The second he stops in front of me and tilts his head, his eyes tracking every detail of my face, I lose what little restraint I was holding onto.
I step forward and throw my arms around his torso.
His frame is solid, larger than I remember. He hesitates just for a breath before his arms sweep around me. One hand settles low on my back and the other presses between my shoulder blades, palm wide and anchoring.
His voice, when it comes, is low and rough, and devastatingly soft. “I missed you too, darling.”
I let out a shaky exhale into his shirt, everything in me loosening at once. The worry, the pressure, the not knowing, it eases under his touch like the body finally remembering how to breathe.
Sylvin groans dramatically from the seat he’s takennear the fire.
“Well, that’s just rude. Where wasmyembrace, little echo? I bathed and everything.”
Riven’s lips brush the top of my head. “She has excellent taste, therefore it doesn’t include you.”
“More like questionable priorities,” Sylvin sighs. “I had a poem prepared and everything, but now I’m not sure if you deserve it, little echo.”
I manage a laugh against Riven’s chest. When I pull back to look at him, his tender gaze lingers on mine and I wonder if he’s ever shown this side of himself to anyone else.
We ease back toward the fire, the three of them settling into their places as I choose to stand, waiting for Azyric.
I wonder how his council is treating him and if Ilyria is supporting him with her humor and warmth the way she did for me.
An ache grows in my chest as the truth hits me: I miss them both.
A subtle tension begins to grow the longer I stand, pacing back and forth.
Minutes pass and the remaining glow from the setting sun begins to fade.
I scan the line where the forest thickens, expecting to see a flurry of shadows. A flicker of silver eyes staring through the growing dark.
But there’s nothing.
The fire crackles and a birdtrills.
Torryn stretches his long legs out. Riven drums two fingers against his thigh. Sylvin picks a wildflower from the grass and twirls it.
We wait.
Long enough for my breath to slow into a tight coil in my chest.
Long enough to know he’s not just late…he’s not coming.
Azyric didn’t answer the summons.
I turn to stare at the place where he should be sitting and his absence stings.
I don’t know why it matters this much, but it does.
Chapter 15
Wren
The fire has burned low, a lazy golden flicker that throws soft shadows across all of us. Plates rest empty on the stone tables between the seats, besides Riven’s, which remains untouched.
He lounges, forearms braced on his knees, crimson gaze trained on me like he’s been feeding off the way my attention keeps sliding toward him.
“You didn’t eat,” I say softly, more accusation than question.
