Page 8 of Crownless Heirs

Another ruffled his hair, grinning like a brother reunited after years apart.

The golden-eyed warrior beside them sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, then. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Maelan only smirked. “Well then,” he drawled. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Sorcha heard nothing; she was still staring. The sheer presence of him was overwhelming. This was Cat? This was the obnoxious, unserious, sharp-tongued, effortlessly lazy creature she had carried in her arms, who had draped himself over her shoulders as if he had no care in the world? Because there was nothing careless about the man standing before her now.

Sorcha wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, drinking him in, but then Kyron leaned down, his breath warm against her ear.

“You'd best wipe the drool from your face,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice.

A chuckle rumbled from him as he nudged her, jolting her out of her daze.

Heat rushed to her face. “I wasn’t.”

Kyron just smirked and rolled his eyes. As if picking up on their exchange, Maelan’s eyes darted toward her, and a faint smile touched his lips, as if he had overheard them. Sorcha cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and willed herself to focus. Maelan was still Cat. No matter how beautiful he was. And if he had heard Kyron’s comment, he was gracious enough not to mention it. They reached the entrance to the golden castle, and just before they could enter, Maelan stopped.

He turned, eyes flicking between them. “You need to change.”

Sorcha blinked. “What?”

Maelan gestured toward the iron buckles and clasps on her Circle uniform. “The metal. The iron.” His gaze lingered on Kyron’s sword. “You can’t walk through the city like that, unless you want every fae here to be sickened by your presence or take it as an insult.”

Kyron tensed. “I’m not leaving my sword.”

“Relax,” Maelan interrupted smoothly. “No one’s asking you to throw it into the sea. Just put it away for now. You’ll get it back.” His lips curled slightly.

Kyron scowled but didn’t argue; he understood. Sorcha glanced at the golden-eyed warrior, who had been watching their exchange silently.

Maelan turned to Sorcha, his voice softer. “Same goes for you, please leave the weapons.”

She nodded.

He led them inside the castle, past grand halls carved from shimmering stone and walls embedded with glinting emeralds and moonstone; she followed without question.

At last, he stopped before two wooden doors set into the stone.

“These are your rooms for the night,” he said. “Your armor and weapons can stay here. There will be a change of clothes inside.” Sorcha raised a brow.

Maelan smirked. “You're welcome.”

He turned, moving toward the hall, but before he left, he glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll want to hurry. The night market is opening soon; the city comes alive at night.”

And with that, he disappeared into the castle, leaving Sorcha and Kyron to change.

Kyron’s room was quiet. The walls shimmered faintly with embedded quartz, casting fractured light across the carved wood. He peeled off his clothes piece by piece, setting each on the low bench by the wall. His fingers hesitated at the collar of the soft tunic someone had left out for him. A forest green with subtle gold threading at the seams. It was simple, elegant and absolutely fae. He exhaled. The neckline dipped lower than he liked, and the fabric clung a little more than he wanted it to. He ran a hand over the fabric, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with not having his weapons.

Across the hall, Sorcha stood barefoot on cool stone. Her armor lay folded and set aside. On the bed lay a deep violet gown, sleeveless, cut close at the waist, with tiny silver starbursts stitched into the sides and hem. It looked like the evening sky. She touched the fabric once it was on her, feeling unsure. Then she caught her reflection. Her hair was tousled and loose, leaving her shoulders bare. The dress hugged every curve tightly and wrapped her in shimmer when she moved. It was beautiful.

When they emerged, neither of them spoke at first. Kyron’s gaze caught on her instantly. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

“You look…. clean” he said finally

She raised her brow. “Is that your way of saying I look nice?”

He grinned, one hand pushing through his hair. “I meant… yes, you look really nice.”

Her eyes flicked down his tunic, the way it hugged his frame, the way he hadn’t quite laced it up all the way. “You’re not so bad yourself.”