Chapter One
CHAPTER
ONE
The tavern belonged to the knights.
They claimed it as wholly as they claimed battlefields, filling the space with raucous laughter and the heavy scent of ale.
A lute was strummed in the corner, its strings plucked by a man who sat perched upon an upturned barrel near the hearth.
Boots scuffed a floor bathed in the molten gold of candlelight, and velvet curtains framed stained glass windows.
At the center of the revelry sat Aurelie, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a steel gorget, feeling the cold metal bite against her skin like an iron collar. She couldn’t stop fiddling with it, reassuring herself it was real. That she was finally here, a knight at last.
“To Aurelie!” Marcel’s voice cut through the din like a blade against whetstone. The chair beneath him groaned in protest as he climbed atop it, tankard raised high. “Tonight, she joins us in blood and steel! Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!” A roar of approval followed. Hands clapped her back, the force almost knocking the breath from her lungs, and someone ruffled her hair. She swatted at them, but the grin she fought to hide widened.
Marcel seized her hand. “Up you go, Chantelune. You and I are dancing.”
“My ale will not drink itself,” she protested, but Marcel heard none of it.
He spun her toward the open floor, where other knights had already begun stomping in rhythm to the lute’s rising tune, skirts swirling and laughter spilling like wine.
The air buzzed with the heat of bodies pressed close, hands sliding around waists and lips meeting for happy, stolen kisses.
“We should be preparing for tomorrow’s hunt,” Aurelie complained as his grip tightened.
“No, we should be celebrating. Retire your scowl and have some fun. If Orion were here, he’d have dragged you onto the dance floor hours ago.
” Marcel swept her forward, their boots striking the floor in time with the beat.
The dance was a lively one, and her hands clasped his firmly as he led them through the motions.
“That certainly sounds like him.” She let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
Her memories of Orion ached, but they were warm, too.
How strange it was to think that it’d been over a decade since she’d seen her brother’s face.
Were he alive, he’d have been bonded and married to Ilaria by now, likely with several young heirs already training to secure bonds of their own.
Demons would have been pissing themselves.
The thought made her chest ache, and she hadn’t realized the music had stopped until applause thundered around them, snapping her back to the present.
Tankards slammed against tables, knights stomping in a hearty demand for another song.
A pretty girl grabbed Marcel by the arm, and Aurelie took it as her opportunity to slip away.
Grateful for the reprieve, she reached for her forgotten tankard, the cool metal grounding her. She took a deep draught, the ale bitter on her tongue, before a familiar voice interrupted her escape.
“Surely you’re not finished dancing already?”
She turned to find Nicolas Beaumont, his easy smile cutting through the chaos like a warm breeze.
Most of the knights wore tunics still sweat-soaked from training, leather belts slung low over breeches dusted with the grit of the practice yard.
Nicolas, however, had changed into a fresh doublet.
His flaxen curls were slightly disheveled, his eyes the gray of early morning fog.
“One dance and you’re already running off?” he teased, offering his hand.
“I’m a Chantelune,” Aurelie said coyly. “We never run.”
Nicolas grinned, and she accepted his offered hand, letting the man guide her back onto the floor as the musician struck up a new tune.
Near the hearth, a few girls lounged in woolen kirtles, their cheeks ale-flushed.
One sat sideways on a knight’s lap, tracing the line of his jaw with a teasing finger.
The others watched Nicolas’s every step, drinking in the sculpted cut of his frame and the effortless charm of his princely smile.
When the next song slowed, so did the room’s pulse. Nicolas pulled her in, his steps smooth and assured, and her body knew exactly where to fit against his.
He felt solid against her, a steady presence in the chaos of the tavern. And those dimples … Light, those dimples could coax the last coin from a tavern maid’s purse. Nicolas was everything a knight should be—strong, skilled, noble.
And worst of all, he was kind.
“A squire no more,” he mused, and desire curled in her stomach from the soft rumble of his voice. “It’s about bloody time your father made the call.”
“I stopped giving him reasons to say no.” Aurelie’s cheeks warmed as he spun her, and their eyes met for a single heartbeat before she dropped her gaze, focusing on the rhythm of their steps.
On anything but the firelight that flickered across his face, softening the hard line of his jaw and glinting in the hair that fell over his brow.
Nicolas was the kind of handsome that made you forget your own name. But Aurelie had two very specific reasons not to fall for Nicolas Beaumont, and the first had just walked through the tavern door.
The revelry quieted as Solange Beaumont crossed the floor, sinking onto the stool nearest her twin as though it were a throne.
Nicolas turned to face his sister. “Come to celebrate?” His voice was steady, but the tension beneath it thrummed like a bowstring drawn taut.
“I’ve no interest in raising a cup to some ancient tradition of bloodlines.” Solange’s eyes locked onto Aurelie’s as she swung one leg over the other. “If anyone is to bond with an angel, it should be the one strong enough to wield its power.”
Aurelie gritted her teeth, her hand instinctively finding the gorget tight at her throat.
“And let me guess,” she bit back. “That’s you?”
Solange’s smile was as sharp as broken glass. Wordlessly, she lifted her tankard and drained it in one go.
Glaring at his twin, Nicolas pulled Aurelie away. “Apologies for my sister,” he said loud enough for Solange to hear. “Sometimes I swear she was raised by wolves.”
“She certainly has their bite,” Aurelie agreed, her words cutting off with a sharp breath as the sweet sound of the lute faded, replaced by the delicate, haunting strum of a lyre.
The first familiar pluck of the strings rooted her to that spot, her heart thudding once before forgetting to beat altogether.
A cold sweat broke across her back, trickling down her spine like icy fingers.
Each breath she drew felt thin and metallic, and she barely registered Nicolas’s hand brushing her arm.
“Aurelie?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Air.” The word scraped from her throat, raw and desperate. “I’m going to get air.”
He nodded without hesitation. “I’ll go with you.”
She made no argument as he took her by the wrist, weaving them through the crush of bodies.
His hand was steady at her back as the tavern’s heat clung to her skin, suffocating until the door creaked open and they stepped out into the night.
Cool air swept over her, tasting of rain-damp stone and woodsmoke, and only as she sucked it in did she breathe easier.
Aurelie pressed her back against the tavern wall, the rough timber biting into her palms as she shut her eyes.
The chill seeped into her, easing the flush from her skin, but the ghost of the lyre’s tune lingered still, a haunting echo she couldn’t shake.
Nicolas leaned beside her, his shoulder a warm, steady presence against hers.
For a moment, they let the silence stretch between them, fragile and comforting.
Then, softly, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Her gaze fixed on the lantern light blurring along the cobblestones. She wanted to say no. To offer a careless smile and let the moment pass. But the lie sat too heavy on her tongue.
“I used to practice that song with my mother,” she said, her fingers wringing together. “It caught me off guard.”
“You miss her.” Nicolas’s fingers brushed hers, his touch grounding her in a way the cool air never could.
“Always, though there are times when the pain claws deeper than others. And tonight … it’s difficult not to think that Orion should be here. He should have been the next Chantelune to be bonded, not me.”
“He should have been, but all we can do is move forward. Your brother would have wanted that for you.” His voice wrapped around her like a shield, steadying the storm inside her, and yet Aurelie couldn’t help the way her gut clenched.
This was the second reason she couldn’t allow herself to fall for Nicolas—it’d be too easy to love him, and love was not an ailment she could afford to suffer.
For why would she open herself up to such an affliction? Why willingly allow someone into her life when the world might one day take them from her?
No, she would not fall in love with Nicolas.
She would not fall in love with anyone. Though that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his company.
Especially while the ghostly echo of the lyre played in the distance, making her yearn for a distraction.
Her fingers curled around his, and he blinked in surprise as Aurelie pulled him closer.
She glanced up, catching Nicolas’s gaze beneath her lashes. When he leaned in, she met him halfway.
The kiss was slow and measured. Not the kind that stole her breath or set her heart racing, but the kind that coaxed a slow burn beneath her skin and made her forget everything beyond the press of his mouth against hers.
She wanted more.
Wanted to feel the solid weight of another body against hers. The relief of surrendering to another, if only for a short while. But if she was to be worthy of an angel’s bond, she couldn’t allow herself to succumb to such distractions.
Nicolas’s hand slid into her hair, his thumb brushing her cheek, and for now that had to be enough.