Everyone’s magic has a distinct quality to it. A unique sensory experience. With elven magic, it’s often a taste, the exact notes varying between individual elves.
But with Viala, it’s everything. It fills his senses, overwhelming and intoxicating and yet pure perfection.
“You’re holding back,” he whispers. The cord connecting them has no slack at all now, binding their linked arms together at the flesh with its ancient magic.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, my love. You can. With me, you needn’t fear your power.”
“What if I’m stronger than you now?”
“I’ve felt your flame. Your magic grows powerful, but I can still contain it. Trust me and meet me here. Let go of your fear, and feel the wonder of who you are. There’s no shame between us.”
Tears well in her eyes, but she lets the magic flow from her hand, mixing with his life magic. Tangling with it. Satisfying an ache he barely realized existed until the first time they did this.
A moan slips past his lips before he can stop it. “If you knew. If you knew how breathtaking your magic is. What it does to me...”
But she’s lost in her own wonder at this connection between them. “Tharios,” she murmurs.
And the cord slowly lengthens.
“Don’t fear your magic, my love. There will be missteps as you learn to harness it. But it’s far too beautiful to squander. It’s who you are. And I am so in love with every facet of you.”
As he looks into her eyes, they let their magic fade until it’s a simmering sizzle between them.
Her fear isn’t gone, but it’s tempered, and the cord between them coils on the floor, its ethereal glow illuminating the room along with the sun shining through the window.
He caresses her flame with his magic, and her breath hitches.
“Do you need rest from this burden?” he asks softly.
When another tear slips down her cheek, he twists his magic around her flame, and the sizzling between their palms vanishes.
Then he draws her close, and she buries her face in his hair. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t have to. He knows.
“We’re in this together,” he whispers.
Her hold on him tightens, and he gives her time to collect herself. To return to the passionate woman with the ready smile and fearless heart she was when they met, though it took time for her to direct those smiles toward him in those first rocky days of their relationship. How he treasures each smile now.
“Thank you,” she eventually whispers. “For letting me be yours. I’m certain you are the best among elves, and I live in constant wonder at the fact that I get to love you, Tharios Westaria.”
When she finds his lips, he doesn’t resist.
“Please tell me no one is awaiting your return,” she whispers against him.
Thoughts of Cerian and Arisanna standing in the hallway fill him, and he sighs.
He’d rather stay here than deal with whatever disaster awaits him upstairs. But Cerian needs his help.
“It’s all right,” Viala says, and there’s no resentment in her voice or her eyes when he gazes into their brilliant blue depths. “You mean so much to everyone. That you’re mine at the end of the day is enough.”
“I love you. I don’t think you grasp how much. And I need your help with something.”
“My help?”
“Cerian seems to have let his plant magic get out of control in their suite. I promised to help him deal with it. Will you come with me?”
“I suppose someone needs to keep you in line.” Her eyes twinkle, and he smiles. There’s his faerie princess.
