"Wings," Luella breathed.
Black, magnificent wings loomed behind Graves, proudly snapping out from behind his back. They unfurled to their full size, and the sheer beauty of them made her want to weep. His chest was bare, tanned skin hard with earned muscle and linedwith many scars—both old and new. As he took a step closer, she noticed the dried blood crusted around his ribs, as if it had fallen in rivulets from his back.
She gasped again, unable to do anything else.
The sharp noise drew Graves’s attention, and the Fallen warrior did not bother checking Graves for hints of shadows, merely bowed his head and uttered with reverence, "Prince Sorren. I am pleased you are well."
"You may rise," Graves said calmly, and his raspy voice shivered over her skin. Under her cloak, she was so acutely aware of her wings, she couldn’t help but shift, desperate for friction.
Wind whispered through the mountains.
Graves didn’t look away from her, and she felt her week-long resolve crack under the weight of his attention—she didn’t look away from him, either.
He stepped around the Fallen and came to a stop before her. Too close; not close enough. She strained forward, but Vale kept her leashed to his side with his hand locked around hers.
Her wide eyes dipped to Graves’s chest, finding it utterly bare.
"You’re… not wearing your amulet," she realized.
Vale’s hand tightened—a warning and a reminder.
With Graves so close, she couldn’t manage to lift her gaze, so she did not, but she felt his attention burning against her. She felt his thread, coiling inside her.
"Prince Sorren," the Fallen warrior cut in, "there is someone here for you. We tried to keep her away, but she insisted…"
"Who?" Graves questioned sharply.
At the tone of his voice, Luella glanced up. Just in time to see a shadow flicker in the distance against the rocks as footsteps, soft and faint, sounded. From the passage they had all taken, a figure emerged.
Luella saw the wings first, her eyes drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Then, silky black hair that cascaded around slim, regal shoulders. Then, the eyes. Deep, piercing blue. Like lapis lazuli.
The Queen of the Fallen Isles. What had the Fallen called her? Queen… Samil?
Graves’smother.
Her eyes were kind and filled with tears, her brow etched with sorrow. Her black wings were folded to her back, the tips draped against her elegant, wispy gown, which was clasped around her neck with a thick circlet, falling freely down to her ankles and swishing with every step.
As the Queen stepped further into the wide expanse in which they all stood, four Fallen circled her—a guard.
The Queen held a hand up to stay them, and they bowed their heads in deference, spears crossed over their chests, at the ready if needed. Their eyes were wary, and Luella found herself shrinking into her own guard, formed by her Vincire, where they crowded around her.
A delicate, tanned hand pressed over the Queen’s mouth, shaking as she stepped forward. Graves was as taut as a bowstring, unmoving.
"My son," the Queen sobbed. "You’re here. Truly." Tears fell over her lash line and spilled over her hand, where it was still pressed over her mouth, as if to hide the sobs they all heard.
Luella’s eyes darted between both mother and son as she watched, yet Graves did not move. Luella turned, peering up at Vale, who stood so close to her that she felt his every breath. Her eyes held a thousand questions, yet Vale answered none of them. He squeezed her fingers.
When she focused back toward the Queen, it was to find her standing right before Graves, which placed her close to Luella,as well. She was gorgeous. Regal and put-together. And as she reached trembling hands for her son, Luella felt envy.
"Sorren, you are well?" the Queen breathed.
"Yes—" Graves cleared his throat. "I am well, and I am back for the time being."
Maybe Luella was more in tune with her Vincire than she had thought, because she noticed the slight flinch that Graves was unable to hide as the Queen reached for his cheek, cupping the scarred side of his face.
"You are so handsome, my son. Gods, when Opulus told me that there were six trespassers, one of whom bore a striking resemblance to you, I thought it to be a shapeshifter. Or another trick by the Umbra. Never could I have imagined it to be you, truly."
Graves looked down. "It’s me, Mother. I am… sorry to cause you worry."
