Page 28 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Dishes lined the table in elegant abundance.

Platters of spiced lamb and wild boar, glazed root vegetables roasted with honey and herbs, buttered greens with toasted almonds, and bowls of fragrant rice studded with dried fruit and slivers of orange zest. A silver tureen of creamy chestnut soup sat steaming at the centre, alongside braided loaves of warm bread and golden wheels of soft cheese oozing gently onto wooden boards.

Bowls of jewel-toned berries, figs, and sugared nuts promised a decadent finish.

As Maeve stepped inside and found her seat, her stomach fluttered, not from nerves, but from sheer delight.

It was the kind of meal described in fairy tales, the kind she’d never imagined herself walking into.

One of the servers moved to her side. “Would you like wine, Lady Maeve?” he asked, lifting a crystal decanter filled with deep red liquid that caught the candlelight like garnet fire.

She nodded, though unease pricked at her, at being served, of hearing her name spoken with title. Eiran took his place opposite her at the table, watching her with quiet amusement as she tried and failed not to look overwhelmed.

“I warned you,” he said with a smirk. “But I suspect you’ll survive.”

They ate, they drank, they laughed and Eiran watched her, not hungrily or possessively, just quietly, as if still trying to memorise her.

Maeve laughed at something Orilan said, head tilted, eyes bright, and Eiran felt the sound of it like a thread tugging through his chest. Light, pure, and singing, so startlingly real it nearly hurt.

She was nervous, he could tell and she glanced a little too often at Taelin, sat a little too straight and her shoulders held just a breath too high.

However, she appeared to be pushing past it, meeting his family with grace, dry wit and that stubborn, impossible strength she wore like a second skin and it seemed they loved her for it.

He saw it in the way Aeilanna reached for her hand mid-laugh, in the way his mother kept sliding dishes closer to her without asking.

He’d never heard her laugh like she was now, not the cautious, sidelong chuckle from Lisbon.

This was something else, caused by Orilan, so probably something lewd and debauched.

Her reaction was whole and unarmoured. Bubbling up from somewhere deep and golden, like light cracking through stone.

Maeve didn’t even seem to realise it was happening, that she was already being pulled in and claimed, not by duty or magic, but by love .

With that thought, Eiran’s chest tightened with feeling, he’d imagined this moment a hundred ways, on cold nights, when he feared he’d never find a soul to spark his own.

He had thought of her, radiant, clever and brave, but he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected Maeve.

Not her fierce heart, her quiet sorrow or the way she softened when no one was looking, only to harden again in a blink, like softness was a weapon she didn’t know how to wield safely.

Maeve smiled again, this time at Hayvalaine, and Eiran saw the exact moment his mother found love for her, for finding her daughter, for being her son’s mate.

Gods help him, he had fallen too. She was talking now, answering a question about her detective work, gesturing gently with her hands, her soft accent curling around each word in a way that made the room lean in closer.

He didn’t hear a word. He was too busy watching her lips, the curve of her cheek, the way her freckles caught fire, the gentle tilt of her mouth and she had no idea how extraordinary she was, none.

She glanced up sensing his gaze, but he didn’t look away, didn’t soften it or smile.

He let her see everything, the raging squall she’d stirred in him from the moment she’d stepped into his life.

The utterly undisputable chaos she had caused in his mind and the tender salve she administered to his soul.

Whatever it sparked in her, it hit fast, her breath catching like surprise and then she smiled, just for him.

And in that moment, Eiran knew, if she asked, he would kneel in the ashes of empires.

He would defeat the gods, become ruin and sanctuary both.

Whatever she needed, he would become it, he would do it all without hesitation.

But for now, he stayed still, let her laugh, let her shine.

She belonged here, he’d always known. But now he felt it, in his pulse, in his magic, in his fucking marrow.

Like she was a truth the stars had whispered into the world, and now he was finally listening.

He watched as she lifted a honeyed fig tart to her lips, her smile curving as Orilan leaned in with something probably mischievous and half-true and her hair colour caught sparks from the chandeliers, glinting wildly.

Home, he thought. She’s home .

?????

Orilan was grave and measured as he said. “There only remains one matter to discuss this evening.”

All heads turned towards the King as he stood. Eiran straightened instinctively, something tight flickering in his chest and the room quieted entirely and Orilan’s eyes settled on Maeve with the kind of depth only centuries could forge. “The official binding ceremony of Maeve and Eiran. ”

The words echoed like a thread pulled taut. Maeve inhaled sharply, bracing for a wave of anxiety and a glance passed between her and Eiran, silent but steady.

“It must be soon,” Orilan continued, his voice intense but not unkind. “And it must be a spectacle. One that will echo across all realms, to show that the gods have honoured Melrathen with a mate bond.”

No one spoke, not even Fenric. Eiran kept his face composed, but Maeve could feel the subtle tension opposite her, like something winding tight beneath his skin. She sat upright, expression calm, even as her mind traced the weight of it. A public ceremony, appearances, royal expectations.

Orilan softened slightly, his gaze flicking again to Maeve. “It would cement Maeve in our bloodline and our history. It would give the people clarity, certainty, and purpose.”

Eiran's voice came, quiet but resolute. “We’ll speak on it.”

Orilan nodded and took his seat.

As the room exhaled, conversation resumed, light and careful, like walking over new ice and Eiran leaned towards her, catching her gaze. “You’re not being marched to the altar, love,” he murmured, voice warm.

She smiled faintly. “I expect you’re desperate to be married.”

“I am,” he said, deadpan.

Her eyes narrowed playfully, trying to mask her rising anxiety. “You’d wear a bloody dress and veil if it got you a party.”

Eiran’s voice dipped lower. “I’d wear anything if it meant calling you mine in front of every soul breathing.”

She grasped the Chain on her wrist, willing it to ground her, to buoy her.

Then a hand, warm, steady, resting lightly on her shoulder.

Maeve turned her head and found herself staring into Taelin’s eyes.

They were still sharp but softened by something like kindness.

He leaned in, voice a low murmur meant only for her.

“Mate bonds are extremely rare,” he said.

“Fated by the gods themselves. Not chosen, or forced… simply found, and never to be again.”

Her heart thumped hard enough to hurt. She hadn’t even believed in fate three weeks ago, now it was sitting opposite her in fine leathers and magic, totally fucking gorgeous and watching her under soft light.

Still, her mind spun, twisted, trapped between logic and longing.

“It’s not something to ignore, Maeve. Not something to take lightly, nor something the gods give twice.

” Taelin added softly. “The binding is only a ceremonial factor, you’re already bound for life. ”

Her eyes found Eiran across the table, his smile careful, gaze flickering constantly to hers as if he could feel every breath she took, maybe he could.

Before she could respond, another voice joined the quiet moment, King Orilan, stepping beside Taelin with that quiet, commanding presence.

“It is your choice,” he said gently, addressing them both.

“Yours and Eiran’s. No one here will take it from you.

Like Taelin said, you’re already bonded, this is just to show the public you. ”

Maeve looked up at him, startled by the humanity in his eyes, by the way he nodded slightly, a king offering not command but choice.

“The ceremony, the celebration, all of that is politics. But the bond?” He looked between her and Eiran again. “That is sacred, that is just for you.”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak.

Something pressed at the back of her throat, hot and unfamiliar.

Gratitude, mixed with fear, awe and joy.

Yes, beneath all of it, impossibly, joy.

She hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even breathed properly in what felt like hours, but still, she willed him.

Come to me. She thought, desperate for the grounding weight of him. Please, Eiran…

As if summoned by her silent appeals, the very pull between them or by the humour of the gods Eiran rose silently from his seat and crossed the room to her. Not with urgency, not with expectation, but with certainty, as if he’d been waiting for her to need him.

He moved Orilan’s empty chair and knelt beside her, his hand finding hers without hesitation, warm and sure.

Then he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“The binding ceremony is just extra. We are already mates, this is just a public recognition of it. Very much like a human wedding, lots of vows and appearances. The leaders of other realms visit, it’s a public day, but it could still be ours. ”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles and her heart squeezed, full and aching.

She looked down at him, the fae prince, the man who had knelt with crownless humility, who gave her space and control even as the magic between them tugged like a tide.

She could feel the entire room waiting, a hush of breath held in collective suspense, yet this moment belonged to her, to him, to them .

Orilan’s voice rose again, gentle but firm. “The bond is already formed. The ceremony is yours to shape, no one here will demand more than you are ready to give.”

Maeve nodded slowly. “I understand.” She said, her voice not shaking.

Eiran’s hand tightened gently around hers, pride in his eyes. “You’re not worried?” he asked, quieter.

“I’m not panicking anymore,” she corrected. “That’s progress.”

He chuckled. “Massive progress.”

She leaned closer. “Ok, just tell me there’s cake involved, though.”

“She’s got the wit of an archmagi and the stomach of a warrior, she’ll fit right in!” Orilan laughed. “Bran, Tomorrow we begin preparations for a celebration worthy of the gods.”

He pulled Maeve up, wrapping one arm around her and the other around Eiran, with the sheer strength of someone who loved from his very core.

“This, this is a moment the Fae Lands will never forget!” He turned, gesturing to the others.

“One that shakes the mountains and dazzles the sea. Let every realm hear of it!”

Maeve laughed, breathless and dizzy, caught between joy and disbelief as the room erupted into applause and teasing cheers.

Aeliana grinned across the table, eyes shining, Nolenne sent her a wink and even Taelin gave a cheered nod of approval.

She half expected the room to shift dramatically, lightning, wind, something magical, but instead, it was Eiran who changed.

He didn’t move right away. Just stared at her, his usually sharp, commanding features softened into something that looked suspiciously like awe and tears.

The silence between the mates stretched, but it wasn’t awkward, it was full, deep with meaning and something just beneath the surface she couldn’t name.

“You don’t have to look so surprised,” she said finally, arching a brow. “I didn’t agree to sell my soul. Just a little magical interdimensional public ceremony.”

That pulled a breathy laugh from him. “I’m not surprised,” he murmured. “I’m… humbled.”

Maeve blinked. “Okay, that’s dramatic.”

“I’m being serious,” answered Eiran .

“I know, and that’s the problem. I’m not used to you being serious, it’s unsettling.”

“Then brace yourself,” Eiran said, looking to his family. “Because this moment is important.”

“Is that your idea of reassurance?” Maeve asked.

“No,” he said with mock gravity. “That was foreplay.”

She groaned, tugging her hand back with an eye-roll. “Stop talking. You were doing better with the dignified silence.”

He laughed, standing again and offering her his hand. “Come with me.”

Fenric’s voice from the other end of the room interrupted them. “Wait until she finds out about Xelaini.”

The laughter that followed came from Calen, Soren and Fenric, all three were grinning like tree cats who’d found the honey. Maeve froze, mid-smirk, and turned to Eiran, her mate bond thundering. “Who the fuck is Xelaini?”

Eiran groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for the love of… ”

“With that,” Orilan said smoothly. “I’m going to retire.”

“You’re not going to explain?” Maeve called after him.

Orilan merely smiled. “Lady Nolenne, please come to see me after breakfast. I have a proposition.”

Maeve watched him sweep out of the room, cloak billowing behind him. Nolenne, usually composed and razor-sharp looked absolutely shellshocked. “Did he say proposition?” She muttered to herself, eyes wide. “I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.”

Maeve glanced at Eiran. “Should I be worried?” He said nothing. “Oh, now you want dignified silence,” Maeve said.

Eiran’s grin was slow and wicked. “I find it’s the best response when I’m about to kiss someone.”