Chapter 50 Wren
Dawn breaks silver and cold over the Moonhollow, and I slip through the trees without looking back.
No one has come to see me off. My grandmother was awake when I rose.
We took a simple breakfast together, and she bid me well on my journey.
She didn’t try to warn me not to lose my heart to Cassiel in the process of gaining his.
She didn’t offer me any words of advice or encouragement.
Does she truly believe me to be so heartless?
Of course she does, I realise. Because she raised me.
And because, after my mother’s death, after coming to this place where emotion is a weakness and secrets a currency, I never let anyone know I had anything left of a heart to break.
Looks like I’m a liar after all.
No one else stirs as I walk through the glade. There are no cries of alarm. No footsteps racing after me.
They haven’t noticed what I’ve taken. A part of me thought about leaving last night, but I didn’t want to raise the alarm unnecessarily. I want them to think I have every intention of following out their orders… until I decide what I’m actually going to do.
Zephyr is waiting for me at the edge of the path, mounted on a white stag with eyes like polished onyx. He offers me a hand, and I take it without a word, swinging up behind him. The wind through the branches hums a low, familiar tune. Magic sighs at my back, no longer snarling or sharp.
I am no longer afraid of it. No longer afraid of myself.
I’m only afraid of what I’ve been asked to do.
We don’t speak until the last whisper of the Duskfen Forest is behind us, and the rolling fields of Erelis unfold before me.
Zephyr reins in the stag. “You’ve made your choice, then.”
I won’t admit to anything—it’s too dangerous in case our grandmother asks—but I don’t want to lie, either. “I have.”
He studies me for a long moment, expression unreadable. “Be careful, Wren.”
I nod, throat too tight to speak. I hug his back instead, then slide from the stag.
I think about telling him I love him, but that is not the faerie way, and I’ve always been too afraid of not hearing it back to speak it in the first place.
He vanishes before my courage can come. Just a shimmer of shadow and silence, the way only he can.
I walk the rest of the way to the Rosey Duckling on aching legs and a fraying heart. Magda welcomes me, and doesn’t ask any questions when I toss her a few coins for a horse, though she arches an eyebrow in surprise. She offers me a chestnut mare with a bad temper and a fast gait. Good enough.
Caerthalen is far. But I have my magic now.
I murmur a spell beneath my breath, fingers brushing the mare’s mane. The wind thickens, bending around us, lifting her hooves like she’s skimming water.
It almost feels like flying.
Trees blur. The road unwinds like ribbon. Every moment is too slow. I need to get back. I need to see him. The totem is wrapped tight and safe in my satchel, bound and shielded with every protection spell I can remember. It hums against my hip like a ticking heart.
Cassiel.
The castle gates rise in the distance, familiar and imposing. I drop the spell a safe distance away and continue at a gradual pace, despite being breathless and half-wild with anticipation.
“Well, look who’s back amongst the living,” says one of the guards on duty when I finally approach. Riverspire. “We heard you were ill. The Prince has been beside himself.”
I hope my blush isn’t as visible as it feels. “I recovered,” I tell him.
Riverspire smiles. “I’m glad to see it. Hands on the gate, Thornvale. You know how this works.”
It’s a precaution every time someone arrives at the gate, just in case we’re a faerie under a glamour. For the first time, I feel a ripple of nerves, as if unlocking my element will mean I’m no longer immune.
But the iron is just iron—cool to the touch.
Whatever I am, I’m still me.
The gate opens. I dismount and step inside, offering my horse’s reins to a nearby stablehand. “Where is Prince Cassiel?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“The library, I think,” Riverspire tells me.
“The… library?”
“Yes, with Dain. Should I send someone to—”
“That’s all right,” I tell him. “I’ll make my own way there.”
I head to our room first and duck into the bathing room to freshen up.
I think I’d like to be smelling of something other than horse and sweat when Cassiel returns.
I scrub as much from my skin as I can. I could probably do with a bath, only I’m not sure how long Cassiel will be.
It’ll be an awkward reunion if he finds me mid-soak.
He might even be a little annoyed that I prioritised bathing over seeing him…
With that thought in mind, I slip out of the bathing room, intent on stashing my things away and finding him as soon as possible.
Everything is exactly as it was left, immaculate and presentable.
The curtains are drawn, which is a good sign.
I take the totem out of my satchel, still carefully wrapped, and look for somewhere to store it.
I know what it will look like if I’m found with it.
Burying it on the grounds is the safest for me, but for all I know, that’s a surefire way to suffocate Cassiel, and I’m absolutely not taking that risk.
There’s voices in the hall. Acting quickly, I step onto my bed and shove it up into the rafters. It’ll do for now.
I jump back down.
The door opens.
I hear Cassiel’s voice.
It’s only been a week, but stars, how good it feels to hear it again. It ripples under my skin, sunlight after winter. My solstice.
“Thank you, Dain, that will be all.”
The door closes softly behind him, and he sighs, stepping into the room.
My heart thumps. What am I going to tell him? How can I possibly explain all this? I search for something witty to say, some brilliant way of announcing my presence, but my words fall short.
There’s always the possibility that he’s figured everything out and wants nothing to do with me. I don’t want to think about that, but it could happen. There’s nothing to stop him from yelling for the guards the second he realises I’m here.
Maybe I should just leave…
He hasn’t noticed me. I’m surprised he can’t hear my demented, frantic heart. It’s beating so wildly, like it wants to burst out of my chest and throw itself at his feet.
I can’t believe I ever teased him about that soul-swallower nonsense.
I can’t believe I’m still calling it nonsense.
Cassiel turns to the window, and whistles.
Where are you?
My juddering heart stills in my chest. Of course I’m not going to leave.
Not when he wants me.
I take a deep breath, and whistle back. I’m here.
Cassiel’s eyes widen. His mouth hangs loose. “Wren?” he says, wheeling towards where I stand, in the threshold between his room and mine.
I take a step closer. My legs struggle to carry me much further than that. “I’m here.”
“It’s… it’s really you?”
His hands reach for me. I guide one towards my face, where he lets out a sharp exhale. His fingers move frantically then, both of them scouring my features, moving over my hands, my shoulders, my arms—all over me, then back again. He’s trembling. I am too.
“You—you’re all right? You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m fine, and I’m back.” My voice falters. “I’m home, Cassiel.”
His arms launch around me, pinning me to his chest. He sobs into my neck. I bawl too, fingers bunching into his clothes. He pulls away to grab my face again, thumbing away the tears I’m choking on. His breath surges in his chest. I trip over my own.
He opens his mouth again—to say my name, I think—but no words leave his lips.
Instead, he brings them crashing against mine.
He pulls back before I can start kissing him in return, as if seeking permission.
“We… we shouldn’t…” I tell him, although for a moment I’ve forgotten why.
“Wren,” he says, half laughing, “I don’t fucking care. Do you?”
My fingers play with the opening of his shirt, tracing the delicate gold leaf embroidery along the collar.
“No,” I respond. “I don’t think I care about anything but you.”
Cassiel exhales sharply, like he’s surfacing for air, and then he kisses me again—fierce, desperate, consuming. His hands cradle my face, thumbs still brushing against the dampness of my tears, but his lips leave no room for sorrow. They press, part, claim.
I match him, grasping at his shirt, the fine silk crumpling in my fists.
My fingers fumble with the buttons, but I don’t have the patience to undo them properly.
Cassiel doesn’t seem to mind—his own hands are just as frantic, slipping down my arms, circling my waist, gathering me closer as though he can fuse us together.
We stumble backwards, our movements clumsy in their urgency. My knees hit the mattress, and for a second, I think I might fall—but Cassiel’s arms tighten around me, catching me, steadying me. He chuckles against my mouth, the sound breathless and intoxicated.
His fingers weave into my hair. He angles my head to deepen the kiss, and I whimper at the sensation—at the sheer hunger behind it. I press against him, craving more, drinking in the heat of his body, the way he shudders when I drag my nails down his back.
“Saints, Wren,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re really here. I thought—I thought I might never see you again.”
I claim his face in my hands, leaning my forehead against his. “I will always come home to you,” I tell him. “Always.”
He moans into my mouth. His legs bump against the bedframe, and he pulls me with him as he sinks down, his arms never loosening, his lips never leaving mine. We collapse together, limbs tangling, bodies pressing close as though we can make up for lost time in this single, breathless moment.
Maybe we can.
“Wait,” I say, reason taking over for a brief second, “We should—I should—there’s something I need to tell you.”
Cassiel grins, his hands still cradling the back of my neck, scooping up my hair. “Is it that you’re not entirely human? Because I rather figured that.”
My body goes numb with shock. “You… you know?”
“You were freezing to death, Wren,” he tells me. “Quite literally. And you—you were the one who put out the fire, weren’t you?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Did you create some kind of shield around us?”
“How did you—”
“I felt it.” He smiles at his own cleverness. “You’re the one who told me I still notice things.”
I want to smile, but I’m still too shocked. “You don’t… you don’t hate me?”
“You are you,” he tells me. “I could never hate you.”
I believe him. For now, I believe him. Later, I’ll tell him the whole truth—what I was sent here to do. I’ll tell him everything, and he’ll understand. He’ll forgive me. We’ll work on a plan together.
But for now, I just want to be with him.
Cassiel seems to sense the shift, the way I stop pulling away and instead pull him closer. His fingers slip beneath the edges of my tunic, skimming the bare skin at my waist. I shiver, not from cold, but from the heat of his touch, the way his hands move as though mapping every part of me.
I press my lips to his again, more certain now, more willing to lose myself in this.
I tug at the buttons of his shirt, sliding them free one by one, until the fabric parts and I can finally press my hands against his skin.
He’s warm beneath my touch, his breath catching as I drag my fingertips down his chest, over the lean muscles there.
His own hands move with equal urgency, pushing my tunic over my head, casting it aside as his mouth finds mine once more.
His kisses trail lower, along my jaw, down my throat, each one setting me alight.
My fingers tangle in his hair, guiding him, holding him to me as we sink further into the bed, further into each other.
We shuck off everything else, until we’re entirely naked in each other’s arms.
Cassiel lowers me against the bed. He takes a hand to my lips and trails his fingers lower, down my throat, my breasts, my stomach. “I want to know every inch of you,” he tells me, voice low.
His hands go everywhere, light and claiming.
They brush over every crevice, every scar.
The curve of my hips, the angles of my collar bones.
Down my spine, tracing my wrists. He maps out my skin with his fingers.
It makes me shiver. My pulse races beneath his touch.
I almost want to grab the bed sheets, to cover myself up.
I feel exposed in a way I have never done with anyone before.
I have never been so naked in my life.
“Are you all right?” Cassiel asks. “You’re trembling. If you don’t like this—”
“No,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to stop. I’m just…”
“Just?”
“Would it surprise you to hear that I’m nervous?”
He inches back, just a fraction. “It isn’t your first time, is it?”
“Stars, no,” I inform him. “I just… it’s different with you. Everything’s different with you.”
He kisses me again, raw and wild, and then his hands continue their exploration, caressing other, more intimate parts of me.
“I did say every inch,” he whispers, touch light against my centre. “Every inch, Wren.”
My body vibrates, my vision blurring. Saints, whoever needs any sense but touch? His is everything. It makes all other senses fracture.
“Tell me what you want,” he asks, as I come undone beneath him.
I think he’s asking for instructions, but he doesn’t need any. I can barely conjure thought. “You,” I tell him. “Just you. You forever, Cassiel.”
He moans into my mouth, like my words are honey to him. I rake my hands down his back. His body cages over mine. I guide him into me. His fingers find mine, pinning me to the mattress. I want to split apart, to unravel, to become his in a way I have never belonged to anyone.
His mouth hovers at my neck, breathing heavy. My body turns nebulous. Sensations become stars. His release comes seconds after my own.
Afterwards, he lies against my chest, arms around me, utterly spent. He smiles against my skin.
“You truly aren’t human,” he whispers.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Because you’ve bewitched me,” he replies. “And I beg of you never to free me from your spell.”
I kiss his forehead. For the first time, a future seems possible. “Never,” I say.
I fall asleep with his breath in my mouth.