Page 30 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The study was smaller, more intimate. A round table in the centre was covered in more maps marked with pins and thread. Notes pinned to the walls alongside charcoal sketches, some of cities, some of beasts, and one of her.

She stopped. “Is that…”

Eiran followed her gaze. “Yes.”

Maeve stared at the sketch. It wasn’t polished, but it was her. Hair windswept, eyes distant. Drawn from memory.

“You’ve been sketching me?”

“I had to, when you were gone.” He just looked at her, honest and unapologetic and something inside her wobbled .

He cleared his throat and then touched her hand again. “This way.”

The bathroom was next, if you could call it that.

It was more like a bathing sanctuary. A sunken bath, wide enough for a complete football team, was carved into dark stone.

Crystal sconces spilled soft golden light across the room, glinting off copper fixtures and ivory tiles inlaid with violet and gold.

Perfumed oils lined the edges, paradise certainly.

Maeve blinked. “This feels… indecent.”

Eiran leaned on the doorframe, watching her with a smile. “You haven’t seen indecent yet.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were burning, remembering the last time they were together in a bathroom.

“And now.” he said, “The final reveal.”

He pushed open a pair of double doors, and Maeve’s breath caught.

The bedroom was a cathedral of dark romance.

Heavy panels draped from the ceiling, gathered and tied like the sails of a ship.

The bed itself was enormous, canopied in sheer black fabric, the frame carved from deep, burnished wood.

More books, of course, lined shelves along one wall, and there were three paintings in gilded frames.

A great dark blue beast soaring over mountains, a moon half-swallowed by clouds and a very young Eiran in armour beside a glowing green-eyed hatchling.

Maeve stepped inside slowly. “This is…”

“Our room.” He looked at her, as if worried. “Is it too much?”

She shook her head. “No. Just… completely you.”

He smiled faintly, hand still wrapped around hers. “I built it for myself, never expected to share it with anyone.”

She turned towards him. “And now?”

He met her gaze. “Now I want you to feel at home in it.”

Her breath hitched. Not trapped, but invited, wanted.

Home.

Eiran watched her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered and he smirked, leaning against the carved bedpost like he belonged there, like he was a tragic violin solo. “Ah, but you haven’t seen what happens when I’m feeling broody and betrayed. ”

She arched a brow. “Is that when the curtains blow ominously despite the windows being shut?”

“Exactly,” he said solemnly. “And the fire flares on its own, my eyes glow faintly, and I recite poetry in the mirror until I feel better.”

Maeve snorted. “Do you wear a mask?”

“Oh… only on weekends, love.”

She wandered towards the bed and let her fingers brush over the velvet duvet. “It’s impressive though. Dark, regal, it’s very… you.”

“Hmm,” he said, watching her too closely now. “If it’s too much, we can redecorate.”

She blinked at him. “Redecorate?”

He nodded, serious now. “Whatever makes you comfortable. We could soften the palette. Throw in some cheerful florals. Maybe a fluffy rug, a lava lamp, posters of human boybands from the early 2000s.”

Maeve gave him a flat look. “I don’t know what’s more alarming, your knowledge of boybands or the mental image of you lounging on a hot pink fluffy rug.”

“Don’t knock it,” he said with a grin. “I look absolutely fucking fantastic in bubble-gum pink.”

She shook her head, biting back a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome to hang fairy lights over the bed,” he added. “Maybe spell them to blink in time with your heartbeat, oh it would be so very romantic.”

“Shit, stop.” She covered her face with both hands. “Now I’m picturing that and, ugh, no. I’d rather sleep in the stone cell again.”

He laughed, low and genuine, and the sound settled something in her chest. “I’m just saying,” he murmured, stepping closer.

“If this ever feels too much like mine, I’d like to make it ours, make it yours love.

” Then, as if sensing the moment itself had called for something more real, he reached into the large bag slung over the chair nearby.

“I brought this back for you.” he said, unfastening the flap. “From Lisbon.”

One by one, he laid the items out gently on the table between them.

Her passport, phone, toiletries, a pile of folded clothes, trainers and finally, her purse.

Maeve opened it carefully and held the photograph that had been tucked inside.

A younger Maeve, cheeks full and grinning wide, arms looped around her parents.

Her mum was laughing, caught mid-joy and her dad looked like nothing else existed but the two of his girls.

Her thumb brushing over the image like it might vanish, the breath she took was sharp-edged.

“I thought you’d want them,” Eiran said softly. “I didn’t know what would matter most, so I brought everything.”

Her throat burned, she couldn’t look at him. Only at the photograph, at the girl she used to be, the parents she’d once belonged to. The ache in her chest expanded until it felt like it might swallow her, but he didn’t push.

Then, finally, she looked up, eyes shimmering. “Thank you.” She looked back down at the photograph, tracing the corner gently. “I’ll have to go back at some point and clear out the flat, close it all up.”

Eiran shook his head gently. “You won’t have to, if you don’t want to go back, I’ll organise it. Everything can be brought here, or wherever you want it.”

She hesitated for only a second, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said again, softer this time. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Then you don’t have to, love. Come on, the view’s much better outside.” Eiran said walking out the another balcony.

She let him lead her through the side arch.

Wine glasses now magically in hand, the wind brushing over them, the air was cooler now, the sky was an endless stretch of midnight velvet, stars spilled like shattered diamonds.

Below them, Moraveth glittered in gentle layers of golds, oranges, greens and blues, its light dancing in the valley like fireflies.

Eiran passed her the wine and leaned on the railing beside her.

“Moraveth, Heart Cradle, from above, the capital of Melrathen.”

The night had settled deep and quiet. Below, the city shimmered, faelight in a thousand windows, winding streets of light and shadow, and beyond, the distant hills that cradled the valley.

“Is that it?” she asked softly, tipping her chin towards the glowing heart of the city. “Moraveth?”

He nodded. “The capital. The oldest city in Melrathen.”

“It looks… enchanted.”

“It is,” he said. “And cursed and sacred, usually all at once.”

Maeve glanced at him sidelong. “That sounds about right for your realm. ”

“Our realm.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She’s been rebuilt more times than I can count. Burned in three wars. Sank once, maybe twice, depending on whose scrolls you believe, but she always rises again, always finds a way to overcome.”

Maeve took another sip of wine, it was bold and rich, dark as smoky quartz and just as dense on the tongue. “And Elanthir Keep? That’s here?” she asked, nodding towards the towering structure beneath them.

Eiran turned slightly, gesturing beyond the balcony edge to the northwest ridge. “Built into the mountains, yes. The Keep is the spine of the realm, it watches everything.”

She tilted her head, curious. “So… why is Melrathen called the Heart Cradle?”

He glanced at her, then out towards the city again, quiet for a moment.

“Moraveth translates as Heart Cradle in the old language. But there’s a legend,” he began, voice lower now, roughened by the wind and wine.

“Old as the stars, they say. That before the Fae Lands divided into the six realms, before the wars and the politics and the blood, the gods wept when they shaped this land.”

“Wept?” Maeve echoed, brow furrowed, already exasperated at the theatrics.

He nodded. “Not in sorrow, but in awe. They carved valleys and mountains, rivers and forests, but when they reached this place, this exact stretch of land they fell still. Their tears sank into the earth, softened the stone, warmed the soil, and from it grew magic so pure, it couldn’t be corrupted.

It beats, like a heart, living. Thrumming. ”

Maeve stared out over the sparkling capital, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name.

“The cradle,” he said, gesturing wide with one hand. “The mountains curve like arms and the valley lies like an offering. All life in Melrathen either begins here or returns to it.”

She swallowed slowly. “That’s… beautiful.”

“We protect it fiercely. It’s why we fight, even when the rest of the world thinks us arrogant or cruel.” Eiran gave a half-smile, almost wistful. “The realm’s motto is ‘To Burn and To Sheild’ and we always will, we were taught that if the heart dies… so does everything else.”

Maeve leaned into the stone railing, closer to his warmth. “And if the heart is still beating? ”

Eiran turned to her then, expression unreadable in the warm shadows. “Then there’s still hope.”

Maeve turned the wine glass slowly in her hands, the deep red catching the moonlight like spilled velvet.

Her fingers drifted to the Chain on her wrist, gold, intricately woven and set with small black stones and flecks of coloured glass that glinted like captured starlight.

It hummed faintly now, a presence more than a thing, familiar and alive.

“I know it has something to do with this place,” she murmured.

“With the magic and I’ve felt it since the moment I put it on. ”

Eiran’s gaze followed hers. “It does.”

She turned towards him, searching his face. “I don’t understand it and I know I didn’t choose it, not really. It felt more like… it found me.”

“It did I think, but it’s never happened before, love.

” he said quietly, stepping closer. “This isn’t a trinket or a charm.

The Chain is one of the oldest artefacts born from Melrathen’s breath.

It was forged in the heart of the basin, when the land still pulsed wild and unshaped.

Each thread of gold carries memory. Each stone holds a different fibre of its magic, earth, shadow, flame and air. ”

Maeve looked down at it again, brushing her fingers over a deep blue gem nestled between two black stones, her lips parted in surprise.

“No one’s been able to wield skyfire in centuries,” he went on. “Not since the magic began to fade. The others that held it… they went dormant, waiting. Perhaps, hoping.”

“For the Chain?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yes and maybe for someone who could use it.” His voice softened.

She looked up sharply, eyes meeting his. “But I’m not of this world.”

“That’s what makes it matter more,” he said. “Melrathen doesn’t just keep its own magic, it calls out to what’s missing. To what was lost, love. You didn’t come here by accident. I don’t think the Chain fell into your path by chance.”

A breeze stirred, lifting strands of her hair as the lights of the city flickered below them. “Then what is it?” she asked, voice a whisper. “The Chain. The bond. Me. ”

Eiran stepped, brushing his thumb lightly against her wrist, just beside the bracelet’s edge. “It’s Melrathen remembering itself,” he said. “Through you.”

Maeve swallowed, the air thick with something older than magic, certainty. She turned suddenly, stepping back from the edge of the balcony. “Eiran?”

He looked up, wine glass still in hand. “Hmm?”

“Its not… I don’t think that is right,” she hesitated, fingers curling into her palm. “I haven’t changed.”

His brow furrowed. “Changed?”

“My fae form,” she said, voice barely above a breath. “I haven’t taken it, I haven’t even felt it. Shouldn’t I have… by now? If I’m… if this is real? Aeilanna said I would awaken before now”

Eiran didn’t answer right away. He set his glass down on the ledge and moved towards her with a slow easy step, like approaching a startled animal, and he hated how accurate the comparison felt.

“Maeve,” he said gently, “you’re not late.

There’s no schedule, some really bad shit has happened to you recently. ..”

“But I should have.” She said, still not meeting his gaze.

“There’s no should,” he interrupted softly. “Fae awakenings don’t follow rules. They happen when your body and your magic both decide they’re ready.”

“But what if it never happens?” she pressed. “What if I can’t awaken? What if I’m stuck like this, some weird, weak mortal human with no power, no place, and a very magical artifact on my wrist?”

“Never is such a strong word.” Eiran’s mouth twitched, “and if you don’t, then that’s fine too.”

“Eiran.” She groaned turning away, but he caught her gently by the arm.

“What?” His voice was quieter now. “You are not broken. This is all new, a new world, new magic and new rules. Your form will come when your magic stops trying to protect you and starts trusting you, and when you trust it back.”

She still couldn’t look at him.

“So…” he added lightly, “maybe start by not calling yourself a weird, weak, mortal human? ”

That got her and she huffed a laugh, despite herself. “You’re bloody impossible, so fucking dramatic and cheesy.”

“And you’re fucking stunning,” he replied, brushing a knuckle down her cheek. “Even like this, especially like this.”

She met his gaze, unsure whether to be comforted or afraid of how easily he could settle the storm in her. “What if I lose myself in it?” She whispered.

Eiran tilted his head. “Then I’ll find you every time, always.”

She stared at him. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.”