Page 11

It didn’t take long for the rest of the family to see what had ensnared Lexine.

Music.

Lexine’s love for the arts had decorated her entire wing with several collections of statues and portraits of her own creation. But she’d been abysmal at music.

Couldn’t hold a note to save her life. As an elf, it was a real shame, as music was only below starlight on the list of what most elves adored.

The first time Rowan had heard the phoenix sing, she’d wept in her hospital bed, texting her family to come and listen. They’d all fallen asleep on her tiny recovery bed while Miasma sang to her heart’s content.

Since then, they’d sent each other recordings of the phoenix when she slipped into song, convinced no one was around to hear.

They wrapped the evening up by crowding around Atlas, who had been the last one to sneak a recording in.

“It’s a pop song.” Lexine’s eyes misted.

At the beginning of her stay, Miasma only sang sad songs that tore at Rowan’s heart. Over the years, they’d become slightly less melancholy, but this was the first time she was singing something that was full of joy.

Zeva smiled softly, Axel looked awed, Atlas and Kyron both stood and held their hands out to their women.

The recording launched a playlist of songs that had the entire royal family dancing around the table, laughing with the simple joy of just being together.

The clock shone midnight when they called it a night.

Rowan’s family watched as she took off into the sky from the railings of the balcony, and whistles of joy and approval reached her.

Rowan couldn’t help but grin, which dropped after an insect flew into her teeth.

While flying from Black Cove to the Eastern Elven Kingdom was doable, because only a couple hundred of miles separated them, heading back home was a different story.

Rowan felt out the tendrils of her bonds.

Bonds were magic that kept her connected to her entire family, both chosen and born to. It allowed her to feel where they were physically situated in the world, allowing her to phase instantly to their side if she needed to. She could also feel their health in case it ever sharply declined, and if they were near enough, a chance to link mentally without the requirement of a spell.

Her bond with her cabin was unorthodox. Had it been a regular building it wouldn’t have worked, but the Traveling Cabin was a space and time anomaly and had a shred of sentience to it. That shred allowed Rowan to connect it to a network usually exclusive to bio organisms.

She phased from the sky over the Eastern Elven Kingdom to mountain cliffs overlooking a twinkling town about 25 miles away.

The magical cabin she called home had a habit of moving on its own. That morning she’d woken up in the middle of a desert, settled next to a lush oasis, the day before in a humid swamp, nestled high in the branches of ancient trees.

Even with the size suggested by the ebony wood logs and floor to ceiling windows that sparkled with candlelight, the cabin was even bigger on the inside. It had once belonged to Rowan’s paternal great Aunt Liza, an elf obsessed with magic. The mansion included hidden treasures like an endless library she hadn’t finished exploring, a shrine to a goddess Rowan and Zeva had worked for years trying to give a name to and a maze of hallways that would sometimes give access to the room you needed rather than wanted.

The cabin concealed Rowan’s powers better than any other charm and she found out she could cast any spell within its walls without repercussion. It sent a tingle of pleasure up her spine to realize that now she would be free to do what she wanted even outside of its walls.

The laugh that was on the tip of her lips died out as a torrent of icicles went flying past her face.

Her guard had been down.

Rookie move, Dahl.

She tasted her blood as she drew up a personal barrier, her eyes locking on the figure vaulting up with a fist pulled back, eyes swirling with all the colors of the rainbow. Dark curls danced behind him as his magic exploded against her barrier, sparks ignited from the friction and, seemingly with little effort, he shattered her protection.

Stunned with recognition, she almost missed the window to parry the punch before she launched into her own swing, which he blocked and then did the oddest thing by interlocking their fingers together.

Heat crawled up from her chest, her breath caught, disbelief prevalent in her mind.

She took a moment to take in the giant leather wings behind him, so dark they blended into the night, the solid chin she knew would break her fingers if she tried to land a punch and the deep pink color of his lips that struck a chord with something primal inside of her body.

Taken by surprise by the familiar feeling of lust rolling off of him in turbulent waves, Rowan froze; she stayed frozen even as his face got closer and closer and then his lips were on hers.