Chapter 39 All That Was Given
thirty-nine
All That Was Given
Miralyte
I was back in our village, sitting on the worn wooden steps of Pelbie's cottage. The familiar scent of her mother's herb garden drifted on the evening breeze, and somewhere in the distance, children's laughter echoed from the square.
Pelbie sat across from me, the bone dice scattered between us on a makeshift board carved into the step. Her brown hair caught the last rays of sunlight, and when she smiled, it was the same crooked grin that had brightened my childhood.
"Your turn," she said, gesturing to the dice. "Though we both know how this will end."
I always won our games. Always. It had been a running joke between us—Pelbie's terrible luck with dice, my uncanny ability to roll exactly what I needed. But when I picked up the carved bones and cast them, they clattered to a stop showing the worst possible combination.
Pelbie's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Well, would you look at that. I finally beat the great Miralyte at dice."
"About time," I said, trying to smile as a strange ache bloomed in my chest. "I was starting to think you'd never win one."
"Just had to wait for the right moment." She gathered the dice, her fingers warm when they brushed mine. "You know, I'm proud of you, Mira. Everything you've become, everything you've sacrificed for the realms."
"Pelbie—"
"No, let me say this." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I know you carry guilt about what happened to me. I can see it in your eyes even now. But you need to let it go."
The village around us began to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together like watercolors in rain.
"I should have saved you," I whispered.
"You did save me." She reached across the space between us, her hand cupping my cheek. "Every choice you made, every moment you fought—you saved countless others. That's who you are, Mira. That's who you've always been."
The dream was fading now, the cottage steps dissolving beneath us, but Pelbie's smile remained bright and real.
"Finish our game someday," she said as everything went white. "But maybe let someone else win once in a while."
I jerked awake with a gasp that tore at my throat. Not from fear this time, but from the aching sweetness of seeing her face again. Tears slipped down my cheeks—not the bitter tears of nightmares, but the soft grief of missing someone deeply loved.
"Easy, little dove." Zydar's voice was sleep-rough and concerned. His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me back against the solid warmth of his chest. "Another dream?"
I turned in his arms, needing to see his face in the moonlight that streamed through the chamber windows. Real. He was real. This was real. Not the twisted memories Ylvena had planted in my mind, not the false images that had died with her four months ago.
"She visited me," I whispered, my voice still thick with tears. "Pelbie. But it was... different this time. Good, almost."
Zydar's thumb traced along my cheekbone, wiping away the dampness there. "Tell me."
So I did, describing the village steps and the dice game, the impossible loss that had somehow felt like a gift. He listened without judgment, his fingers threading through my hair as I spoke.
"She's right, you know," he said softly when I finished. "About letting go of the guilt."
"I know." I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "It's just... hard. Four months since I became High Sovereign, and I still feel like I'm drowning half the time."
"Four months is nothing when you are grieving someone you loved." His hand moved to my hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands. "And ruling a court while your heart is still healing? That would test anyone."
I pressed closer to him, letting his warmth chase away the lingering chill of the dream.
We were both naked beneath the silk sheets, skin against skin in a way that still made my pulse quicken.
Even after months of sharing his bed, of waking up in his arms, the sight of him like this never failed to steal my breath.
"The court expects their sovereign to be strong," I murmured against his throat. "Unshakeable. A goddess who does not weep over mortal friends."
"The court can go fuck themselves if they think a goddess cannot grieve."
That startled a laugh out of me, bright and unexpected in the darkness. "Such language from the Lord of Thunder. What would your subjects think?"
"That their lord speaks the truth." His lips curved in that wicked smile I had grown to love. "Besides, I am not their lord anymore. I gave up my title, remember? I am merely the High Sovereign's consort now."
"Merely?" I arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that what you call yourself?"
"What would you prefer? Your devoted slave? Your willing captive?" His voice dropped to that purr that made heat pool low in my belly. "Your personal plaything?"
"You are terrible," I said, but I was smiling now, the nightmare finally losing its grip on me. "And completely shameless."
"You love it when I am shameless."
"I love many things about you." I traced patterns on his bare chest, marveling at how the black veins were truly gone. No mark remained of the curse that had nearly killed him. "Including the fact that you gave your people a choice."
The transition had not been easy. When I had dissolved the vessel system, when I had restructured everything so that mortals could choose to serve the courts—offering fair wages, regular visits from their families, and the freedom to leave if they wished—chaos had threatened to consume everything.
The fae still needed mortal energy, that ancient symbiosis couldn't simply be undone.
But now mortals came willingly, drawn by fair contracts and honest terms rather than stolen through the Tithe.
Some of the captured mortals had chosen to return home.
Others, surprisingly, had stayed—no longer prisoners but partners in maintaining the delicate balance between our worlds.
But Zydar had stood beside me through it all. Had helped me navigate the political storms, had been the steady voice of reason when my own emotions threatened to overwhelm my judgment.
"They deserved the choice," he said simply. "All of them. Just as you deserved the choice to refuse this crown."
"I did refuse it. Multiple times."
"And yet you wear it beautifully."
I made a face at him. "I do not wear it to bed."
"No, you wear much more interesting things to bed." His hand skimmed down my side, leaving fire in its wake. "Or sometimes nothing at all, which I prefer."
"Zydar." His name came out breathier than I intended as his touch wandered lower.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
The formal address should have sounded mocking, but there was something in his tone that made it sound almost reverent. As if he truly saw me as the goddess the court believed me to be.
"Do not call me that in bed," I said, shivering as his fingers found sensitive skin. "Here, I am just Mira."
"My little dove," he murmured against my ear. "You are my everything."
His words sent heat spiraling through me, but I was not about to let him win this easily. I pushed against his chest, trying to roll us over so I could straddle him instead. "Sweet words will not distract me from the fact that you are trying to take control."
He laughed, low and rich, and pinned my wrists above my head with embarrassing ease. "Am I? And here I thought I was simply appreciating my sovereign."
"Your sovereign?" I arched beneath him, partly to test his grip and partly because I loved the way his eyes darkened when I moved like that. "Since when do you bow to anyone?"
"I would bow to you." His voice dropped to that gravelly tone that made my toes curl. "I would kneel. I would worship. Though I suspect you prefer me in other positions."
Heat flooded my cheeks even as I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. "You are insufferable."
He shifted his weight, pressing me deeper into the mattress, and I had to bite back a sound that would have been far too revealing.
His thumb traced along my wrist where he held me captive. I tugged against his hold, not because I wanted to escape but because I enjoyed the way his grip tightened in response. The way his breathing changed when I tested his control.
"What would my court think," I mused, letting my voice take on a teasing edge, "if we ignored our duties any longer?"
His lips curved in that wicked smile that never failed to make my pulse race. "We’ll claim an important research study…thorough exploration of creative uses for royal chambers."
"Creative uses?" I laughed despite the breathless quality of my voice. "Is that your scholarly term for it?"
"I could be more specific, if you prefer." His mouth moved to my throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "I could describe in great detail exactly what I do to you in this bed. What you do to me."
"Zydar." His name came out as more of a gasp than a word.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" The formal address was paired with decidedly informal touches that made my thoughts scatter.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Then what should I call you when you are beneath me like this? When you are looking at me like you want to devour me whole?"
I met his gaze boldly, even though my heart was racing. "Whatever you want, as long as you never stop."
His grip on my wrists tightened, and his smile turned predatory. "Dangerous words, little dove."
"I am not feeling particularly safe right now," I admitted, loving the way his pupils dilated at my confession. "And I find I do not mind it."
"Good." His voice was rough now, all pretense of teasing gone. "Because I am not feeling particularly gentle."
"I would be disappointed if you were."
That earned me a growl that I felt as much as heard, vibrating through his chest where it pressed against mine. "The court would be scandalized," I continued, even as my breathing grew shallow.