Page 36 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

“You’re weary from your travels,” he said at last. “We’ll speak again once you’ve rested.”

Thorn clapped his large hands together, and a servant appeared, ready to see them to their quarters. Callan stormed off without another word to his uncle.

“Sleep well, Nova,” Thorn said as she rose to leave. She made a quick curtsy before climbing the stairs to the upper level, keenly aware of Thorn’s watchful eyes on her back.

Nova followed a trail of ice and snow to an ornately carved door at the far end of the hall. The door stood ajar, the knob encased in ice and the wooden surface coated in a thick layer of frost. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Callan stood before the fireplace, an elbow resting on the mantelpiece beside his sword and dagger.

A large bed sat on a frame of carved wood, piled high with plump pillows, thick blankets, and plush furs. Two chairs and a small table sat tucked into the corner. Another doorway on the far side of the room presumably led to a bathing chamber. Tapestries of wintry scenes hung on the paneled walls: snow-covered forests and green swirls dancing across midnight skies. An enormous white pelt covered the floor before the fire, with a small settee draped in woven blankets angled before the hearth.

Nova crossed the room, coming to stand beside Callan. Holding out her frozen hands, she flexed her reddened knuckles, joints sluggish from the cold. He kept his gaze trained on the fire. She undid the clasp of her cloak, draping it over one of the dining chairs. Tugging her dagger from her boot, she laid it atop the mantel beside Callan’s blades.

“Well,” she said. “That was quite a homecoming.”

Callan huffed and continued staring into the flames. A moment later, he looked at her, his expression tight.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head, the action heavy with the same emotion she’d seen when he hesitated in front of the doors to the Great Hall. She now recognized it as shame. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“I’m not,” she murmured, a thrill skipping down her spine at the memory of the beauty and power of Callan’s true form. “Tell me what happened. What’s kept you from your home for so long?”

Callan removed his own cloak and hung it on a hook beside the fireplace. He ran his hands roughly over his face as he sank onto the settee, slumping in the seat and focusing on the fire once again.

“When I was a youngling, all I wanted was to be like my father, the Noble Lord of Nivali,” he began. “I trained eagerly, mastering combat with blades, growing stronger and more skilled with each passing year. But the older I got, the more I envied my father’s emissaries who were permitted to leave the territory and visit new and interesting lands.

“I must have asked a hundred times to be granted leave to travel with his envoys, but he always refused, saying I was bound to the land and needed to stay close. To be ready for when my time came to rule. Like many young folk, I felt trapped and decided I knew what was best. And so, I set out on my own without my parents’ approval, traveling across Aemoria. I wrote them regularly but never sent word before I’d moved on, so they couldn’t track me.

“I was traveling in this way, cut off from the world, when Omen’s attacks began. No one could reach me when my father and mother were killed defending the village we passed earlier. Their bodies were never found.”

His voice had grown rough. Nova knelt on the floor, resting her shoulder against the empty cushion beside him. He avoided her eye as he continued.

“When I learned what had happened, I was mad with grief. At first, I refused to believe they were truly gone.” He paused, shaking his head ruefully. “I didn’t return for the rite to honor my parents, or the ceremony to formally name my uncle as regent. I spent decades seeking a chance at revenge, running from the truth. Running from myself. The longer I stayed away, the harder it became to return.”

Callan stood abruptly, walking to the hearth and hiding his face from her.

“Even now, after all this time, I can’t make myself do it.” His voice broke. “I’m a coward.”

Nova rose to stand directly behind him, laying a timid hand between his shoulders.

“That’s not true,” she said. “Grief is complicated. When my father died—” The memory of Anson’s unblinking eyes stunned her for an instant. “I scarcely rose from my bed for nearly a year. I would have missed his rite if Agnes hadn’t bathed and dressed me herself. If she hadn’t propped me up on her arm and kept me standing as they lit the pyre.”

Nova spoke as if soothing a frightened animal. The same way Callan had spoken to her the night he upended her entire existence and revealed her Fae heritage. Callan turned to her, eyes on the floor.

“You are no coward, Callan.”

His gaze rose to meet hers, his dark eyes shining like river rocks, and Nova was certain no one had ever spoken those words to him before.

“Despite everything, you’ve kept your heart open. To Lady Estrid and Lord Rowan. Evander and Fawn. To me. You’re so much braver than I am.”

Nova’s heart thundered in her chest at the closeness of their bodies. She took a shuddering breath and willed her hands to remain at her sides, but she found it was useless. Surrendering to the urge she’d felt countless times before, Nova raised her hand to his face, tracing the edge of his jaw to his chin. She felt his entire body tense under her fingertips. Causing such a response in him, a beautifully brutal warrior, made her feel incredibly powerful. Emboldened, she rose onto the balls of her feet and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. Pulling back, she held her breath, pulse racing, as she awaited his response.

Callan’s chest rose and fell with several rapid breaths, his gaze fixed on her mouth. The next instant, he crashed against her like a wave, his mouth claiming hers. One arm circled around her, pulling her tight against his chest, his other hand cradling the back of her head. Nova returned his kiss, matching his frenzied pace. Though it had been years since she’d last been kissed, her lips quickly remembered how.

Gods above, it had never felt like this before.

Nova tangled her fingers in the soft strands of Callan’s hair as she opened her mouth to him. He slowed, regaining some measure of control, and angled her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue caressing hers. The sensation sent a tremor of desire between her thighs, and she moaned against his mouth.

An abrupt knock sounded on the door, and a servant entered carrying a tray of food and a pitcher. Callan spun away as the male crossed the room and set the tray on the table. Clearing his throat, Callan snatched up his cloak and threw it around his shoulders before trailing the servant to the door.

“You should eat,” he said, pausing in the open doorway, breath ragged. “I’ll shield the door. Only I will be able to enter unless you invite someone in. Don’t wait for me. I’m sure you’re tired.” He managed a hollow smile before he left.