Page 26 of Crownless Heirs

Her throat tightened, but before she could find the words, Kyron gave her a small smile. “Goodnight, Sorcha.”

And then he turned and walked away.

She watched him go as a sudden shadow moved beside her.

“Come, Firelight.” Maelan’s voice echoed through the darkness, startling her as he emerged from the balcony’s shadows, only his silver eyes gleaming in the night.

“It’s getting late,” he said, stepping closer. “We should join the others.”

The soft swish of his tail, as it gently wrapped around her once more, was a whisper against the quiet. His fingers slid into her hair, twirling it between them, while his other hand cupped her chin. In the moonlit dark, his features were sculpted like tawny quartz, catching the moon’s rays on his cheekbones and diffusing the harsh silver into a gentle, golden radiance. The deep crimson stain of wine graced his full lips, and a subtle warmth radiated from his skin, the lingering heat from their earlier dancing. His eyes sparkled like pools of starlight as they kept flickering to her lips, making every part of her ache. Suddenly, everything else melted away as his breathing quickened. His hand tracing slow paths across her jaw, down her neck, toying with the delicate hem of her dress. Her fingers fumbled with the edge of his collar as he pressed a kiss to her neck, the faint scent of him intoxicating.

“Maelan,” she rasped, the sound catching in her throat.

His eyes met hers, blazing with a raw hunger that stole her breath. “Oh, firelight,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, “say my name like that again, and you’ll bring me to my knees.”

His lips pressed a warm kiss against the soft skin of her neck again, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. The fabric of her dress whispered as his hand slid down, gentle pressure tracing the curve of her hip before pressing her closer against him.

She whispered his name, and Maelan’s voice rumbled, a low growl that seemed to echo into the night, “Sorcha. “

“Maelan!” a voice rang out.

“Maelan,” the voice singed, “Where the hells are you?!”

Maelan pulled away, his chest heaving as he looked at her, a strained smile appearing on his face. “Duty calls, it seems,” he grumbled, his annoyance barely concealed by his feigned politeness. Just then, Callan appeared on the balcony, his steps less steady than before, the heavy scent of mead on his breath as he clapped Maelan on the shoulder.

“There you are!” He looked Sorcha up and down, and then Maelan. “You two have all night to get… acquainted.” A smile spread across his face.

Callan wrapped his arm around Maelan’s shoulder and began pulling him toward the archway, disappearing into the hall but not before Maelan stole a glance at Sorcha, leaving her breathless under the night sky.

The rest of the evening Maelan stayed close to Sorcha, his hands brushing her waist as he passed or lacing his fingers into hers. It was sweet and gentle and as the night came to a close the two of them walked hand in hand to their bedroom.

That night, Maelan didn’t take the bed. Instead, he gathered a pile of pillows and blankets, arranging them into a makeshift nest on the floor near the hearth. He stretched out with effortless grace, hands folded behind his head, utterly unbothered by his choice of sleeping arrangements.

Sorcha lay on her side upon the bed, watching him with a raised brow. “You realize the bed is big enough for both of us.”

Maelan smirked, not bothering to open his eyes. “Of course. But I figured I’d give us the opportunity for a good night’s sleep.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, really?”

He chuckled, shifting slightly. “Besides,” he mused, “I have a feeling you’ll sleep better if I weren’t distracting you. "

Sorcha snorted. “That is not why.”

“Mm.” He cracked one silver eye open, grinning. “Would it make you feel better if I curled up at the foot of the bed?”

She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He caught it effortlessly, laughing as he stood, his torso bare, the muscles rippling as he moved toward her. Maelan bent over her as she lay there, suddenly unable to breathe. He leaned in, his lips soft as he kissed her cheek. Sorcha’s hand traced the scar on his side from the banshee, and he froze. Her hands tracing the marking along his torso, gently pulling him closer.

“Goodnight, Firelight,” he purred against her lips before kissing her tenderly.

She melted back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Maelan.” She grumbled.

Despite everything, the chaos of the day, the pressure of what came next, his presence was the comfort she needed. The soft rise and fall of his breath, a steady rhythm in the quiet that lulled her to sleep.

11

Goodbye

The morning air was crisp, the scent of dew and blooming flowers lingering over the courtyard. The kingdom was awake, yet there was a softness to the morning, a lull before everything truly set into motion.