42
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CEDRIC
They stoodin silence for a moment, watching the rain pool in the mud through the open tent flap, their breath visible in the air. The temperature had plummeted as soon as the sun went down, but Cedric did not feel cold.
Not as his gaze kept roaming back to the infuriatingly beautiful woman at his side. If anything, every added moment he spent looking at her only kindled the heat in his chest, the warmth shimmering down the thread between them.
Lightning flashed outside, the wind and rain shaking the canvas, illuminating Elyria—the soft angles of her face, her periwinkle hair, disheveled as she unwove it from her messy braid. Her wings were still out, stunning swaths of purple and green that folded neatlyagainst her back. And based on what he knew of her, what Kit had told him in the Sanctum about how Elyria preferred to keep them hidden, he couldn’t help but feel like that meant something.
Just like waking up with her in his arms before they left Kingshelm, her wings loosely splayed across his bed, had felt just as important. Momentous.
For a while, he’d thought perhaps the magic she used to keep them hidden faltered when sleeping, that perhaps it was just the natural way of things for fae to sleep with their wings out. But after their time traveling together on the road to Dawnspire, Cedric knew that she was perfectly capable of keeping them concealed at all times—awake and asleep.
“You’re staring, Sir Thorne.”
Heat crept into Cedric’s cheeks. “Sorry. Just lost in thought. But I could’ve sworn we had long since moved past the formal address.”
Right around when you had me in your perfect mouth, or perhaps when you came on my fingers, he added in his head, and though he knew—heknew—that he hadn’t said the words aloud, the way Elyria’s eyebrows suddenly shot up had him momentarily questioning that fact.
Her mouth tipped to one side.
Stars above, he loved that fucking smirk.
“Maybe I just like the way it sounds. ‘Sir Thorne.’ Your name has quite the regal ring to it, you know.”
Cedric snorted. “That may just be the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Though if I were to call you, ‘Lord Thorne’ it would be even more regal, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose that’s true, Lady Lightbreaker.”
“Point taken.” She scowled, and Cedric laughed. Truly laughed, like they hadn’t been traveling for days and survived a deadly ambush and weren’t hunting for a dark sorcerer and locked out of a secret sylvan sanctuary. And then he laughed, because just one of those things on its own would have been enough to exhaust even the strongest man, yet here they were navigating all of them at once.
“I like it when you laugh. You should do it more,” she said, finally turning away from the tent opening and moving farther inside. It was the barest of setups, with their remaining bedroll laid out at the center of the tent and a small travel brazier kindling a few orange coals off toone side. Their saddlebags, filled with food, supplies, and their extra clothing were set to the other, while Ashrender and Elyria’s staff lay on the ground beside them. Still, with the way the rain continued battering the canvas from outside, Cedric was simply glad for the shelter.
He would never say it aloud, but he was also particularly glad for the fact that Elderglade’s strange magic had destroyed Elyria’s bedroll.
“I will endeavor to laugh more often,” he replied. “I might even loosen up a little, when the occasion calls for it.”
Elyria’s answering smile was wide, her face alight with recognition. He loved knowing she remembered their exchanges from the Crucible as well as he did.
“Good,” she said, her fingers going to the ties of her leather vest.
“What are you—ah, what, I, er...” Cedric trailed off, unsure of what he was trying to say or even why he was trying to say it.
“I’m not sleeping in soaking wet clothes, Cedric,” she said, her cheeks quivering with restrained laughter as she removed her vest, then kicked off her boots. “I recommend you do the same. Plus, with Ollie locked on the other side of the archway, we’re missing access to our walking, talking bath-provider.” She looked pointedly at the raging rain outside. “Might as well take advantage of this literal shower happening outside, shouldn’t we?”
She untucked her long tunic from her breeches, then shucked those off too. And suddenly, Elyria Lightbreaker was standing before Cedric in nothing but her tunic. It skimmed the tops of her scarred thighs, and her loose periwinkle hair was messy and tangled as it pooled on her shoulders, her wings fluttering loosely behind her.
Her skin was like liquid moonlight, rippling with every flash of lightning from outside.
Stars a-fucking-bove. What had Cedric done in his life to deserve this moment? To deserve her? She was the most magnificent being he’d ever seen—would ever see. And beyond all sense, she had chosen to stay with him here, when she could just as easily have taken off, gallivanted off on her own path as soon as the magic had refused them entrance to Elderglade.
But she had stayed. With him.
Cedric didn’t quite know what to do with that.
