Cedric had seenmany beautiful things in his life. Dawn breaking over the ridge of mistwood trees outside Goldenvale. The intricate carvings that covered the surface of the golden locket his mother used to wear. The beaming smiles that greeted him every time he went to visit the children of the Walk. The gorgeous women who frequented his favorite tavern.
Well, he’d thought them gorgeous at the time.
Now, he could barely recall their faces. Could hardly remember a single one of them independent of another. Since the Crucible, they had all melded into a drab pool of vague features and shapeless forms.
In his mind, Cedric saw only her.
And still, his memories—his dreams—did her no justice.
He’d been racing to the ballroom, eager to get his inevitable confrontation with Lord Church over with, eager for the distraction of hobnobbing and gladhanding and everything that came with being theVictor of Havensreach.
That’s when he saw her.
Something inside him stilled.
Then, it surged.
That tether behind his ribs, the one that had been aimless, searching, unbound since the day he’d left Luminaria, gave a violenttug.
It was sharp and sudden, stealing the breath from his lungs.
The ballroom melted away—the laughter and dancing, the grandeur and gallantry, the swell of strings and the shimmer of candlelight. The offered words of greeting and congratulations from various attendees who realized that the Victor of Havensreach had finally arrived.
None of it mattered.
None of them existed.
There was only her.
Periwinkle hair cascaded over one shoulder, nearly iridescent in the chandelier light. Gauzy golden fabric flowed down her lithe frame, tight against her body before flaring out from her hips in layers of delicate petals, long sleeves falling over her hands.
Cedric’s mouth went dry as his gaze dropped down the bare expanse of her back to where the delicate line of the dress dipped, a satin bow sitting at the base of her spine.
He thought his heart might very well have stopped beating.
Elyria was the single most beautiful being he had ever beheld.
And against all odds and understanding, she was here.
She hadn’t seen him yet. She was standing to the side of the dance floor on the far end of the room, evidently exiting a conversation with someone. He didn’t notice who. Didn’t need to know, couldn’t have cared less if he’d tried. He saw nothing but her, and the timing could not have been more perfect. Cedric’s body was in motion before he could command himself to move. He needed to go to her, needed to talk to her, needed to?—
She twisted back to the person she’d been speaking with, a look of shock on her devastatingly beautiful face that filled Cedric withquestions. He didn’t have time to name a single one though, not when her body was suddenly shifting, her heel twisting beneath her, catching on the hem of her golden gown.
Cedric’s heart dropped, and he jolted forward, cursing the fact that he wasn’t faster. That he wasn’t standing right next to her, ready to catch her. He was wholly aware of just how silly that was. His reaction was nonsensical. What is it that he thought he was going to do? Even if he hadn’t been clear on the other side of the ballroom, she was a grown woman. She could handletripping. Besides that, she was fae. Blessed with grace and speed and physical prowess far beyond anything Cedric was capable of. By the time he fully registered what was happening, she’d already righted herself.
Because there they were: her wings.
They shimmered into view, a flash of impossible beauty that stole the attention of the entire room in one fell swoop.
The music faltered. Conversations ceased.
And then, all at once, they resumed—a symphony of gasps, whispers, and sharp inhalations as Elyria flared her wings wide. Cedric’s chest burned at the sight, something hot, searing, insistent, stirring beneath his skin. It hadn’t felt like this since he was in the Lost City. Since he was last with her.
He needed to get to her.
“Cedric.”
The voice was smooth. Clipped. Just a touch of ice. It stopped Cedric short.
