes," she murmurs, and I comply without question.
Her fingertips brush my eyelids, removing glitter from my lashes with careful precision. I'm hyper-aware of her proximity, of the soft sound of her breathing, of the warmth emanating from her body so close to mine.
"You have really nice eyelashes," she comments. "It's not fair."
I open my eyes to find her face inches from mine, those green eyes large and impossibly beautiful. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.
"Do you always care for your patients like this?" I manage to say.
"I'm making an exception for you." She steps back slightly, surveying her work. "That's most of it from your face, but your hair is still full of the stuff."
I reach up automatically to touch my hair, dislodging more glitter that floats down between us.
"You’ll need to shampoo like five times," she suggests. "Maybe more."
I nod, suddenly fumbling for something to say. I don’t want this moment to end, but I also don’t know how to tell her what I need her to know.
“Lorian?” The corners of her mouth lift in a soft half smile. “Can I ask you something?”
“Maeve.” Saying her name tastes sweet on my tongue. “You can ask me anything.”
Maeve steps closer again and places both hands lightly on my chest. I can feel the heat of her palms through my shirt, and my breath catches at the directness of her gaze. Those green eyes seem to look straight through the careful facade I spent my entire life building.
"Why did you come to Saltford Bay?" she asks, voice steady but gentle. Not accusing, simply wanting to understand.
The question cuts straight through my defenses. I hesitate but not for long. I’ve already decided to tell her everything. She deserves nothing less.
I look away from her beautiful face and out the window at the darkening forest, tall pines swaying gently in the evening breeze.
"You already know I was a doctor at the High Court, but I don’t think you know that I was the royal physician.
The health of the royal family rested firmly on my shoulders," I begin, keeping my voice neutral as if reciting someone else's biography.
“It's a position I worked my entire life to achieve. An accomplishment my whole family could be proud of.”
I pause, watching as the wind plays with the branches. Memories come back to me in vivid detail. The beautiful halls of the High Court, my elven colleagues, all working with the highest ethics of scientific achievement. My patients, too.
"My family has served the royal court for generations. My father was a court physician before me. It was expected that I would follow in his footsteps, and I did."
"And did you like it?" Maeve asks softly from behind me. "Being the royal physician?"
The question catches me off guard. No one has ever asked me that before. Loving my job has never been part of the equation.
"I was good at it," I answer after a moment. "My skills were unmatched. I took pride in that."
"That's not the same thing as liking it," she points out.
I return my gaze to her. "No. It's not."
She takes one step closer until our bodies almost touch. This close, she has to tilt her head all the way back to keep her gaze locked with mine. Her sweet breath fans my lips and I can’t look away from her lips.
Still, I continue.
"Five years ago, the Duke and Duchess of Nurenbatin brought their son to me," I say, my voice growing quieter. “He was their only child. Eight years old.”
I tear my gaze from Maeve’s beautiful face and stare out the window, but it’s not the forest I see. It’s the face of a young boy, thin and in pain.
“He first came to me complaining of a sore belly and a recurring fever. For weeks, I ran every test known to man, but nothing ever yielded any result.” I shake my head against the terrible memory.
“Then I ordered a genetic test, and it came back with a result that shattered both their world and mine. The boy had Selenic Wasting Disease.”
Maeve gasps, but I don’t dare look at her. I need to finish this tale. It’s the first time I tell the whole story, in all its sadness and grief.
“As you seem to know, there was nothing to be done to save him. Within months, his condition deteriorated while the duke and duchess tried everything under the sun to find new treatments. I tried everything I could to prolong his life, but no matter how hard I tried, he slipped away little by little.”
I stare at my hands, hands that failed to save that child.
“A month before his death, a traveling healer got hold of the duchess’ ear and began to take advantage of her grief.
” Anger floods me, just thinking about the duchess, her desperate hold on hope and the man who lurked in the shadow like a predator.
“He sold her all sorts of potions and ointments, spells and other nonsense to cure the boy.”
I say these words flatly, without emotion.
“I opposed it at every turn, but the more desperate the duchess became, the more aggressive the healer was. She, in turn, began accusing me of incompetence and of voluntarily preventing her son from healing.” I swallow, the memory of my last altercation with the grieving duchess still vivid in my mind.
“All those useless remedies were disturbing to the boy and in the end, I had no choice but to turn to the duke and tell him that his wife was the victim of a scam artist. He shut the healer out and away from his son and wife, but she never forgave me. The boy died shortly after, of course.”
Maeve remains silent, listening. Not offering platitudes or telling me it wasn't my fault.
"The duchess was devastated. She needed someone to blame. I was the obvious target of her ire." I look out at the darkening forest again and take a deep breath.
"I could have fought it. Defended myself. My brother, Fenrys, wanted me to. He's a senator of the Elven Council, with considerable influence. But the duchess had lost her only child. What purpose would it serve to force her to face the truth?"
"So you left," Maeve says softly.
“So I left.” I nod. “I chose exile so she wouldn't have to look at me as a constant reminder of her grief.”
I meet Maeve’s eyes directly. I need her to understand this. "I didn't run because I was guilty. I ran because sometimes mercy is more important than justice."
As I finish, I find myself completely exposed before her, vulnerable and open in a way I haven't been with anyone in years. Maybe ever.
"That's why I'm here. To start over. To be somewhere I can help people again."
Maeve doesn't speak immediately. Instead, she lifts one hand and places it over my heart. The gesture is small, but it fills me with a heat that comes from deep within me. My heart beats faster under her touch.
"Thank you for telling me," she says simply.
Our eyes gazes lock, and in that moment, something shifts between us. The last barrier falls. She lifts herself on her toes slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I don't. I lower my head to meet hers and our lips meet. The kiss starts gentle but quickly deepens with all the emotion we've been holding back.
This time, I don't stop. I'm done running. I pull her closer, one hand tangling in her wild red curls, the other at the small of her back.
The kiss intensifies as I drink in the taste of her, allowing myself to fall for the sensation without restraint. My control slips as desire takes over, and I feel her respond with equal passion. Her fingers thread through my hair, dislodging more glitter that falls around us like fairy dust.
We break apart, breathless. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen from our kiss. I've never seen anything more beautiful.
"I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you," I admit, surprising myself with my honesty.
"Then why do you keep running away?" she asks, her hand still on my chest, feeling my racing heart.
"I'm not running anymore," I answer, then kiss her again.
This kiss is different, deeper, hungrier. Her lips part beneath mine, and I waste no time in claiming her mouth with my tongue. My hand slides down her back, pulling her closer until she's practically in my lap. She makes a small sound against my mouth that sends heat coursing through my veins.
When I free her mouth again, we're both panting. Maeve's eyes are darker now, the pupils dilated. A smudge of glitter decorates her cheek, transferred from my face to hers.
"We're going to be finding glitter in unlikely places for weeks," she says with a breathless laugh.
"I don't care," I reply, surprising myself again. I, who have built my life around order and control, suddenly don't mind the prospect of the persistent, uncontrollable glitter mess. Even pink glitter.
Maeve shifts her position, pressing her full breasts against my hard chest. Her hips push against mine and my erection digs into the soft flesh of her stomach. I have to swallow hard as she moves her hips provocatively against me.
She smiles, a slow, warm smile that lights up her entire face. "Good. Because I'm not letting you run away again, Dr. Lorian Reizenhart."
The implication of her words settles over me like a warm blanket. She's not going anywhere. Despite knowing my past, despite the confessions and the complications, she's choosing to stay.
For the first time in years, I feel something unfamiliar blooming in my chest. Hope.
I pull her close again, capturing her lips with mine, no longer concerned about the glitter we're spreading everywhere. Some messes are worth making.