Page 19 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The ground was cool beneath Maeve’s knees, as her heart thundered against her ribs and her mind tried to process the situation.

Here.

My mate.

Eiran didn’t hesitate, with three long strides, he crossed the space between them, and pulled her into his arms. Maeve clutched at his shirt, her fingers tangling in the torn fabric, and then his mouth was on hers.

Desperately needing the taste of her to believe she was real, that she was found.

There was no gentleness to it, no patience, just raw, aching necessity.

A breathless, broken sound escaped him against her lips and Maeve felt the slight shake of his hands where they gripped her.

Behind them, someone coughed theatrically.

“Oh gods, get a room,” Soren muttered.

“Seriously,” Fenric added. “We trekked through hell for this?”

“Well, that’s burned into my eyes forever. I’d rather face another fleshroot than watch this,” Calen groaned, followed by an exaggerated gagging noise.

Branfil shot them a sharp look at the grinning trio, who then made an attempt at looking chastised.

Maeve pulled back from Eiran, breathing hard.

A stunned laugh bubbled up her throat, her gaze flicked to Bran’s gentle smile, then the three smirking faces, somehow familiar and mischievous, each with the same arrogant tilt to their smiles as their elder brother.

“Let me guess…” she rasped, her voice raw. “Your best friend and brother Branfil, and three insufferable younger brothers.” She pointed to each. “Soren, Calen, and Fenric, right?”

Branfil gave a solemn nod while the three younger brothers bowed in unison, beaming at her. Eiran let out a shaky exhale, still visibly reeling. “Don’t encourage them, love,” he muttered hoarsely.

Love .

The word rippled through her, warm and disorienting. She tucked it away for later, there were bigger things now. A soft snort breaking the moment and Aeilanna stepped forwards, her dark hair plastered with blood and dirt, but her chin high, her voice clear and unwavering.

“And one lost sister,” she said quietly. “Princess Aeilanna, not to be forgotten.”

The brothers straightened and turned sharply. Eiran also turned, arms loosening as he lowered Maeve to the ground with aching care. Fenric spoke first, disbelief etched across his face. “No…” he breathed. “No, it can’t be.”

Calen’s face drained of colour while Branfil and Soren just stared, open-mouthed.

“Aeilanna,” Eiran rasped.

She gave a small nod. “It’s me.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved, and then Eiran crossed the space and crushed her into an embrace, his hand fisting in the back of her filthy tunic, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. “We thought you were dead,” he choked out, voice cracking.

“I know,” Aeilanna whispered, clutching him fiercely. “I tried. I didn’t know if you still lived. They told us you hadn’t, but I knew… I just knew I had to find my way back.”

The clearing pulsed with the weight of it, the grief, the miracle. Maeve wiped her face roughly, struggling to swallow past the tightness in her throat.

“Okay. I take it back. This day might actually be worth the trauma of that kiss.” Fenric conceded.

Maeve huffed a laugh, brushing at her eyes as Eiran’s hand, still trembling, reached blindly behind him.

Maeve stepped towards it without hesitation, their fingers lacing tight.

Aeilanna pulled away from her brother and tension spiked sharply through the group.

Eiran’s gaze hardened, his body angled instinctively in front of Maeve.

Standing just behind Aeilanna was a tall, sharp-eyed Nolenne.

Long red hair, loose and wind-tangled, blood staining her leathers.

“What,” Eiran said, voice low and dangerous, “is a fucking Avelan warrior doing with you?”

Nolenne didn’t react, she simply straightened, calm and unbothered by the crackling male fury gathering around her. However, before Eiran could take a step, Aeilanna spoke, in a cold, almost bored tone. “She’s my bound.” She paused. “My life and my light, actually.”

Fenric looked like someone had knocked the air from his lungs, Soren made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and even Branfil’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline.

Eiran blinked, visibly recalibrating. His grip on Maeve’s hand tightened but Aeilanna’s expression didn’t flicker.

“She was the only good thing in that fucking prison. She protected me. Nursed me, she’s the reason I’m still standing.

” She met Eiran’s eyes, daring any one of them to object.

“She’s Melrathian now. Whether Grandfather agrees or not. ”

Nolenne inclined her head, quiet and proud, and something shifted behind Eiran’s eyes, suspicion draining, replaced by gratitude.

He stepped forwards until he stood before Nolenne.

He didn’t offer a palm, instead offering a forearm, warrior to warrior and Nolenne took it without hesitation.

“Thank you,” Eiran said roughly. “You didn’t just save them, you saved us all. ”

He held her gaze for a long beat, then let go, and turned.

No matter how much time had been lost, no matter what miracles tonight had given him, Maeve would always be where he looked first. His eyes finding her own, aching and wide, and something inside her stuttered and broke.

Behind them, someone cleared his throat, loud, theatrical.

“Oh gods, please get a fucking room,” Soren groaned.

“I liked it better when we were fighting the fleshroot.”

Aeilanna smirked. “That’s because the fleshroot most likely had more charisma than you.”

Fenric whooped with laughter as Soren clutched his chest in mock injury.

“Right,” Eiran said, his voice still ragged but steady. “Enough fucking around. Let’s get out of this gods-cursed shithole.”

Branfil nodded as the younger three grinned, visibly relieved. Eiran reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, palm-sized stone. Its surface pulsed with a soft, golden light, steady as a heartbeat.

Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Is that a portable transport stone?”

Eiran gave a crooked, weary smile. “Borrowed from Grandfather. He’s rather… particular about it.”

“We’ll put it back before he notices,” Fenric said brightly, earning an exasperated look from Branfil .

“Form up,” Branfil instructed, already stepping to the centre of the clearing. His voice was brisk, but Maeve didn’t miss the tremor of emotion beneath it. “Everyone touching, skin to skin.”

Maeve tightened her grip on Eiran’s hand. He turned to her, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles, then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. When he spoke, his voice was coarse with all the things he wasn’t saying. “Hold on to me,” he whispered. “We’re going home.”