“I love you, Rominy,” she whispers as she steps closer. “Wholly and completely, until my end of days.” She lays her hand on his chest as his own fire threatens to burst forth. Then, to his shock, she takes a fistful of his linen shirt and pulls him toward her. “And you, Rominy Montarac, aregoing to put on your warrior leathers and paint your eyes for battle because we are chasing dragons tonight.”
He can barely breathe. Forget dragons.
He drops the leathers and slides his hands along her jaw, pulling her into a kiss he can barely contain. She starts to say something, but he runs his thumbs over her ears, and the words morph into a whimper.
She’s all sparks and smokiness and waterfalls, and she clings to his shirt as she melts against him. His kiss is wild and unrestrained, and when he caresses her ears, her knees buckle, knocking him off balance as he backs into the bed, pulling her down with him.
They stare at each other as she lies on top of him the way she did on the train. Was that weeks ago? It must have been.
She breathes heavily through parted lips, and he reaches up to slide his finger over her parched flesh. She’s hot. Everywhere she touches him is blazing. Whatever this is they’re doing, her water magic is struggling to keep up.
“You burn hot tonight,” he says softly as his own fire tempers.
“I burn hot for you, Rominy.”
He finds her lips again in a kiss less fiery and more full of all the things he wants to tell her for which words just don’t exist. Exhaling slowly, he pulls away and tucks her silver hair behind her ear as her breath hitches.
“Will you paint my eyes?” he whispers. “I have no idea how to do that.”
A soft smile fills her face as she looks down at him. “I will.”
“First, though, let me get you some water while you change. I’ll be right back.” Reluctantly, he helps her climb off him before he heads to the door to give her privacy.
“Rominy?”
He glances over his shoulder at her.
“My fire magic. I’m sorry. I—”
“I love every part of you, Elowyn. Even your fire magic.”
Relief crosses her face as she nods, and he closes the door behind him before going to find her water while his own fire cools.
Theleathertunicfeelsright as Elowyn slides it over her head. It’s a perfect re-creation of her ayervadi leathers back home in Lostariel. She left them behind, unsure she’d have much use for them as the binding partner of a human prince.
She loves all the dresses Arisanna gave her, but standing in front of the mirror with her own elven clothing feels familiar and comforting. The fitted tunic with its split skirt over form-fitting leather trousers. Her silver hair braided in a tail over her shoulder and tied with a leather strap. Korathite lining her eyes and imparting a fierceness to her that will probably shock Rominy.
She’s Elowyn Westaria again. Princess of the Elven Kingdom of Lostariel. Only daughter of Lorial and Nestraya. Granddaughter of Restoval, descended from Zelovon. Taught to wield both magic and weapons by the best trainers in Lostariel from before she can remember.
It’s that Elowyn who gazes back at her now.
She can belong to Rominy and Nunia and to Lostariel. Bridge both worlds. Be both Elowyn Westaria and...Elowyn Montarac? Elowyn Westaria Montarac?
What is her name now? She’ll have to ask Rominy.
In any case, the daughter of Nestraya, First among warriors, faces her in the mirror now.
She is who she is. And she is not ashamed.
Even when men spit at her and throw rocks.
If only she had her bow.
As she watches, a quiver materializes on her back, and she stares at it.
How intriguing.
She lifts her hand to feel the fletching of the arrows over her shoulder. They’re not a trick of the light in the mirror, and neither is the bow slung across her back. She wets her dry lips again as she takes the tree-grown bow in her hand and examines it.
