Page 20 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The air tasted green as Maeve stumbled slightly, landing on soft grass.

Eiran’s hand steadied her without a word, all around them, the world had changed.

This forest appeared ancient, almost too perfect to be real.

It looked straight out of a fairytale, trees stretched high above them, their wide trunks dappled with sunlight that filtered through wide canopies.

The ground was soft with wild grass, small blooms of clover and star-shaped flowers.

Birds called lazily from somewhere unseen, but what caught Maeve’s breath was the building in front of them.

It stood nestled in a natural hollow of the forest, as if the land had embraced it there on purpose.

Low-roofed and sprawling in quiet, irregular angles, it was built from pale stone and rich dark timber.

Ivy clung thickly to its sides, and wisteria cascaded from the eaves.

A wide porch wrapped around the front, its roof shaded with other flowering vines and fruiting branches.

It wasn’t grand or imposing, just perfect in a she couldn’t explain.

“Holy shit,” Fenric whispered.

“Still here,” Soren said, though he looked suspiciously moved.

Eiran smiled faintly. “Welcome to the Cottage.”

“It’s real?” Maeve asked, her voice low.

Calen clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Realer than half the castles in the Fae Lands, and safer than all of them combined.”

“It doesn’t look…” She trailed off.

“Exactly,” Calen said, stepping beside her. “It doesn’t need to look like anything. That’s the magic, it’s older than any of our bloodlines, built on land warded so deep it teems with it.”

“It also has terrible beds and one terrifying badger that lives under the woodshed.” Soren sniffed.

“Don’t listen to him,” Fenric said. “The beds are excellent, and so’s the training ring.”

Branfil raised a brow. “The badger, though. He’s real. ”

Maeve huffed a laugh before realising she was smiling. She turned slowly, taking it all in, the trees, the glimpse of a garden behind the house, the wide stone path leading to the door.

“This place saved us all once,” Eiran said quietly, his gaze on Aeilanna. “After you disappeared, when everything started falling apart. Grandfather told us to come here. To stop and breathe, to… grieve. Even Mother and Father came.”

Maeve glanced at Aeilanna, she wasn’t exactly smiling, but there was a flicker of presence in her expression, as if she were forcing herself to be there, to feel something.

Nolenne draped an arm over Aeilanna’s shoulders.

Her expression unreadable as she pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s not what I expected,” she murmured.

“We’ve never brought anyone here outside the bloodline,” Eiran said, nodding at Branfil. “Except him.”

Branfil caught her eye and gave a relaxed wink.

Soren groaned. “Is this a speech? Are you giving a speech?”

“Feels like a speech.” Branfil grinned.

Eiran sighed. “Fuck off, you two. This place isn’t about strategy, it’s not a fortress. It’s peace and it’s ours.”

Calen exhaled loudly. “Okay, emotional bonding time over. I need wine, a bath, and maybe a fucking good nap.”

Fenric pulled him into a headlock, and the two followed Soren and Branfil, who were already making their way towards the porch.

Aeilanna leaned into Nolenne for a moment before they too drifted after the others, one hand brushing a cluster of wild roses blooming along the path.

Maeve lingered, watching the group, while trying to compose herself.

“You alright, love?” Eiran asked.

She nodded slowly, her eyes still on the Cottage. “It’s the first place I’ve been since all of this started where I didn’t feel like running.”

He looked at her then, and something in his gaze softened. “Good,” he said. “It’s doing its job.”

?????

Inside, the Cottage was deceptively spacious.

Wood-beamed ceilings stretched above wide rooms filled with old, soft furniture and warm, golden light.

The scent of rosemary and ash lingered in the air and the hearth was crackling to life thanks to Branfil, who was currently wrestling with an ancient iron pot.

After they had all ate breakfast of porridge and fruit, and passed a few hours talking over coffee, Aeilanna and Nolenne slipped off together, disappearing into one of the back rooms with a shared glance and a few quiet words.

“Ohh, special time for the bound!” Fenric shouted.

Calen called after them with a wicked grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Which is very little.” Soren added.

Branfil straightened with a scowl. “Enough.”

The boys snorted, but Fenric had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but only vaguely. The three youngest brothers went to the kitchen, in hopes of starting an evening meal. They spent the time bickering and playfighting before deciding to butcher a bag of dried meat.

“I’m just saying,” Calen said, stabbing at something with a wooden spoon, “it looked like meat when I found it.”

“That’s a terrible justification,” Soren replied. “You can’t feed us mystery meat stew, bloody idiot.”

Fenric leaned against the kitchen doorway, chewing some thoughtfully. “Tastes alright to me.”

“Of course it does,” Soren muttered. “You ate an insect on a dare two days ago.”

“It wasn’t a dare, shithead. It was a nutritious snack.”

Branfil groaned and turned to the pantry, muttering under his breath about how he should’ve stayed behind and let them all starve.

The commotion had woken Maeve a nap in an oversized armchair near the fire.

She now sat, magicked coffee hand, boots kicked off and her clothes stiff with the dried blood of the Glade Stalker.

It was inky-black, tar-thick stuff that reeked faintly of death and rot and streaked up her arms, across her collar and even into her hair.

She didn’t care for now, she was warm, she was alive, and the laughter around her felt like sunlight on skin.

Eiran had been across the room, lounging against the wall, watching his brothers fail at cooking with half-hearted advice.

He pushed away from the wall and crossed towards her with that infuriating kind of self-assurance only he could carry without looking ridiculously smarmy.

He stopped just in front of her, eyes sparkling.

“That stuff’s going to stain your bones,” he said, eyeing the black blood splattered down her tunic.

Maeve raised a brow and sipped her coffee. “Then it’ll match my soul.”

He grinned. “Dark, moody, and mildly venomous?”

“Add very tired and you’ve got the full set.” She pressed her lips together on the last syllable.

“Up, dear lady,” he said, extending a hand. “Time to wash, before you start attracting pests, or worse, more admirers.”

She stared at him, lips twitching now. “Are you offering to scrub me down, Prince Eiran?”

“I’m just escorting you to a room with hot water and clean towels. What happens next is entirely up to your gratitude.”

The boys howled.

“Oooooh!” Calen shouted from the kitchen. “Look at our princely guide, offering service with a smile!”

Soren leaned dramatically against the doorframe. “Better not come back until one of you is glowing.”

“Boys,” Branfil snapped again, though his lips twitched.

Maeve rolled her eyes as she stood as she took Eiran’s outstretched hand.

The dried ichor cracked as she moved, flaking like old paint.

She half-heartedly glared at the three brothers and gave them the finger.

Eiran didn’t let go as together, they walked down the hallway, the banter faded behind them, voices still laughing.

The Cottage was peaceful, but it was more than that.

It was full of breath, and bodies, and warmth.

It felt like something healing, something that soothed her soul.