“At least extinguish it until we return to Lostariel so I don’t accidentally undo everything your family is trying to accomplish here,” she whispers.
Tharios works his jaw. Taking her powers, even temporarily, feels wrong. That’s why he rarely does it outside their bed. It’s like extinguishing part of her essence. Her deepest self.
“Please, Tharios.” There’s desperation in her voice, and he sighs.
“I’ll be more careful. Watch you more closely. I—”
“You can’t be everything to everyone all the time. You are only one elf.”
“You are the most important person in my world,” he whispers.
“But Elowyn needs you right now. Your full attention. You need to focus on that. Extinguish my magic for now. Please.”
The anguish in her eyes nearly undoes him. How can he refuse her when her gaze pierces his heart like that?
He pulls her close again and buries his face in her golden hair. “Fine. I will do it for tonight. I make no promises about tomorrow, though.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is small, almost a whimper, as she relaxes against him. And despite his reticence, he reaches across the space between them with his air and life magic and pulls on the faint threads of Lothlesi power he inherited from his mother that entwine with the elven magic flowing through his veins. “This feels wrong, Viala.”
“It isn’t. It’s the Lothlesi way of keeping our powers in check. You know that. Do this for me so I may rest easy knowing my magic is not one more burden on you while we’re here.”
Her magic grows stronger every month. He feels it every time he reaches for her immortal flame, that glorious source of life and magic so unique to every Lothlesi. That he can access it at all is a twist of fate so incredible that her people barely believed it was possible.
She usually just feels like life to him. Pure life without magic choking him the way his sense of elven magic does every time he accesses his powerful life magic.
But when he buries his powers deep within her essence, where her immortal flame resides, he feels everything. It’s such an intimate experience of magic among the Lothlesi, to reach toward another’s immortal flame. Few outside kin or close friends ever sense another’s flame.
Only a binding partner may touch it.
“Are you sure?” he whispers as he holds her flame with threads of his magic.
“Yes, Tharios. Please.”
He lets out a soft breath.
And then, with a twisting swirl of air and life magic, he encircles her flame, cutting it off from the world and extinguishing her powers temporarily.
A slight moan escapes her, and he tightens his arms around her.
“Thank you,” she whispers as she clings to him.
“I think you’ve trained me well,” he teases to distract himself from his frustration that he hasn’t done better by her. That he let it come to this. “Usually when I do that, we’re alone.”
He’s only partially joking. His body seems primed to expect her touch after he closes off her magic.
“Then come with me now, my love, and let me show you how desperately I love you.” She pulls him into a kiss without hesitating, there on the outskirts of Feressa, where anyone might observe them.
“We’re in Nunia,” he whispers against her lips, though he doesn’t pull away.
She stills. Then she puts some space between them and sends him one of her apologetic smiles that always reminds him of an elfling caught stealing sugared fruit from the kitchens. “I would not make a very good human.”
He reaches for her hand and draws her to his chest again as his air magic plays with the hem of her shimmeron skirt. “It’s a good thing you were born a faerie princess.”
“I believe your elven tongue is stumbling over the word Lothlesi again.”
“Is it?” He leans near her rounded ear. “Faerie?”
“This would be more enjoyable inside our hotel room, elf prince.”
