Chapter 27The Cherry-Stained Door
27
The Cherry-Stained Door
In the quiet of dawn, Draeden cradled Elowyn’s sleeping form in his arms, admiring her peaceful features. He observed the gentle rhythm of her breathing, a comforting sight after the strife she endured. Last night had been unexpected; Elowyn had sought him out, her eyes filled with tears and her heart heavy with weariness. Knowing the burdens she carried, Draeden couldn’t fault her for feeling overwhelmed. Just days before, she had been forced by her father to forge an Eternal Tethering bond with the newly appointed feyguard of Eriden—a decision that still ignited a throe of anger within him.
Within Neramyr’s royalty, the Eternal Tethering bond was not unheard of; his own father, King Kyrus Darkmaw, possessed three Eternal Tethering bonds himself. Yet, typically, the bond was entered into willingly, a formal commitment freely offered by one fey to another to forsake their life to the bond if it necessitated it. The Eternal Tethering bond was sanctioned and blessed by the Goddess and fulfilled through the High Priestess in this realm .
If the Moon Goddess did not endorse the bond, the bond would not take.
Draeden was curious as to why the Moon Goddess accepted Elowyn and Finnor’s bond when it was presented before her. Most heirs did not take the bond before their coronation. In legend, it was warned that taking the Eternal Tethering bond before coronation condemned the reigning ruler to a felled fate—it was ill-fortune to tempt the throne with the longevity of another monarch.
Though he dismissed this as mere folklore, Draeden couldn’t discern any honorable motive for Elowyn to accept the bond at her age.
As Elowyn stirred slightly in his embrace, Draeden froze, careful not to disturb her. When she settled back into sleep, he gently brushed a stray strand of white hair from her face, his brow furrowing as he remembered her distress from the night before. In her anguish, she had implored him to take her somewhere safe, away from the burdens of her world. And so, he had brought her to the oasis in Orwyn—the only place he believed could offer her respite, while still ensuring the Eriden feyguard could locate her if needed.
A flush of warmth spread across Draeden’s cheeks as memories of their recent embrace flooded his mind. His heart raced as he recalled each kiss, every touch exchanged and shared beneath the stars. She was the first fey to ignite such intense emotions within him. Perhaps it was the ethereal connection he felt when they first met in the Temple of Caena, or the way she observed the world with the same keen eye as he did. It could have been the moments he caught her stealing glances at him, or the thrill he felt when their eyes met across the room. Whatever the reason, he was utterly captivated. Draeden had always understood the depth of fey emotions, but now he grasped why kingdoms had fallen and wars had been waged in the name of love.
He would do anything for her. He felt it with his soul.
As if sensing his profound affection, Elowyn’s eyes fluttered open, a soft smile gracing her lips. It was his undoing. Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips, his hand gently tilting her chin upward. Elowyn responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his crimson locks. Their kisses deepened, fueled by desire and longing as the dawn began to break on the horizon. In the soft light, Draeden admired Elowyn’s graceful form, feeling a surge of desire course through him.
With a groan, he surrendered to the overwhelming passion, his actions guided by tenderness and care. He traced kisses along her skin, savoring the curves of her body until their lips met once more. Their bodies joined, and only when Elowyn found release did Draeden allow himself the same, his movements urgent as he held her close. As they lay intertwined, bathed in the glow of morning light, Draeden cradled Elowyn in his arms, cherishing the intimacy they shared.
“How are you feeling?” Draeden’s gaze was earnest as he spoke.
“Better now that I’m with you.” Elowyn played with a strand of her hair. “Thank you for being there for me last night. I know I wasn’t at my best. But... I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened during the Vitus . I can’t believe how the ritual was performed. Why did the High Priestess allow it?”
Draeden wore a pensive expression. “To be honest, I’m still puzzled myself. The ritual has always been a solitary performance for each candidate, unchanged for millennia. For it to suddenly deviate... I can only wonder if the Goddess desired it to be this way.”
Elowyn sat up, turning to him. “Are you suggesting that this is how the Vitus will be conducted from now on? That we’ll be using our abilities on each other when it’s our turn to compete?”
He shrugged. “Possibly, if the Goddess wills it. We might not have much say in the matter.”
Draeden’s words left a sinking feeling in Elowyn’s stomach. She knew he was right. If the Moon Goddess allowed this change, Neramyran tradition was being redefined at her behest.
Changing the subject, Elowyn asked, “Did you know that Sylas is a legacy? ”
“No, not at all. I was just as surprised as everyone else in the arena,” he replied. “The Bloodweaver feat is unnerving, to say the least. For your sister to break free of that legacy spell suggests she’s far more powerful than anyone ever imagined. As a feyling, I learned about the seven feats, and I distinctly remember my scholars emphasizing how dangerous moonfire can be. For your sister to wield it to such a degree is beyond comprehension. Despite what the fey of Neramyr may think, I believe she’ll be named primis tonight.”
“She will. I’m certain of it,” Elowyn affirmed, twirling another strand of her hair. “I still haven’t fully mastered my legacy feat... have you?”
“Not quite,” Draeden chuckled. “But we have time. We have seven years until our Trial.”
“As always, you’re right,” Elowyn conceded, then nudged him teasingly. “I have an idea. How about you make me another enchanted bell and record your words of wisdom for me to listen to whenever I want?”
Draeden’s tone turned serious. “Elowyn, I would never subject an artifact to such misuse. As a magicsmith of integrity, it goes against everything I believe in. Besides, knowing you, the bell would be ragged from overuse within two days!”
“Hey!” Elowyn jabbed him in the ribs this time. “You’re insufferable!”
They both cackled with bright smiles and full laughs that reached their bellies. Draeden hoped that in those moments, Elowyn felt a sense of ease and relief. He saw a beauty in her that could never be captured, even if he spent his whole life crafting an artifact to encompass it.
They lingered in the oasis, savoring each other’s company, letting the worries of the future slip away, if only for a little while. They knew that come the next dawn, their lives would be irrevocably altered, but for now, they found happiness in this moment.
Emerging from a moongate, Finnor moved silently through the walls of Eriden’s castle. His expression remained impassive as he followed a path toward one of the council chambers. Soon, he stopped before an iron door and raised a hand to rap against its hard surface.
“Enter,” came a low voice.
Finnor slipped through the entrance, closing it behind him, and then bowed. “My king.”
“Finnor,” the king responded. “What news of the tether?”
Approaching him, the commander replied, “Her mind still resists the Tethering.”
The king intertwined his fingers, resting his elbows on the armrests of his seat. “Continue to nurture the link; she will accede.”
“Of course.”
“What about her absence last night?”
“The tether revealed her location in Orwyn. I followed, as instructed.”
The king’s brow arched. “Orwyn?”
“Yes. The princess has developed a kinship with a warlock from her cohort.”
“Whom?”
“Draeden Darkmaw.”
King Eamon said curiously, “Kyrus’ successor?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I see.” The king’s expression remained unreadable. “And where is she now?”
“The princess has returned to Eriden. I tracked her arrival moments ago.”
King Eamon’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Can you discern her intentions with the Darkmaw warlock through the bond?”
“From what I can gather, she seems sincere.”
“She will begin her training at the Spires soon. The Darkmaw warlock may prove useful yet.” The king dipped a feathered pen into an inkwell. “Keep me informed of their actions.”
“As you command.”
King Eamon began writing on a parchment, pausing briefly. “Be prepared to influence her judgment through the tether if I deem it necessary to intervene.”
Finnor’s mind flickered with uncertainty, but his sense of duty quelled his unease. “As you wish, my king.”
Elowyn stood before the cherry-stained doors of her sister’s chambers, her fingers wrapped around the teardrop-shaped gem that hung from her neck. Its magical hum was gentle, yet powerful, awaiting its other half just beyond the wooden entrance. Elowyn hadn’t spoken to her sister since before the Vitus , knowing that Elyria sought solace in silence.
Still, she couldn’t resist the urge to seek her out.
She raised her fist and rapped on the door, the sharp sound echoing through the empty corridors of the castle.
“Elyria? It’s me. Can I come in?” Silence greeted her, stretching uncomfortably as Elowyn shifted nervously on her feet. “I understand if you’re not up for visitors, but I wanted to check on you before the Seventh Day. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
Attempting to open the door, she found it firmly sealed, protected by various wards. Despite her efforts, it remained closed, impervious to her touch—no one could enter unless Elyria willed it.
“What if we just lay together and do nothing? I promise not to leave any crumbs on your silk sheets,” she added, attempting to lighten the mood with a joke. But the silence that followed felt heavier than before, weighing down on her with a sense of defeat.
With a resigned sigh, Elowyn turned away, the distant echo of her footsteps mingling with the silence of the castle halls.
As she retreated from her sister’s chambers, the opal gem nestled beneath her collarbone protested, silently urging her to go back. Elowyn tightened her grip on the gem as if it would comfort the stone. The necklace had always served as a constant connection to her sister, but it would soon become a marker for her absence.
Elowyn did her best to suppress her gloomy aura.
Tonight was the night where her sister entered the Trial of Caena, and it felt too soon.