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A half day from the palace, Vahly raised a hollowed mound of earth and stone so they could sleep in shelter for a few hours.

The trip had been cold and packed to the brim with worry.

Under the small hole in the ceiling near Kyril’s already snoring self, Arc drew up sparkling flashes of air magic to dry a bundle of wood Vahly had found for a fire.

She really hoped they could manage a fire so they could get properly warm before finishing the journey.

Vahly stood at the rounded entrance and stared into the moonlit sky of snowflakes for a glimpse of Nix, Aitor, and Cygnus.

“They’ll be fine,” Arc said, his magic blowing his hair around and making him look like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Her body warmed, and she went back inside. “You’re right. Cygnus has dragons with him. They’ll be warmer than us by far.”

Moonlight streamed through the ceiling’s opening and the door as Kyril raised his head and huffed. He sent her an image of him flying higher than Aitor.

Vahly grinned and rubbed his pelt down his back, the fur like velvet. “Hush, familiar of mine. I like you more than any of them, and you know it. I can make my own fire.”

Arc stood over the pile of dried wood, a wicked grin pulling at his full lips and a sparkle in his eye. He took a small tangle of wool and dried grass from an oiled pouch tied to his belt.

Her heart jumped. She knew that look. She removed her sword and baldric. “I was talking about actual flames.”

“And so was I.” He winked as he struck the flint. A shower of sparks fell onto the tinder, and the wood soon caught flame.

Vahly unclasped her cloak and held it up for him to dry with his magic. Once they were comfortable, wearing only their underthings, they settled onto his fur-lined cloak across the fire from Kyril, who’d returned to his dreams.

Vahly lay back, and Arc rested on his side, propped on an elbow.

His black hair fell to his chin, one unruly layer dusting across his sharp cheekbones.

The fire spread a fine layer of citrine and amber across his strong nose, brow, and chin.

Vahly ran a finger along his jawline, marveling at the smoothness of his elven skin and the way touching him thrilled her still.

He slid his hand behind her neck, and his thumb rubbed the sensitive skin under her ear.

Shivers danced down her back, and he eased closer, one of his hips pressing against her.

He brushed his lips across hers, and her breath snagged for a heartbeat before continuing, faster than before.

Pulling back a fraction, he ran fingers through her hair.

“Like spun gold…” He set his cheek against her head, and she heard him inhale, felt his chest rise against hers. “I do love you so, my Vahly.”

“I’m not tired of you yet either, elf.”

His laugh tickled the hairs along her forehead, then he rolled on top of her, moving faster than she ever could. She gasped, feeling his weight. “I should teach you to address me properly, wife.”

She raised her knee quickly but stopped right before it could hit him between the legs. His eyebrows shot up. “Watch it, husband. Or you’ll find out how mean this queen can be.”

Chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her, closing the distance between them, his heart beating against hers.

He kissed her neck, her chin, her mouth, again and again, drawing out the joy of their union.

No matter how long they lived, he would never be less magical to her.

He took her breath away that night like he always had and always would.

The world might be changing around her, but this would never alter.

He would remain the wondrous creature that made her heart whole.