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Cedric woke to light and warmth and the certainty that, for once, nothing was on fire—figuratively or literally.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of his bedroom in Castle Lumin, pale and unhurried, painting the stone with pretty rays of soft golden light. The city below was awake—he could hear it faintly through the open balcony doors: voices, footsteps, the clatter of carts beginning their day. Ordinary sounds.

Precious ones.

Elyria lay beside him, sprawled with one arm draped over his stomach, her periwinkle hair tangled, her face half-buried in the gap between each of their pillows. One wing was folded against her naked back, partially pinned beneath her. The other was unfurled, spread over the empty bedspace next to her, a beautiful purple-and-green blanket, the slightest thread of shadow still laced along the edge.

Stars above, his queen was beautiful—even still in the throes of a deep sleep, her lips parted, soft, breathy snores coming from her as her shoulders rose and fell evenly.

Cedric smiled.

He scooted himself back against the headboard and let himself look—really look—at her in a way he’d rarely had the luxury to do lately. They were so stars-damned busy all the time. Meetings and appointments and meetings and addresses and meetings and meetings and meetings and⁠—

Sid let out an irritated huff from where her midsized form was curled up at the foot of their bed. She cracked one green eye open to glare at Cedric before rolling over with a flick of her shadowy tail.

He sucked in a breath in an attempt to calm himself. There was no point in getting worked up about it now. It wasn’t as though he didn’t appreciate the opportunity to be at the helm of so many things, after all. The city of Luminaria was starting to become quite the epicenter of trade and blossoming industry. Cedric and Elyria had garnered a solid reputation as royals, in no small part, he knew, thanks to the guidance and leadership of those on their council. And, he supposed, it didn’t hurt matters that they were the ones literally uniting the continent by continuing to seal what remained of the Chasms.

Cedric’s brow creased. There was only a little bit left now—the northernmost and southernmost parts of the western rift. Personally, he was excited. He’d only heard tales of the legendary Skyridge Mountain, from where all gryphons hailed, and was eager to see it. But he also could not help but wonder if the people’s tolerance for their rule would start to shift once the great task was complete. Would they still be as beloved, he considered, as the proof of their usefulness faded into the annals of history?

“You’re worrying again,” Elyria’s sleepy voice cut through his thoughts, and the furrow in Cedric’s brow instantly relaxed. His lip curved back up as she lifted her head, exposing the golden crescent-shaped scar of her bondmark—their life-bonded mark—at the side of her neck. Cedric resisted the urge to bend down and run his tongue over it.

“What has your thoughts so loud this early in the morning, King Worrywart?” Elyria asked with a yawn. She gave Sid an affectionate nudge with her foot, eliciting another sound of irritation from the shadowcat before she rolled over again—right off the edge of the bed and into a slice of shadow, disappearing from sight.

Cedric shook his head. “Nothing worth adding to your own plate of worries, Trouble.”

Elyria flung a pillow at him.

“Fine, fine,” he said, snatching the pillow from where it had fallen between them and tucking it behind his shoulders. He left one hand there, scratching at the back of his head. “I was just thinking about whether we are, well, doing a good job here. Or at least a good enough job. For the people.”

Elyria groaned. “Not this again. Has there ever been a ruler who spends this much of his mental energy considering things like whether his subjects like him enough? Never mind the fact that they love you⁠—”

“They love you, too,” he said.

“They’re scared of me,” she responded with a feral grin. “And that’s much better than being beloved.”

He released an amused, if exasperated, sigh.

“As I was saying, if they don’t like it, they can always move back to Havensreach or Nyrundelle. Let them compare how things work in the Midlands to the way Kings Callum and Lachlandris rule their respective realms. See how fast they come running back.”

Cedric bristled. “King Callum is⁠—”

“Trying his best. Oh, believe me, I know. But I also know that if it weren’t for our help, along with Tenny’s many, many correspondences with them, they’d be floundering nearly as badly as Kit’s uncle.”

Cedric could not argue with either fact.

The king of the fae had lost much favor with his own subjects when the peoples of greater Arcanis learned about what had transpired near Kinsgaith that day. When they learned just how close Malakar had come to seizing ultimate power and that their own sovereign had done nothing to try to stop it.

A problem, as Elyria’s father continued to put it during his not infrequent visits, for another day.

“Well, we have the whole day free for once, my love,” Cedric said softly, reaching over to sweep his thumb lightly along Elyria’s jaw. “What would you like to do?”

Her lips curved into a sinful grin. “Is that a real question, Your Majesty?” She shifted closer, her leg sliding over his, her wing curling over them, brushing against his thigh. The contact sent a familiar heat winding up from the base of Cedric’s spine, his cock stirring under the blanket.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that was a given. But I meant what do you want to do after?”

“After, before, during . . .” Elyria hummed. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a moment’s peace—a moment to ourselves. Forgive me if I intend on taking full advantage.”

Her hand slid up his arm, two fingers walking up his forearms, his biceps, then trailing across his collarbone to his own gilded bondmark. When she laid the flat of her palm over it, Cedric’s blood ignited.