Chapter 24
Elara
Later that night, after the last drinks had been poured and the musicians were ready to topple, Elara woke to a soft knock on her chamber door.
She rolled over, her knee gently displacing Lysandra, who let out an irritated yelp before leaping to the floor.
Elara got out of the bed and slipped her top blanket over her shoulders since the fire was down to embers and the chill in the air was biting.
Heart pounding as she guessed who might be on the other side, she reached for the cold brass doorknob.
Caelan was the only one who could get past her guards.
At least, he was the only one who would have knocked with such courtesy after passing them.
The heavy door swung inward with a groan, revealing a sight that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine, confirming her suspicions.
Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she worried he might hear it beating.
Caelan leaned on the doorframe with one arm over his head.
He looked casual but buzzed with an unfamiliar energy.
As he glimpsed her body beneath her nightgown and makeshift cape, his eyes blazed with desire.
Without saying a word, he closed the short distance between them, tilting her chin up and crushing her lips with his. Elara flung her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his. She melted into him as he drew her bottom lip deeper into his mouth, nipping her with his teeth.
“Wait,” she breathed against his lips. “Not here.” She looked into his eyes, and he frowned. “Your room?” she asked. She just didn’t want their first time together to be in the same place they’d fought during the invasion.
Caelan nodded. He reached to the floor to pick up the blanket she had dropped and draped it back over her shoulders.
He took her hand in his, a warm and reassuring touch.
Elara’s shadows stared straight ahead, ignoring the couple as they made their way past them and walked down the winding halls to Caelan’s chamber. Elara squeezed his hand tighter.
Entering the room, Caelan faced her again, the silence broken only by the soft drizzle of rain hitting the windowsill. “Is this all right?” he asked.
A pair of abandoned boots sat on the floor near the freshly made bed, and several books—along with a worn leather journal—lay open on the mahogany desk.
Elara nodded, beaming up at him. “This is perfect.” She meant it.
Not just about the room, but about him. About being together on their own terms instead of waiting for the wedding, when they would no doubt be performative and awkward.
This was real. And it belonged only to them.
Caelan brushed his hand across her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. Elara guided his face down to hers, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. Their lips met again, tongues dancing, searching.
Caelan held her close, the warmth of his body a welcome comfort against hers.
Lost in the kiss, she tugged at him, a frantic energy in her movements, until she felt the cool, smooth edge of the bed against the backs of her knees.
Elara’s back hit the plush mattress, Caelan’s weight settling on top of her as he moved over her.
Pulling his mouth from hers, he trailed kisses down her neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
His lips, warm and insistent, lingered on the delicate skin of her collarbone, sending delicious shivers down her spine.
She raked her hands down his back until she felt the hem of his shirt.
She tugged it up, bunching the fabric around his neck and forcing him to halt so she could finish lifting it over his head.
His growl at the interruption made her stomach flutter.
As she removed his shirt, he sat up enough for her to admire his bare chest. Her eyes lingered on the taut muscles of his broad shoulders, noting the way the dim light glinted off his sun-kissed skin, then trailed down to his chiseled stomach.
His abdomen rose and fell quickly, his heartbeat echoing hers.
Calloused yet gentle hands wandered from her chest, over her stomach, and down her thighs, a slow, deliberate caress.
He caught the hem of her nightgown and guided it up, revealing her legs.
Elara wiggled under his featherlight touch as more goose bumps exploded across her skin.
She arched her back so he could wrestle the rest of the fabric out from under her.
He flung the garment away, the smell of wine and sweat and cedar lingering faintly in the air, and admired her for several slow, steadying breaths.
Caelan’s eyes sparkled with sheer joy, an expression Elara was sure she mirrored. The world around them fell away as they continued to explore each other with hands, lips, tongues. Eventually, his trousers joined their other clothes on the floor, and the two of them became a frantic tangle.
Elara fell onto him, breathless and spent, and Caelan wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest. They stayed like that until the ragged gasps subsided, replaced by the quiet rhythm of normal breathing.
He caressed her back and hips, his touch gentle and reassuring, while she ran her fingers through his soft hair, a sigh escaping her lips in perfect contentment.
Rolling off of him, she snuggled close to his side.
Caelan gathered a thick, plush blanket from the heap of fabrics scattered on the floor and draped it over them.
She felt utterly secure in his embrace, the silent understanding between them palpable and profoundly satisfying.
That night, finally finding solace in his arms, Elara slept dreamlessly, a peace that had been a distant memory.
The cedar-and-amber scent of his skin and the steady beat of his heart lulled her into a restful slumber.
Abeam of sunlight streamed through the window and across Elara’s face.
She blinked, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes and focus.
She attempted to turn over, but Caelan’s arm was heavy on her, pinning her to the bed.
He was fast asleep, face serene, his breathing slow and even.
Elara smiled and settled back into him, tugging the covers over her face to shield herself from the harsh daylight.
An hour passed, marked only by the shifting sunlight and the sound of birds chirping, before Caelan stirred beside her.
He woke and embraced her before they stretched out their arms and legs, trying to coax blood into their extremities after being curled up all night.
With a tender touch, Caelan brushed the hair from her forehead, the warmth of his fingers a comforting contrast to the cool morning air against her cheek.
“Good morning, Princess.”
Elara wrinkled her nose at him, and he laughed.
With a rustle of sheets, he scooted to the edge of the bed and, bending low, retrieved his clothes from the floor.
For the first time, she saw his bare back, covered in markings from his neck to his waist—a series of dark swirls that evoked the idea of the ocean during a storm.
“What are those?” she asked, eyeing the patterns, only to notice several scratch marks of her own making. Her cheeks flushed with heat. “I’ve never noticed them before.”
Caelan looked over his shoulder at her. “Ah,” he said. “Those are my sigils.” He shrugged. “Everyone with an essence affinity receives them during their Thal’Sira—it’s an initiation ceremony.”
Intrigued, she ran her fingers over the markings, tracing the waves down his spine. “Are they different for every essence affinity?”
“They’re unique to each person—like a magical fingerprint, of sorts.
But they tend to keep to certain themes.
Waves or sea creatures for the Moiren, lightning for the Children of the Sky .
. .” Having retrieved their clothing from the floor, he rose and placed her silken nightgown in her lap and shoved his arms into his own shirt.
“What was your Thal’Sira like?”
Caelan thought about it for a moment while he tugged his trousers on and fastened his belt.
“I suppose, from the outside looking in, it would seem quite barbaric. After passing a series of tests, one of the magi from your order guides you through a Pyrael. It’s a flame as tall as five men.
As you pass through it, you’re branded with your sigils.
Rumor has it that the more markings you have, the more powerful you are. ”
Elara let the new information sink in. The sigils completely covered Caelan’s back. One of the most powerful mages.
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
“I’ve had worse,” he said, holding his hand out between them. Elara took it and stroked the burn scars. She’d noticed them many times before, but she still wasn’t ready to hear the story behind them.
“I wonder what my sigils would be,” she said. “I haven’t seen any images depicting them in my research.” How would I even have a Thal’Sira? I have no other Serathi to guide me. She shook the dark thoughts from her mind before she risked ruining their cozy morning.
“Breakfast?” she asked instead.
“I’d love to,” Caelan replied. “Let me escort you back to your room so you can change first. And take care of this.” He tried to run his hand through her hair, but it was instantly caught in the tendrils. Elara giggled, taking his hand and skillfully freeing his fingers from her tangled mess.
“Fair enough,” she said. Caelan lifted their hands to his face, pressing his lips to her knuckles.
After she had Iris help her tame her wild hair and pick out a suitable dress, Elara made her way to the dining room.
Her shadows were there, of course, grinning like idiots.
They were probably happy for Caelan, and maybe even for her.
The feeling that others cared about her happiness comforted her in her isolating world.
She wished she could tell Thalia about last night.
I will get to tell her when this is over and we are all safe again, she thought.
Clutching that small hope, she entered the dining room, her breath catching in her throat at the sight before her.
A spectacular spread of her favorite flowers—yellow dahlias—and lemon cakes adorned the table.
Dressed in fine formal attire, Caelan stood behind his chair, looking every inch a future king.
“What’s all this? How did you know about the flowers?” Elara whispered.
“I asked Iris. Is it . . . too much?” he asked, lips dipping into a tiny frown.
Elara shook her head and took her seat, beaming. She didn’t know what to say, instead reaching for a cup of piping hot coffee.
Caelan mirrored her—adding an obscene amount of milk to his beverage—before he cleared his throat. “What would you do if you weren’t here? If you could do anything you wanted?”
Elara’s brow furrowed as she considered the odd question.
Not even Thalia had asked her that before.
What do I want? “I don’t know.” She shrugged.
“So much of my life has been planned out for me. I’ve only ever thought about being the best queen I can be.
And now, all of this . . . it’s hard to think about myself.
About what I want.” With her family’s lives—and the fate of Serendith—in her hands, it seemed silly to think about her own happiness.
“What about you? What would you have done if your father hadn’t brought you here? ”
Caelan’s eyes warmed, his expression turning wistful. “I would’ve traveled the world. Explored the continent, maybe even sailed to the Unknown Lands.”
Elara could see it. Caelan swinging from the rigging of a massive ship, skin coated with salt and sun, the wind dancing in his golden curls. Free. She frowned.
“But,” he continued. “I’m glad that my father brought me here. To you.” His eyes held hers as he rose.
Caelan took her hand, kneeled to the ground before her, and presented her with a stunning necklace—a silver setting surrounding a gemstone that perfectly matched the color of her eyes.
“This is why I was late to escort you to the ball—finding this necklace. It belonged to my mother. I thought it would be perfect for you.”
Her heart squeezed. Caelan smiled, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.
“Elara, I know we are already engaged. But I needed this to be for us, not for anyone else. My love for you . . . it is real. I cannot imagine my life without you. I love you with all of my soul. So I ask you, Will you be my wife?”
Fear sent her heart hammering in her chest. One part of her wanted to run, to decline his offer, to listen to the small voice in her head that told her not to trust that this was real. She searched his golden eyes, and her fear melted as she gave in to her desire.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, unable to speak. He rose and fastened the chain around her neck. Their lips met in a fiery kiss that left her breathless, before she buried her face in his chest, her heart pounding.
“I love you too, Caelan,” she whispered.