Page 22 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The deep stone tub was oversized, carved into the floor and almost overflowing with fragrant water.

Rose, sage, and lavender lifted in warm curls around them as Eiran crouched slightly, his hands never leaving her as he slowly lowered into the water, eyes fixed on her like she was made of moonlight and might vanish with the next blink.

Maeve sighed as the heat wrapped around her limbs, letting the water lap over her shoulders, easing the ache in her muscles.

The water shimmered faintly where it touched her skin and the Glade Stalker’s gore dissolved almost instantly, drifting like smoke through the water.

“Magic bath?” she asked, eyes closed.

“Of course.” Eiran knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves further. “I wouldn’t dunk you in mortal bubbles like some fucking barbarian, love.”

“Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty,” she drawled, tilting her head back. “Next time I’ll request silks, petals, and maybe some harps.”

“You joke,” he said, dipping a soft cloth into the water, “but we do have a harpist.”

She opened one eye. “Of course you do.”

He started at her collarbone, gently running the cloth over her skin, down the curve of her shoulder, then across her chest. His touch was tender and held no urgency, just deep care.

“I’m trying very hard not to pounce on you right now,” Maeve said, half-lidded with pleasure .

“That’s very noble of you,” Eiran murmured, rinsing the cloth again.

He worked it down her arm, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles before and after washing her fingers one by one. She watched him, eyes full of quiet wonder. “You’re very good at this.”

“I’ve had centuries of practice.”

“Bathing women?”

“Enjoying them.”

Maeve raised a brow and he smirked. “Bathing them was optional.”

She laughed, bright and unguarded, and Eiran felt his heart kick in his chest at the sound.

He moved the cloth lower, over her ribs, across her stomach.

Always tender, even over her scars, not pushing for more.

Just there, warm and present and she leaned forwards slightly, arms resting on the edge of the bath.

“Tell me something about you,” she said. “Not regal or realm related just real.”

Eiran dipped the cloth again, thoughtful. “When I was sixteen, I tried to impress a girl by building her a tree swing.”

Maeve glanced at him, amused. “Did it work?”

“Not exactly. The branch snapped the moment she sat on it. She sprained her ankle and wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”

Maeve laughed, bright and unguarded. “That’s tragically sweet.”

“I maintain the knotwork was flawless,” he said. “The tree just lacked commitment.”

She laughed again, and Eiran smiled as he moved the cloth gently across her back, letting the warmth between them settle.

“You smell like crushed herbs and danger,” she said.

“You smell like soap and sin.”

“Oh, you like that, do you?”

“Far too much.”

Their eyes met again, and for a moment, time slowed as Maeve reached out and touched his jaw. “You don’t have to be gentle,” she whispered .

“I want to be,” he said, “because you deserve to be. I want to worship, not just touch.”

She stared at him and whispered, “Then worship me.”

Her voice held something between defiance and longing and Eiran didn’t move, his lips parted, but he said nothing.

Then she reached up, grabbed his collar, and yanked.

Eiran rocked forwards with the surprise, then came the splash as he landed in the water, clothes and all, half-kneeling, soaked from the waist down.

“Lady Maeve!” he said, breathless and grinning, blinking water from his lashes.

“You looked too smug to stay dry,” she said, eyes glittering.

Before she could blink again, he stood. In the time it took her to register the movement, his soaked shirt and leathers were gone. He was gloriously naked.

Maeve’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?”

Eiran smirked, standing tall as water sluiced down every inch of him, like some divine statue brought to life. “The clothes? Just more intention magic.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs. She wanted to move towards him, she also wanted to bolt. Her body burned, but her mind reeled.

What am I doing?

She was naked in front of him. She’d undressed without hesitation, let him wash her. She never did this, not since they hurt her. Maeve’s breath hitched as her pulse turned sharp.

I don’t do this.

Panic flickered in her chest, tight and fast.

What’s wrong with me? Is this another bathroom breakdown?

She got to her feet and her hands twitched, ready to reach for a towel, to shut it all down, to run.

But then she remembered the cell and its silence.

The pain of separation, the ache in her ribs when the bond stretched thin.

Then she thought of the calm she felt under his hand, how she'd looked at him and known , this wasn’t madness.

It’s trust .

Her pulse began to steady and she swallowed, choosing to stay.

He stood there unquestioning, waiting for her lead.

Maeve’s cheeks flushed, a sharp, hot pulse now curled low in her, and her thighs clenched before she even realised they had.

She was staring, she knew it, he knew it but she couldn’t stop.

“You’re gawping,” he said, quiet but rough.

“So did you,” she murmured. “It’s hard not to.”

Her voice sounded faraway, soft and tentative. She didn’t feel bold, just, confident as Eiran stepped closer, water rippled between them.

“You’re…” she began, then faltered.

“Say it,” he whispered.

Maeve hesitated, eyes sweeping over him, his chest, his hips, the way water clung to every muscle. He looked honed, more dream than man. “Perfect,” she breathed. “Totally fucking perfect. It’s unfair, you look like a god.”

He let out a sound, half laugh, half sob, his jaw tight, like he was holding something back. “You think I’m perfect?” he said, voice rough, barely more than a growl. “Love… look at you.”

His hands stayed at his sides, fists clenched. “You’re standing there like a fucking vision. Flushed, all curves and fire, and you don’t even see it. You don’t even know.” His breath hitched. “You’re going to wreck me.”

Maeve just watched him.

“I’m trying so fucking hard to be gentle,” he whispered. “But you’re making it impossible.”

Her heart pounded and she wanted to burn with him. She shifted, just a little. The water curled around her legs, heat rising as she leaned towards him.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said suddenly, the words spilling before she could weigh them. “I feel like I’m... not myself. Like something’s taken over.”

Eiran’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t retreat. “What do you mean?”

She swallowed, eyes flicking to the side. “The pull of the bond. It’s like it’s in my skin, in my bones. I can’t tell the difference between what I want and what it wants, and after everything… I’ve had two bathroom br eakdowns in as many weeks and now I’m…” She trailed off, voice cracking.

“Maeve,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

She did. His hands didn’t move, his eyes didn’t stray from hers. “I don’t want anything from you that you don’t give freely,” he said. “I mean that.”

She nodded, as she said quietly, “I do want this. You. I just... don’t know if I can trust myself.”

Eiran’s expression softened, his voice barely audible. “Then let me take care of you, and if it becomes too much, anything, you tell me. You pull away. You don’t owe me anything.”

Something in her eased. Not the heat or ache, but the panic, the sharp edge dulled to almost nothing and she nodded steadier this time.

“I trust you,” she whispered.

He moved carefully, closing the space between them. He reached for her hand, fingers lacing gently through hers. “Sit up on the ledge,” he murmured. “Just for a moment. Let me see you, all of you. Please.”

Maeve drew a breath, trembling slightly as she lifted herself from the bath and perched on the stone lip.

Water still running in rivulets down her skin, catching the light along her thighs, stomach and breasts.

She didn’t pose, she didn’t know how, she just sat, open, aching and waiting.

Palms flat behind her as her heart hammered in her chest. Eiran stepped forwards, water lapping at his thighs.

He didn’t reach for her, just looked like someone standing before something holy.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, voice raw.

Maeve shook her head. She couldn’t speak, every word had dried in her throat.

“I’m ruined, love. Absolutely fucking ruined.”

Maeve held his gaze, then finally said, “I need you.”

Not seduction, but a confession. He exhaled through his nose, hands rising slowly, one settling at her knee, the other skimming up her thigh, stopping just short of her centre.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “You don’t have to perform, you don’t have to prove anything. ”

Then, still watching her, he bent forwards and kissed the bend of her knee and waited for her word, always waiting for her lead.

Maeve slid a hand into his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, guiding him closer.

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t rush. He kissed a trail from the inside of her knee to the soft skin of her inner thigh.

His hands steadied her, one at her hip, the other at her calf.

Then his mouth found her and she gasped, back arching, the heat of him sudden and consuming.

His tongue moved with deliberate care, slow strokes at first, he was savouring her.

Maeve’s hand tightened in his hair. “Eiran…”