The Favored Children have returned.
When the forest'seuphoria recedes and my mind clears once more I find myself blinking in Soren's direction, blind to anything else surrounding us. Our hands are still bound together but at some point during the maelstrom of our sacrifice to theland Soren has shifted to now stand before me, his unbound hand clasping my waist. There's a dazed look in his eyes, so foreign to the usual sharp edge, and the awe that softens his face is undeterred by the jagged edges of his scar.
My ears are still ringing from the rush of magic and blood through my veins, and I barely hear the sounds of Cerson's robes swishing as she takes her leave and disappears from the Ravenswyrd Forest with a pop of magic. Soren doesn't move or question her departure, his focus unwavering on me even as his chest heaves and his breath grows ragged. Every prayer Airlie had murmured in the high fae traditions, oaths strong as the First Fae themselves, now seem so paltry in the face of this prince's possession. His softened edges sharpen with every breath until his eyes burn me with their molten demand, one only I can fill.
Shifting towards him, the tug at my wrist reminds me of the ribbons binding us together and my gaze drops to the silk. Woven together as they are, the difference in their designs are stark but beautifully complimentary. I lift my free hand to trace the silken edge, my heart thumping violently in my chest as my gaze lingers on Soren. After a long moment regarding each other as the forest seems to still around us, he finally looks down to the lengths of silk. While mine details the long path I walked to become the witch standing before him, his is the perfect silver of his bloodline, the royal lineage that defines him, even now as he carves out the path to his own fate.
Is it done?
I swallow roughly at his languid tone, forcing myself to find my voice to answer him. "Almost; I need to rebind our ribbons… then the ceremony is complete, our fates sealed."
He gives me a curt nod, his gaze searing as he watches me carefully tug at the silks until they come undone. My hand is uncharacteristically shaky as I wrap my ribbon around Soren'sforearm, unable to stop myself from lingering over particular designs when my fingers come across them. I swallow roughly when my thumb presses against the Ravenswyrd oak leaves stitched right beneath the binding points, one at either end of the length. It wasn’t by design, none of the embroidery was ever planned out, but I’m not surprised by the pattern. The Fates have always worked in endless cycles; my harrowing journey to become the witch capable of besting Kharl Balzog began in the Ravenswyrd, and it only seems right for my Fates-blessed marriage to begin here too.
When I finally tug on the knot sitting on top of his wrist to be sure it's firm, I move to put the Celestial blue ribbon in my pocket for now, forgetting for a moment that I'm still wearing the ceremonial robes. Soren makes a rumbling sound of disapproval deep in his chest as he takes it from me, his hands gentle but firm as he tugs my arm out to bind my own forearm with surprising skill. The movements are slow and measured as he copies my actions, but when he tugs on the knot it holds true.
I flex my hand briefly, my muscles shifting underneath the crosshatched pattern, but rather than restrictive, the pressure is comforting. Soren doesn't move forward as I test the limits of the binding, his gaze searing against every inch of my face and unerring until, finally, I lift my gaze to meet his.
The spell holding him back breaks instantly.
With the speed and precision only the high fae could employ, he hauls me into his arms and seals his lips against mine with a guttural groan that sounds as though it’s being torn from the very depths of his soul. Answer the savage sound with a sigh, I melt into him as my arms wind easily around his shoulders in a desperate bid to keep him as close to me as the Fates will allow.
Content to stay here under the moon with his tongue sliding against mine in an erotic promise of what’s to come, it’s only when the possessive glide of his hands over my body reach theslits in my robes to find nothing but skin beneath the heavy bands of fabric that a vicious snarl erupts from his chest and he breaks away from my lips.
“Tell me where I’m taking you before the Fates strike me down for breaking my oaths only moments after making them.”
One hand slides up to cup the back of my head, his fingers too firm to be a sweet gesture, and when I smile back at him with more of the amusement that drives him to the very edge he snarls, “Now, croí.”
My magic falls away from my body to tug at him and lead him to the largest of my coven’s huts at the center of the clearing. I can’t say the name of it out loud without risking the tenuous grip I hold over myself and we’ve already lost too much of ourselves and each other to the bloodshed and violence we never asked for. I accepted my fate before I returned to the Southern Lands but the moment my heart opened for this prince, the pain of what we’d missed out on was almost unbearable. I’m grateful for Cerson’s efforts in carving out this moment for us.
Soren takes the guidance well, his stride unfaltering as his arms press me further into his chest. There’s an undeniably desperate edge to his movements, a silent fear that I’ll disappear the moment his grip eases, and so instead he attempts to bind our bodies together as surely as our ribbons had woven together. His chest is a tantalizing prospect of firm muscle and when I break away from him with a low moan, running my tongue over my sensuously bruised bottom lip, he moves to sink his teeth into the curve where my neck meets my shoulders with a growl. Stopping just short of breaking the skin, his tongue chases after the burn, soothing over the tender flesh in a worship that has my breath catching in my chest.
Startled by his first step on the wooden slats that climb up to the small stoop of the hut, my eyes flare wide as he shoves the door open without lifting his attention from his primal markon my exposed skin. Orbs of fae light glow around the room softly, hiding enough of the heart-wrenching memories of this space to leave room for the joy I feel at being here again. Only Cerson could know how to achieve such a feat; she knows the making of the monsters who run riot in my mind, their vile touch corrupting the joy and comfort of my home despite how desperately I long to be here.
There’s a double bed roll laid out, covered in pillows and blankets, silks and furs set out for our marriage bed. Inky-black in color, my heart tugs even as my breath catches at the rasp of Soren’s teeth along my jaw. His ministrations are proving to be an effective distraction, even the forest’s gentle hum fading from my mind when he nuzzles the softest skin behind my ear, letting out a satisfied rumble as he takes a deep lungful of my scent.
I can’t help but wonder if he can smell how much I desire him, if the heightened senses of the high fae can tell him that every inch of my body is alive for him and the ice that once surrounded my heart is nothing but a distant memory. The heat of his gaze across the Fates Temple has lit my blood on fire and now I’m consumed by it.
With the earthen clay walls and the thatched ceiling, the hut is nothing like the regal spaces of the high fae and for a fleeting moment I worry Soren will find it wanting, but he doesn’t spare it so much as a glance as he goes to his knees on the bed roll, his arms still tight around me. My thighs squeeze his sides tightly as he falls forward only to catch himself with one arm seamlessly, shifting to lay me out on the bed roll with insistent hands.
Even in the muted light, the Celestial blue of his eyes are brimming with demand; a high fae prince who would face the wrath of the Fates themselves to possess me, only he has their commands behind his every move and what a blessing that is. Shifting against the plush bedding, the hems of my robes splitopen and the cool night air dances along the exposed skin of my thighs.
The guttural sound that bursts free from Soren takes me by surprise, my gasp turning into a moan when his hands move to clutch at the creamy expanse of skin, his fingers frantic at first but then moving to stroke at the sensitive flesh. When a soft sigh ripples out of my lips, his gaze meets mine again. The ghosts that follow me no matter where I roam must still linger in my gaze because his brow furrows for a moment over his hooded eyes, but when my thighs part in invitation, the slits of my robes open even further, leaving only a single panel of linen to cover my core, a possessive snarl rumbles out of his chest.
My blood ignites, joining him in the delicious maelstrom he’s consumed by, and when he kisses me again, I moan at the taste of magic on his lips.
Rather than covering my body with the hard lines of his own, Soren holds himself above me, balancing between one arm and his knees as he maps out the edges of my robes in a sensuous exploration designed to torture me, I’m certain. My fingers thread through the silken cascade of his hair, desperate to draw him closer, to feel his weight against me and find some relief from the wanton desire engulfing every sense I hold, but his control is absolute as he moves to lick and suck his way down my neck. His magic, wild and unrestrained, follows in his wake. It settles against my skin, intent on leaving its’ own brand as it soaks into me and binds us further.
I didn’t know such a thing was possible.
Gasping as I writhe beneath him, I clutch at his shoulders as desperately as I cling to my senses. My struggle is hindered by the endless layers of clothing between his skin and mine, the linen of his shirt rough and unforgiving. The high fae favor their buttons, laces, layers, and bindings, all of it intolerable to me and my own magic flares to life at my frustration.
His brows raise as his clothing melts away, disappearing at my wordless command easily, but the grin I shoot him is filled with satisfaction as I finally feel the heat of his skin with the glide of my hands over the unyielding muscle along his shoulders. When I move to remove my robes as well, he catches my wrist in a firm grip, his magic bright in his eyes.
“Leave them. I’ve waitedcenturiesfor this moment, croí; don’t deny me the pleasure of undressing my Fates-blessed mate now that you’re finally mine to savor.”
His words are drenched with a dark desire, a possession that seethes as violently as his hatred of me once did. I let my hand fall back to the pillows, the slits of the robes opening a little as I move and the swell of one of my breasts shifts free to spill out, my nipple tightening the moment it’s exposed to the air.
Magic flares in his eyes, the thatched ceiling trembling above our heads as a wave of power rolls out of his body, but I’m too distracted by the heat of his skin against the exposed expanse of my own as I writhe beneath him. A tease I never anticipated, the strips of fabric that remain of the robes hide very little and far too much.
