7. Seven
Seven
Reluctantly, they righted their clothing and emerged from the storeroom a few moments later.
Hands joined, they returned to the Great Hall, arriving in time for the morning meal.
Courtiers crowded the room, recently risen from their warm beds.
Nova scanned the hall for Bryn and, not finding her, assumed she must still be resting.
“Ah! She has returned! The Emissary of the Lunar Court.” Thorn’s voice carried across the Great Hall over the heads of the gathered crowd when he spotted Nova near the entrance.
Nova gritted her teeth at his emphasis on her title, his voice saccharine and steeped in what she perceived as condescension, as if he were indulging a child playing at dress-up.
Still, she wove her way to the foot of the dais to greet the regent, Callan trailing in her wake.
Thorn’s consort, Liv, the seer who’d so casually dealt the troubling premonition about Nova’s future five months before, remained seated.
Her hands rested in her lap, poised prettily atop layers of thick, dark wool, a rosy flush glowing on her fair cheeks.
“My Lord.” Nova made a quick curtsy, and Thorn descended the steps partway to take her hands in his. He looked her up and down.
“It seems those Lunar brutes treated you well,” Thorn joked loud enough for all to hear, laughing heartily at his own remark.
Nova bristled at the insult. It took all of her will not to yank her hands free from his grasp. She waited for a beat to gather her composure, then matched his volume so everyone gathered would hear her response as well.
“Those brutes are my folk, my Lord, and they treated me as such.” She managed a thin smile but couldn’t mask the hint of ice in her tone.
Thorn chuckled, his eyes passing over his subjects, who watched quietly, awaiting his reply.
“Of course, my dear. No offense intended.”
Deciding a polite amount of time had passed, she peeled her hands out of Thorn’s. Callan bowed to his uncle and led Nova away.
“Would you like to eat amongst the gentry of Nivali this morning, or shall we take our meal in our chamber?” he asked, gently squeezing her left hand before lifting it to his face. He tilted his head to one side as he passed his thumb over the delicate silver ring on her middle finger.
“Do you even have to ask?” She gripped the front of his tunic with her free hand and pulled him toward her.
He grinned from ear to ear and told her to head up to the room ahead of him while he gathered their food. On her way upstairs, Nova encountered the skittish servant again and asked to be told when Bryn woke. Nodding, the maid scurried off down the staircase.
The fire in their chamber had been stoked, the flames dancing cheerily in the familiar space.
While she waited, Nova opted to wash off her travels with a quick rinse in the tub.
A handful of minutes later, she was freshly bathed and slipping into her black satin robe.
Callan entered the room then, balancing a full tray on one arm, an apple between his teeth.
Callan halted in the doorway, taking in the sight of her, all his dreams made flesh. Her dark hair flowed in loose waves over her shoulders, and her robe clung to the soft curve of her hips, the parted fabric revealing a glimpse of her thighs.
He kicked the door closed and spat the apple unceremoniously onto the tray in front of him. Three long strides brought him to the table, where he set the tray down with a clash of cutlery. With two more, he joined her where she stood before the fireplace.
“This is lovely,” he said, running his fingertips over the arms of her robe.
“You like it?” she asked, tugging at the ends of the sash cinched at her waist.
“Very much,” he answered, his voice dipping lower. The robe evoked pleasant memories of the first time they had lain together in the Lunar Court.
“I thought you might.” She leaned into him, tilting her head back but stopping short of kissing him, her mouth hovering a breath away from his. She pulled back playfully when he tried to press his lips to hers, and he growled low in his throat.
“Shield the door, Your Grace,” she murmured.
Callan briefly considered asking her not to call him that but did as he was told, quickly warding the door so no one but the two of them could enter without an invitation.
Nova laid her palms against his chest and gave a shove, sending him down to sit on the sofa.
A laugh escaped him, but he swallowed the sound when he saw the earnest expression she wore.
Nova lifted the hem of her robe, and Callan slouched a bit, expecting to make room for her in his lap.
To his surprise, she lowered herself to her knees before him, taking his hands in hers as she looked at him, crystalline sincerity reflected in the silvery depths of her eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked, but she shushed him.
Bringing his left hand to her mouth, she pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.
“I claim you, Callan Nyhauslen, as my bonded mate.” She brought his right hand to her mouth. Another reverent kiss on his palm. “I vow to be your calm in the storm. To heal you when you are broken.” She clasped both his hands tightly. “Above all else, I vow to love you all the days of my life.”
For Callan, there had been no mistaking the moment his claim had fully bonded him to Nova.
Whatever meager separation lingered between their souls had been erased in an instant, the thread of his life weaving together with hers, the force of the bond careening through his body like a burst dam.
The gravity of it had nearly brought him to his knees.
From the way Nova’s breath hitched and she squeezed his hands tighter, her knuckles going white, he knew the force of her claim had seized her as well.
When she released him, he cupped one of her cheeks.
Leaning into his touch, she ran her hands along the tops of his thighs, reaching for his laces and tugging them open.
Her steely eyes locked on his as she slipped her fingers beneath his waistband, curling them around his shaft and gripping him tightly.
Callan lifted his hips, allowing Nova to lower his breeches, his cock springing free as she did so.
Gently, she pushed his tunic and shirt up higher on his abdomen.
Leaning forward, she kissed the raised scar on his right side, a daily reminder of how her magic had once healed him, saving his life nearly at the expense of her own.
Callan’s head fell back, and he closed his eyes as he focused on the sensation of her soft lips traveling lower, her tongue tracing the lines of the dagger inked on his thigh, his skin prickling in its wake.
She took his cock in her hand once again, fingers gliding along his shaft and easing the skin back, before tightening around the base, her tongue teasing at the head.
When she took him into the warmth of her mouth, his eyes snapped open, surely ablaze as he gazed down at his beautiful mate, claiming him as he had claimed her.
Callan clenched his jaw and clutched at the woven blanket draped over the sofa at his side.
So much of his life had been steeped in violence.
The lightness of Nova’s touch as she stroked his cock and the softness of her lips, her tongue, as she drew his length into her mouth were a gift.
Struggling to maintain control, Callan recalled the words she’d spoken the first time she invited him into her bed.
You never have to hide from me. You never have to hold back.
Slowly, Callan released his grip on the blanket and buried his fingers in her dark hair instead, tugging gently at the roots.
Nova moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she took him further, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat.
Callan lost track of time as he surrendered himself to the pleasure she so lovingly offered him.
Nova increased her pace, eyes watering as she took him as far as he could go.
Callan’s release coursed through him, her name rushing past his lips like a prayer as she swallowed every drop.
When his body went slack, Nova climbed into his lap to straddle his thighs. Callan brushed away the tears tracking over the apples of her cheeks, then drew her in close, kissing her deeply before his head lolled back onto the sofa.
“You’ll be the death of me, my love,” he said, breathless. “Though I can’t imagine a better way to meet my end.”
Utterly content, he gazed up at Nova. It was then that he spied the markings: faint bruises, a mottled yellow green, marred the pale skin of her throat.
Callan straightened in his seat, the warm glow of his satisfaction doused in an instant.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded, gently tilting her head. He dared not touch the discolored skin, wary of causing her pain.
“It’s nothing,” Nova assured him, taking his hand and holding it tightly in her own before he tugged it free.
“It looks like something.” He tilted her head again and leaned in for a closer look, sucking a breath through his teeth when he registered the defined shape of fingers.
“It wasn’t nothing at first, but it’s nothing now,” she explained. “My father—he’s been searching for me.”
“Searching for you?”
“Hunting is a more accurate description. Since Pyralis. His tracker breached the shield around the Silvergard Estate yesterday.” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek.
Callan’s mind raced, desperate for every detail, and he struggled to narrow in on a single thought.
“A tracker?”
“Yes. A good one.” Nova stared at her hands where they lay folded in her lap. “She’s here in Nivali now.”
Callan lifted her off his lap and set her on the sofa beside him, quickly righting his breeches before springing to his feet. He strode to where his sword lay on the mantelpiece. Nova was at his side in an instant, guiding him back to the sofa where she sat and pulled him down beside her.
“All is well, my love,” she murmured, taking his face in her hands and running her thumbs over the tense muscles of his clenched jaw. “As it turns out, I have a gift that’s rather effective against shadow assassins.”
The faint, proud smile tugging at her lips thawed his anger a degree.
“And what might that be?” he asked, the question coming out rougher than he’d intended.
“The Light of Illora.” Nova dropped her hands from his face, but he scooped one of them up, wanting to maintain the connection. “Nox says it’s quite rare. It undoes dark magic somehow. My father had placed an enchantment on Bryn—the tracker—but I broke it.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” His eyes fell to their joined hands, and he squeezed once, shaking his head against the vision of someone harming his mate.
“My ancestors nearly managed to purge it from the bloodline long ago.”
“How can you be certain she isn’t pretending to be free of the curse? Biding her time?”
“If you’d seen her before . . .” Nova’s eyes went wide, and she shuddered.
“When she came for me, she was dull and gray, like all the color and life had been siphoned out of her. Her eyes, they were completely black. Empty. I fought for my life. Managed to get her in the shoulder with my dagger, but she ripped the blade free and tossed it away. Like a horse flicking a fly. She got me on my back, and that’s when she strangled me. ”
Callan opened his mouth to interrupt, but she laid a finger across his lips, halting him.
“I know, I know. Never let them get you on your back,” she said, reciting his own training refrain back to him. “Nox and Lucan arrived just in time and saw the light that broke the enchantment.”
Callan was quiet for a moment, willing himself to maintain his calm as the information settled over him.
“She’s perfectly fine now. She’s vowed to serve me until her debt is repaid.” Nova held up her hand, displaying the ring winding like a delicate silver vine around her finger.
“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” Callan smiled and lifted her hand to his lips, brushing them against her knuckles. A knock came, and Nova rose from the sofa to answer it. After exchanging words with a female on the other side, she closed the door and turned back to face him.
“Bryn is awake.” Discarding her robe on the bed, she gathered her clothing that lay scattered about the room. She stepped into the legs of her tight black breeches and shimmied to pull them over the swell of her hips. “Will you come meet her?”
Callan rose as Nova tugged her blouse down over her chest and shoved the hem into her waistband.
The black leather bodice she laced up over the top was decidedly Silvergardian, and incredibly enticing.
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing his nose to the space below her ear and inhaling the sweet scent of her.
“Later, my love,” she murmured, twisting in his arms. “I’ve so much more to tell you.
” She planted a chaste kiss on his lips and pulled away, grabbing her boots and hopping around on one foot as she tugged on each one.
Once dressed, she strapped her dagger to her thigh and tightened her sword belt around her waist.
Callan pinched the chest of his tunic, brought the fabric to his nose, and sniffed.
He smelled of sweat and straw. Quickly trading his soiled tunic for a fresh one from the wardrobe, he pulled the garment over his head before retrieving his own sword and following Nova out the door.
In the excitement of their reunion, he’d forgotten that he, too, had news to deliver.