A heavy sadness flitted across Marc’s eyes. Trystan softened his voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’ll always need you, but right now, I need to clear my head and figure out what I’m seeing. This… power I have…” Trystan sighed. “I noticed earlier, when we were shadow melded, I had a deep-rooted sense of peace.”
Understanding passed over Marc.
“I won’t leave the hilltop, but I need you and Emrys to give me some time.”
Marc stepped toward Trystan, closing the space between them, and clutched Trystan’s free hand. “All right. Just know I love you, and I will be right here when you need me.”
“I know.” Trystan tilted his head back and pressed his lips to Marc’s. Their kiss was short, but it filled Trystan with renewed strength.
Marc eased back, not wanting the warm rush of their kiss to end. “What sorrows may come, that we may endure, as fate has linked my heart with yours, and for that, I am now, and forever, whole.”
Trystan’s eyes sparkled, a smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you read Taliesin.”
“As a presumed descendant of a legendary king, my father insisted on a thorough understanding of our ancient lineage, poetry included.”
Trystan stared up at him.
Marc brought his hand up behind Trystan’s neck, cupping his nape as he tilted their foreheads together. “I wholly believe that fate brought us together for a reason.” Marc pressed another soft kiss to Trystan’s lips.
“Indeed it did,” Emrys interjected.
Marc released Trystan and stepped back a little, rolling and pressing his lips together.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Emrys briefly caught Trystan’s eyes and looked away toward the horizon. “Time is of the essence. There is no telling when the stone will appear, but I trust it will when it is meant to. In the meantime, we need to prepare our defenses.”
“What do you suggest, Emrys?” Marc said. “It will likely be at least another few days before our armies arrive.”
“Yes, and given that we know Morgaine intends to open a portal to the demon realm, I must consult with the High Council of Artiryn. We will need the guardians’ help if we are to have any hope of survival.”
“How long will you be gone?” Trystan asked.
“I should return by morning.”
“Do you think Morgaine and her army will arrive before then?” Marc asked.
“I don’t believe so,” Emrys said, his confidence unwavering.
“What makes you so sure?” Trystan asked.
Expressionless green eyes looked back at him.
“Because I’ve come to believe that Morgaine wants this war. If she didn’t, she would be here already, waiting for us. She wants to destroy the land and the people. She wants to see it all burn to ash. And she wants those left standing to bear witness to your death. She wants all this because it will show the world of what she is capable. As dismal as it all sounds, it does, for the time being, buy us time. I am confident she will not attack until we have an army in place for her to rain her violence upon.”
“I hope you are right, Emrys,” Trystan said. “I wouldn’t want to face her alone.”
“You won’t.” Emrys mounted one of the wolves. He looked at Marc. “Keep him safe.”
“I will,” Marc replied.
It was a moment of mutual understanding between two men that shared the same purpose. They both knew Emrys didn’t have to ask, but Marc knew he was just doing what he’d always done.
Trystan didn’t scoff this time at the overprotective nature of the two men. Given recent events, he was certain he would be the target of another attack. Without Emrys and Marc, Trystan would already be dead, and he doubted no amount of magic Emrys could conjure would be powerful enough to bring him back.
“Here, read this while I am away,” Emrys said, handing a folded piece of paper to Trystan.
“What is it?” he asked.
