Page 9 of Crownless Heirs

Nether of them moved until she turned toward the sound of music rising in the distance.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what this place looks like at night.”

He followed, his voice low behind her, “I’m sure it has nothing on you.”

Night Calls

As Sorcha, Kyron, and Maelan stepped through the castle’s archways, the shift in atmosphere was immediate: warm, electric, pulsing. By day, the city was graceful and unhurried, but under the glow of twilight, it breathed.

Lanterns floated above the market stalls, their golden light reflecting off the rich silks and woven tapestries draped between towering trees. Delicate runes shimmered along the structures, casting an otherworldly glow along the bridges that linked the elevated homes above. The scent of spiced wine, roasted meats, and syrupy sweetness curled through the streets. But it was the music that beckoned them. Low and rich, it curled through the air, seeping into the stones, into the very marrow of the court. The rhythm was slow and sensual. Sorcha exhaled, trying to take it all in.

Maelan leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “This is when the court truly wakes.”

Kyron, a step ahead, scanned everything, his shoulders rigid even in the elegant clothes he’d changed into. He looked like a warrior in enemy territory.

Maelan smirked. “You should try to relax.”

Kyron didn’t look at him. “I am relaxed.”

“Right,” Maelan mused. “And I’m mortal.”

Before Kyron could respond, Maelan smoothly plucked three glasses from a passing vendor and handed one to Sorcha, then to Kyron. Kyron eyed his drink suspiciously. “What’s in it?”

Maelan’s grin was effortless. “A drink that’ll make you slightly less miserable.”

Sorcha downed the drink without hesitation. The drink was light and syrupy, reminiscent of honey, with a subtle hint of chamomile. It went down smoothly, and a warm sensation spread through her stomach, reaching her cheeks. A euphoric wave coursed through her entire being. Everything around her seemed sharper—the sounds, movements, lights, colors, smells, and especially touch. She shivered when Maelan’s hand brushed against her waist. A growing calm washed over her, devouring her completely.

“The wine’s working,” Maelan murmured, watching her with quiet amusement. “You feel it, don’t you?”

She did, and she felt an urge to move. The music filled the night, and the crowd swayed as one. They reached out to her, guiding her in, and she let them. Fingers brushed her arms and shoulders, pulling her into the rhythm. Laughter bubbled around her. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, she let go. She stopped thinking and let her body remember what it felt like to exist without bracing for something. A Cait Sidhe with inky blue hair caught her hand and spun her toward the center. The movement was effortless and light, and she followed the dance until she felt him. Before she saw him, before he spoke, she sensed the shift—the heat behind her, the wild, familiar scent of earth and sweetness. She knew it anywhere. Kyron.

His hand slid down her hip as he moved behind her, and she swayed her hips against him. He turned her to face him, and she melted into his embrace without a second thought. As his other hand traced the length of her arm, his touch pressed against her lower back. His breath warmed the side of her face, and her eyes fluttered closed as they danced. His lips found her jaw, grazing it once before moving lower to press gently against the side of her neck. A soft giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it when—

“Ah, there you two are! I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.” Maelan’s voice cut through the haze, and Sorcha stiffened. Kyron’s grip faltered briefly before he stepped back. Maelan stood nearby, watching them with his usual amusement in his moonlit gaze.

He tsked. “You might want to pace yourselves with the wine.”

Kyron scowled. “We’re fine.”

Maelan grinned, his eyebrows lifting in an exaggerated arch.

“How long have you been standing there?” Sorcha asked.

Maelan’s tail flicked lazily as he turned. “Come on, let’s take a walk before you lose all common sense.”

Sorcha exhaled, trying to shake off the feeling, but the high lingered still. The Cait Sidhe Court’s beauty was effortless as they watched them from the wooden bridge, the soft creaking of old wood beneath their feet as it swayed gently. But Kyron wasn’t fairing well. Sorcha caught the way his shoulders suddenly tensed, his hand drifting toward his stomach.

Maelan, of course, had already noticed and been watching him closely.

“You’re looking a little pale, Tuatha.”

Kyron glared at him. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Maelan tilted his head. “Because you don’t look fine.”

Sorcha nudged Kyron’s arm. “You drank more than I did…”

Kyron’s voice rose slightly, trying to sound convincing. “I’m fine.”