Chapter 38 #2
A murmur passed through the crowds, hands touching hearts as many of the fae below bowed their heads.
“She’s good at this,” Araya murmured, watching the crowd quiet as Eloria continued, her voice carrying with ease.
“She’s had a lot of practice,” Loren answered, his breath warm on the scarred shell of her ear. “Don’t be nervous, ael’sura, Eloria will be there for both of us as an advisor.”
“I’m more worried about the people,” Araya admitted. “They love her. And I’m not exactly—”
“You’re going to be a wonderful queen,” Loren said, silencing her with a kiss before she could continue to point out all the ways she didn’t measure up. His lips were gentle against hers, but Araya found herself breathless when he pulled back, his emerald eyes shining.
“They’ll love you,” he said softly. “Just like I do.”
Araya smiled up at him, blinking back the tears those words still brought to her eyes. But before she got the chance to say it back, Eloria’s voice rose again, cutting through the moment like a bell.
“For two decades, the mists and the shadows kept us shrouded, our songs silenced and our hope fading. But today—because of them—we stand in the sunlight for the first time in over twenty years.”
That was their cue.
Araya took Loren’s hand, taking comfort in his touch as they stepped through the doors to stand beside Eloria. The crowd’s roar hit her like a physical force, shaking the stone beneath her feet. Araya blinked against the sunlight, half-blinded after so many weeks of shadowed daylight.
Eloria turned to face them, her face radiant as the noise of the crowd softened into an expectant hush.
“Loren of Valendral,” Eloria began, “Son of King Corwinth and Queen Lysana, Heir to the Shadows, Protector of the Fae—and my older brother.” She smiled, tears shimmering in her green eyes.
“You spent twenty-five years as a prisoner of the Arcanum, but never broke. You stayed strong, even without hope. Until fate finally brought you together with your mate.”
Whispers rippled through the square, the weight of their attention settling over her like chains.
No one here had forgotten Bloomtide. People were dead because of her.
She had fae blood and looks, but she’d grown up among humans.
Sold herself and her magic to the man who’d tortured their prince.
What right did she have to stand here beside him now that he was king?
“Lady Starwind,” Eloria said, her voice hitching for the first time. “I thought I had lost everything. But you brought him home to us. To me.”
She stepped forward—and to Araya’s shock, wrapped her in a tight, tearful embrace.
The crowd roared.
Araya stood frozen in Eloria’s arms, overwhelmed by the raw emotion radiating from the square below. They were burying a king today—but they were celebrating something more.
Hope.
Lumaria’s central square glowed like a jewel beneath a velvet sky, the stars gleaming down on it for the first time in twenty-five years.
Loren’s people—her people—packed the square, spinning in a wild dance driven by the deep, lively beat of hand-carved drums and the sweet, lilting melody of reed flutes.
Loren’s laugh rose above the music, rich and unrestrained.
His head tipped back, the aetherlamps gilding the sharp line of his jaw as he spoke to a male she didn’t know, clapping him on the shoulder.
For once, the years of darkness and captivity he’d endured seemed to have no hold on him. Tonight, he was free. Radiant.
And she loved him. Gods help her, she loved him.
Loren’s head lifted, his emerald eyes never leaving hers as he wove effortlessly through the crowd. And then his hands were around her waist and his lips were on her shoulder, leaving sparks in their wake as they drifted across her skin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
“You’ve been drinking.” Araya’s breath hitched, her fingers digging into his arms as he lifted his head, brushing his mouth across hers.
“Maybe.” Loren pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his emerald eyes sparkling in the warm glow of the aetherlamps. His grin sharpened into something wicked, sending a delicious shiver racing over her heated skin. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
He dipped his head again, lingering on the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Araya gasped, heart curling low in her stomach.
“Loren.” She half-laughed, breathless. “There are people everywhere.”
“I know.” He hummed against her skin. “Do you know who I was talking to?”
“No—” The word broke on a gasp as Loren’s teeth grazed her skin. “Should I?”
“The innkeeper at the Silver Lantern,” he said, his lips skimming down to her collarbone. The husky timbre of his voice sent a shiver spiraling down her spine. “He’s set aside a room. Just for us. No Thorne. No Eloria…Just you and me.”
“A room.” Araya’s heart stuttered, then raced, its frantic rhythm almost drowning out the music around them. The blush that had warmed her cheeks all night deepened into something hotter, more urgent. “Did you… want to go there now?”
Loren tilted his head, his grin softening into something quieter, something that threatened to make her knees buckle all over again. “Unless you’d rather wait?”
Araya narrowed her eyes at him, but the corners of her lips twitched. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to wait.”
He took her hand, his fingers threading through hers with an easy confidence that sent a warm flush creeping up her neck. Loren led her along the edges of the crowd with exaggerated care, sliding along its edges like one of his own shadows.
Araya stifled a giggle, half afraid the musicians—or worse, the Small Council—might notice their king and queen sneaking off like unruly children. The melody followed them, light and lilting, intertwining with the rhythmic hum of laughter and clinking glasses.
Loren’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her past a group of rowdy elders loudly toasting his reign at one of the long tables. “You’re drawing attention.” He glanced back at her, his bright grin sparkling with mischief. “Stop looking so suspicious.”
“Me—?” Araya clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as he tugged her forward again, catching her in his arms. “You’re terrible at sneaking,” she hissed as they crossed the last stretch of cobblestones to the Silver Lantern.
“A king doesn’t sneak,” Loren said so haughtily that Araya couldn’t hold back her giggles. Loren wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his solid warmth. They crossed the last stretch of cobblestones to the Silver Lantern together, its doors flung open and wooden sign swinging in the breeze.
“Your Majesties!”
The cheerful, round-faced male Loren had been speaking to earlier jumped to his feet, beaming. He bowed deeply to Loren, and then—to Araya’s shock—fell to his knees at her feet.
“Lady Starwind,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “My family can never repay you for what you’ve done for us. I hope you will accept our humble offer of a room tonight—and any night you may find yourself in need of lodgings in Lumaria.”
“I—” Araya froze, words fleeing her entirely as she stared down at the male kneeling before her. “That is very kind,” she managed at last, her voice faltering as she glanced helplessly at Loren for guidance.
But Loren just grinned at her, his eyes dancing as if her sheer inability to process what was happening here was entirely endearing.
The innkeeper’s voice broke slightly as he continued.
“My son… he was born in the shadows. This is the first time he has been able to feel the sun on his face, to see the stars without a veil of mist…” His throat worked visibly as he struggled to steady himself, his words trembling with raw, unfiltered emotion.
Araya’s chest tightened, her heart aching for the child who had grown up in darkness. She opened her mouth, knowing she should say something—anything—but the words tangled on her tongue, refusing to come.
Loren stepped in with practiced ease, his hand tightening gently around hers. “Thank you,” he said warmly, placing his free hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder and drawing him back to his feet. “It means everything to us to know that you and your family can enjoy this freedom.”
The innkeeper wiped his eyes quickly, turning his face away as he steadied himself. When he turned back, his expression was bright again. He stepped to the board behind the desk, retrieving a bronze key.
“I’ve made sure the room is perfect,” he said, his tone regaining its earlier cheer. “The fire’s lit, the sheets are fresh, and there’s even a small decanter of wine waiting for you. A room fit for a king and his queen!”
Loren chuckled, his smile warm and easy. “Thank you,” he said, taking the offered key. “We are deeply honored by your kindness.”
The innkeeper beamed, bowing low again. “May your stay be restful, Your Majesties,” he said with a playful wink that had heat blooming in Araya’s cheeks. The blush crept all the way up to the tips of her scarred ears as Loren pulled her forward, practically racing her up the staircase.
“Loren!” Her laugh turned into a gasp as they reached the landing and he caught her in his arms, pressing her against the wall in one fluid movement.
His body molded against hers, one hand braced on the wall beside her head and the other slid low over her hip, tracing maddening circles against the gossamer fabric of her gown.
“Loren,” she said again, her voice a breathless whisper as his thigh pressed between hers. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard for balance—or maybe just to stay upright.
“Hm?” he murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“We’re in the middle of the staircase,” she protested, but her voice faltered as he gathered the gossamer fabric of her gown in his fist, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her thigh before slipping higher.
“And?” His mouth curved into a grin she could feel against her skin.
She sucked in a breath as his knuckles brushed the molten heat between her legs—a maddening tease that had her hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic, her knees suddenly weak.
“Loren—” her protest came out as a moan, her legs shaking as his thumb pressed just hard enough to make her gasp. “People might see—”
“They’ll look away.” He laughed.
Araya narrowed her eyes at him—but her hips betrayed her, rolling into the pressure of his touch with a gasp she couldn’t swallow.
Gods, she was burning—already wrecked for him.
He knew it too, a wicked grin curving his mouth as he leaned in, his sharp canines grazing her skin with just enough pressure to make her tremble as his hand worked her.
His name tumbled from her lips—half-moan, half-warning, useless against the fire he was stoking in her veins.
Enough.
She grabbed a fistful of his silk, dragging his face to hers. He groaned into her mouth, his grip faltering when she bit his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. She twisted under his arm, leaving him gaping after her.
“Race you,” she whispered, bolting up the stairs.