Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Aurelia
Iwoke slowly, rested and warm, for the first time in weeks. Rydian’s arm lay heavy across my waist, shadows curled lazily along his skin like contented cats. His breathing was steady against the back of my neck.
For a long moment, I didn’t move.
I didn’t want to.
My body was sore in a way that felt satisfying.
Gods. Last night had been even better than our first, and that was saying something.
His voice came from the warm space behind my ear, low and rough with sleep. “Thinking of running off?”
I smiled into the pillow. “Not at all.”
“Good.” His nose brushed my shoulder. “Because if you leave this bed, I might burn the cabin down.”
“Out of the two of us, I’m the one who could do such a thing.”
“My shadows would restrain you before that could happen.”
Heat pulsed through me at the way he said it—lazy, possessive, still half-asleep. A promise in the making. Or maybe a threat. With Rydian, it was hard to tell the difference.
I rolled onto my back. He propped himself on his elbow, hair tousled, eyes dark, with last-night’s hunger muted only slightly by sleep.
He studied me for a long, quiet moment, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly.
“Tired,” I whispered. “Sore.”
He smirked, satisfied.
“And…” I hesitated.
His eyes softened, and he waited.
“Different,” I admitted. “I can’t explain it. My magic feels… heavier? Or deeper. Like there’s something else to it, something closer to the surface than ever.”
His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “I can feel it.” His gaze darkened as his hand slid beneath the blankets, trailing over my hips to my thighs. “And I can feel you.”
My pulse jumped. “Rydian—”
A knock sounded, muffled through the shadows wrapping the door.
We both froze.
Then—
“Breakfast!” Vanya’s voice squeaked through the doorframe. “Um—I mean—whenever you’re, uh, done.” A beat. “With… whatever you’re doing.”
Rydian grinned at me. “She’s never going to look at me again.”
“She barely looks at you now,” I said, laughing despite myself.
He lifted his head, glared halfheartedly, and stole one more kiss that had my entire body arching toward him.
Then he climbed out of bed.
I watched him get dressed—slowly, deliberately, his eyes flicking to me every few seconds like he could feel my gaze trailing over the runes carved across his torso and arms.
“Stop staring, Furious,” he murmured, pulling his shirt over his head.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
I sighed. “Fine. I was.”
He smirked, completely insufferable. “Good.”
I threw a pillow at him.
He caught it, laughing. And gods—his laugh. It was rare, rough, and it pulled something inside me tight. Maybe this cabin wasn’t the safest place in the realm, but for the first time in years, I felt safe. Climbing out of bed at last, I dressed and set off in search of breakfast.
The smell of spiced porridge hit me first. Then the sound of clattering bowls. Then Callan’s voice complaining loudly enough to wake the dead.
“Who the Hel decided rabbits are a food group? Has the realm forgotten proper cuisine? I am a king—”
“Fugitive king,” Daegel corrected without looking up.
Callan glared. “I am a temporarily displaced monarch.”
Keres snorted. “You’re a refugee with an ego bigger than your—”
“Keres,” Daegel warned.
I stepped into the kitchen.
Everyone froze.
Then all eyes snapped to Rydian following behind me. My cheeks flushed hot, but I kept my head high.
Keres smirked.
Daegel winked.
Vanya flushed crimson and stared down at her bowl.
Callan’s eyes narrowed, flicking between Rydian and me like he was solving a riddle and hating every answer.
Rydian simply crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, looking entirely too smug.
“Sit,” Keres ordered, pushing a bowl toward me. “Eat.”
I obeyed.
Callan stabbed his spoon into his porridge. “It’s gritty. Why is it gritty?”
“Because we heard you hated gritty porridge and obviously went out of our way to prepare it so,” Keres snapped. “Eat.”
Callan scrunched his face like a toddler forced to choke down vegetables, then took a dramatic bite—and made a face.
Rydian sat down beside me and whispered, “I can kill him now. No one will blame me.”
I kicked him under the table.
His hand brushed my knee in retaliation.
My breath caught.
Gods. This was impossible. Breakfast shouldn’t feel like foreplay.
Daegel noticed and winked. Keres shot him a look sharp enough to cut stone. Lesha—propped up on cushions and sipping weak tea—offered me a small smile. Color had returned to her cheeks. Her wings… well. They weren’t wings anymore. But she was alive. She was fighting.
And that was enough.
I relaxed into the morning for the first time in forever.
But peace in Menryth rarely lasted longer than five minutes.
A knock sounded at the front door—three sharp strikes that made the whole room go still.
Everyone reached for weapons.
Rydian’s shadows surged forward like a living storm.
I stood.
Keres held up a hand. “Wait. None of our wards alerted us to a guest. We need to be sure it’s not—”
The knock came again, and Rydian stiffened. He rose and went to the door, hand hovering over the latch. Shadows pooled at his feet, ready to spring.
He opened it a crack.
A scroll slipped through the gap, wrapped in black ribbon and sealed with—
Oh.
My breath hitched at the sight of the raven’s wings. Midnight’s crest.
Rydian inhaled sharply. He snatched the scroll, shut the door, locked it, reinforced it with a burst of shadow that climbed the wood like vines.
Callan stared. “What is that?”
Rydian didn’t answer.
He broke the seal.
Unrolled the parchment.
Read.
And though Rydian didn’t pale—not exactly—something shifted in his expression.
“Keres,” he said quietly. “Everyone—arms down.”
Callan looked offended. “I assure you, I do not take orders from—”
Rydian lifted a hand.
Callan shut up.
Everyone waited.
Rydian swallowed.
Then he read aloud:
To Aurelia Valeen of Summer and Callan Ashfall of Autumn. Queen Cadira of the Midnight Court requests your presence.
Rydian closed the scroll, voice steady but strained. “It’s from my mother.”
Callan frowned, looking from Rydian to me. “The Midnight queen wants to meet us. What’s so bad about that?”
“Requests?” I echoed. “Or commands?”
Rydian’s jaw tightened.
Daegel crossed his arms. “What does she want with Aurelia?”
“She doesn’t say,” Rydian replied, but there was something in his voice—something guarded—that made every nerve in my body spark.
Callan frowned. “Is she… safe?”
Rydian stared at him. “For you? No.”
Callan blinked.
Rydian shoved the scroll into his pocket and dragged a hand through his hair. “She wants an audience. That’s all I know.”
“You think we shouldn’t go,” I said quietly.
Rydian’s shadows wrapped around my wrist—not pulling, not restraining, but grounding. A touch. A promise.
“She will not harm you,” he assured me.
I nodded.
But inside?
My heart pounded.
Because the Midnight queen saw me as a threat to her son. And if she knew Rydian and I had bound ourselves to each other last night, there might be Hel to pay. Then again, the prince of Midnight wasn’t the only one who could keep a secret.
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