Page 75 of Why Broken Wings Fray

“Will you… Will you fly? For me?”

His face paled in one swift movement, his eyes diverting from mine.

“I would love to see you fly, Raegan.” It was more than that, though. It was about offering it to him, giving him a space where he could, after decades and decades of being unable to so much as share his wings with another.

He shook his head.

“I–”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking before he took another deep breath. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

There was something horribly sad about that, the truth of it daring to shatter my heart into mere shards at the thought of my grounded King. Raegan was Raegan because of his wings, it was as clear as day when I saw them out on show. They were as much a part of him as his green eyes or his blond hair, his mutilated ears and his sharp jawline. The fact that he had not been able to learn to use them sat within me, rotting and decaying as I tried to dry the moisture that built in my eyes.

His smile was somewhat sad as he stepped towards me and placed his thumb against my cheek, squeezing gently.

“May I see them?” I whispered. Raegan nodded softly before turning, an inch at a time, until his whole back was revealed.

In a way, that subtle movement, placing himself in that vulnerable position, I knew that it meant more than any other offering or peeling back of his soul had. He trusted me, for some reason, to stand behind him and have full rein over the one part of him that he had hidden for so long.

I didn’t touch them, only because the last time I had he seemed to flinch in agony. Instead, I looked at them, trying my best to memorize the exact shade of each golden feather, the exact shape and placement of them. Just when I thought I was done, I saw something else. Not on his wings, but beneath them.

“Raegan,” I gasped. “What are these?”

A few of the muscles along his back flexed as he contemplated answering.

I tried again, softer and quieter. “What are those?”

I knew what they were without him telling me. They were burn marks. What he had been burned with, I wasn’t sure I’d ever know, but they were there and they were as clear as day along his spine. Up and down, at least twenty on either side of his center, spread out across his muscles in varying directions and patterns.

Raegan’s head fell forward, his shoulders rolling with it as he took a shaky breath. “My mother had wings. Iridescent, beautiful wings. And most of my appearance has taken after my kin from Cluaineach, so my father… My father was convinced that I would have them, too.”

My brows couldn’t press together any harder if they tried. “He did this to you?” Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a shock, especially considering it was him that had hacked at Raegan’s ears.

All Raegan could do was respond with silence, which was as good as a yes.

“For a few years, he was driven mad by the thought of them. Then as I got older, he let go of the idea. He wanted to see them so he could remove them. And he was so convinced I had them. So convinced that he could bring them out by inflicting more and more pain. But I would not bring them out. Not for him, not for anyone. They were the one thing I got to keep, the one part of me that no one would ever get to damage.”

I knew a tear had slipped from my eyes, I just hadn’t realized it wasn’t the only one.

“Can I touch them?”

Raegan’s spine snapped straight, his many muscles solidifying in one rippling motion that turned him into a rock.

“Here–” I stepped to his side and offered my hand. “Guide my hand, if you would prefer.”

He glanced down at the fleshy offering of my palm and shook his head. “You may.”

I could do and say nothing in response, so I simply stepped back around and examined his spine. My finger brushed the first burn and Raegan flinched, his body jolting in a way that nearly caused me to jump back.

One by one, I felt each and every single one of his scars. Some were deeper, some were wider. Some were older, some were darker. I was broken and repaired by the sweep of my fingers over his skin, until I was sure I had mapped each and every single one. I would never let myself forget the pattern that they made across his skin.

I moved around him, quietly and carefully, until I was in front of the King of Talamh once more.

He, too, had tears in his eyes, but he had yet to let one fall. Instead, he reached forward wordlessly and grabbed onto my two hands. He lifted them to his mouth, where he carefully laid a kiss along each pad of my fingertips and then two more on my wrists.

“Thank you,” he whispered against my skin.

“For what?”