Page 33 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Eiran hastily pulled on his tunic, half-wrangling the laces as Maeve tossed him a pair of trousers. “You just told me you love me,” she said, tone airy and far too amused for the way her hands still trembled slightly from what they’d just shared.

He shot her a grin. “I did.”

“And?”

He shrugged, slipping into his boots. “I told you I’m honest, love. You’ll get used to it.”

She huffed out a soft laugh, cheeks flushed as she fastened the belt at her waist. “Don’t think I’ll forget you said it in the middle of…”

“Oh, I’m counting on you remembering exactly when I said it.” He gave her a once-over, puffing out his cheeks and winking, he then offered his hand. “Come on, let’s go meet my first lady.”

The climb to the roof was quick, though Eiran felt his heart beat faster with every step.

Not from fear of Xelaini, she would never harm him.

But Maeve… Maeve was human, and this meeting would be nothing like the others she’d faced.

Xelaini had no patience for hesitation, no tolerance for anything less than truth.

At the top, the tower’s stone doors swung outward, revealing the wide platform.

The wind was sharp, tugging at Maeve’s hair, carrying the clean bite of sky and storm.

Dawn stretched pale gold and soft blue overhead but the sky cracked open as a shadow, immense and coiling, dropped through the clouds with impossible speed.

Wind howled in her wake and lightning flickered in her slipstream.

Wings like storm-forged glass unfurled with a sound like torn thunder, blocking the rising sun, she descended like a goddess slipping from the clouds, vast, elegant, terrifying.

She struck the platform like a falling star, claws gouging stone and magic rippling through the air in waves that set the entire tower thrumming.

Her wings folded with barely a sound, arching high like midnight oil slicked with iridescence.

Xelaini reared her head, scales catching the morning light in shades of deep violet and endless night.

Her bright green eyes, burning with impossible intelligence, locked instantly on Maeve.

The air between them charged, crackling with storm-slick tension.

Each step forwards sent tremors through the stone beneath their feet.

Her tail snapped once across the floor, leaving a molten line where lightning kissed the rock, a warning, perhaps, or a welcome.

“Was that landing necessary? We felt you arrive ten minutes ago,” Eiran muttered, stepping forwards.

But Maeve lifted a hand to stop him, her chest rising fast, eyes wide, she looked like she was holding panic back with nothing but pure grit. Then she lowered her head. “I am honoured,” she said softly, voice trembling but true.

The impossible happened, Xelaini laughed, or something like it. A low ripple of amusement that sounded more like grinding metal than anything light. “She speaks true.”

Eiran’s heart stopped, the dragon had never spoken aloud to another in his presence.

Not once, not ever, not even to his brothers.

Maeve jerked upright, eyes wide and Eiran stared at the dragon, utterly stunned.

Xelaini turned her gaze to him, spikes settling against her neck.

“She is your mate, little one. That being the case, she is now mine… and I am hers.”

She leaned forwards, her massive head lowering so close Maeve had to tilt her head back to look into those reptilian emerald eyes. “Yes, I think I shall call her Chainling,” Xelaini said, voice lilting with ancient knowing. “Considering the Chain has claimed her, and now, so have we.”

Eiran didn’t even try to hide his smile as Maeve looked sideways at him. “She talks to me.”

Maeve wasn’t sure when it had fully sunk in, that he’d said he loved her, or maybe it hadn’t sunk in at all, not really.

Not when she could still feel him on her skin, still taste his name in her mouth, still feel the way he’d held her, been inside her, like they were sewn together.

And now… now she was standing on a roof, facing down a dragon the size of a two-story building who had just casually referred to her as Chainling.

What the actual fuck?

Chainling.

It echoed through her head like a incantation, sharp-edged and laced with something archaic. It made her skin prickle and her spine straighten like it meant more than just a nickname and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

“ Darling .” Xelaini spoke into her mind.

Maeve jerked, a breath catching in her throat.

“ Chainling is a compliment, especially from a dragon such as myself .” The voice wasn’t sound, it was thought, silk-swathed and amused, low as a storm cloud and entirely too familiar . “And the lovemaking was intense. You should feel satisfied… for at least an hour, perhaps.”

Maeve blinked. “Did, did she just…”

“ Eiran loves you, as you love him. Admit it to yourself and it will be easier. No rush, whatsoever, but I do hate this internal emotional turmoil, especially when it can be much simpler. Think more dragon Chainling, your life will improve tenfold.”

A low rumble vibrated in her mind like a satisfied purr, maybe a snigger Maeve couldn’t quite tell.

Then, with a grace that seemed impossible for her size, Xelaini knelt in front of them, great claws folded neatly, neck arched like a queen at court.

Her voice now came loud, crisp and commanding.

“Get on now, Little One and Chainling. I have something to show you, and I want her first flight to be before breakfast.”

Maeve’s mouth went dry.

First.

Fucking.

Flight.

Her gaze flicked to the saddle now revealed along Xelaini’s spine, ornate dark leather carved with ancient runes, but newly adjusting.

She looked at Eiran, who only grinned, one hand outstretched towards her.

“Saddle’s just a bit snug,” he murmured, and she felt the twist of his intention magic ripple through the air, reshaping it to fit her form.

“Wouldn’t want my mate flying without comfort. ”

Her stomach did a flip, and not just from nerves, Maeve took his hand, stepping up onto the dragon’s bent knee, and together they climbed into the saddle. Eiran settled behind her after strapping her in, with his arms a firm band around her waist and his chin brushing her shoulder.

“Ready, Chainling?” he whispered in her ear, voice a kiss of sound.

She turned to glare at him, half wild. “Absolutely not.”

Then Xelaini launched and the wind tore her scream from her lips, and her stomach plummeted as the rooftop fell away beneath them in a dizzying drop.

But fuck, the air, the speed, the power, every moment in flight was a kind of madness she hadn’t known she craved.

Maeve’s eyes watered, her heart pounded, her stomach threatened a mutiny, and still she laughed, because she was flying, actually fucking flying !

They had passed beyond Elanthir Keep in mere moments, and Maeve had barely caught her breath before the world opened up beneath her.

The landscape spilled out below them like something from a dream or one of those impossibly intricate maps found in ancient libraries.

All rolling hills and golden glades, deep sapphire lakes tucked between woodland, winding rivers that glimmered in the sunlight like threads of silver and trees the darkest greens to the lightest whites.

Maeve held tight to the front of the saddle as Xelaini dipped into a smooth swoop, wings tucked slightly, her tail cutting through the sparse clouds like a oar.

Maeve gasped as her stomach pitched, wind tearing through her hair, her heart hammering hard in her ribs.

Thank the fucking gods for straps.

She clutched the leather with white-knuckled intensity, her legs braced tight.

She wasn’t sure whether she was about to scream in terror or ecstasy.

Eiran’s hand slid over her thigh, steady and warm, his voice low and teasing against her ear.

“Breathe, love. She hasn’t dropped a rider in centuries. ”

“She better not,” Maeve hissed. “I’d like to live long enough to die of old age, or too many orgasms, not a fucking fall.”

His laugh was a rush of air at her neck. “You’ll die of pleasure first, I promise.”

She could hear the grin in his voice. They banked left, circling low over a sun-dappled glade that opened in the heart of a dense, ancient forest. The trees were tall, their canopies touched with purples and blue, and soft white flowers bloomed in tight circles along the mossy ground.

Eiran leaned in. “That’s the Ancient Grove. It’s where wood nymphs go to marry, old magic lives there. You can smell it in spring.”

Maeve turned her head slightly, catching the subtle floral scent carried on the breeze.

It was oddly sweet and sharp, like honey and crushed mint.

They passed over a lake so still it looked like glass, the reflection of the sky rippling as Xelaini’s shadow crossed it.

Eiran laughed again. “That’s the Landing Lake.

I was tackled into it by water sprites when I was about sixty. Thought I could outswim them.”

“And?” she asked, grinning.

“Let’s just say I didn’t make it to the other shore with my dignity intact.”

She burst into laughter, the sound stolen by the wind but no less joyful.

Her heart felt light, her cheeks sore from smiling.

Then Xelaini’s voice slid into their minds, a purring chuckle like velvet static.

“Little One, tell her about the time you and Branfil wandered into Whispering Valley and you tried to impress that snake with your ‘royal prowess.’”

Eiran groaned internally. “Traitorous beast.”

Maeve blinked, concentrating on her thoughts. “ Wait, a snake? What did you do?”

“He tried to teach it court etiquette, apparently,” Xelaini supplied smugly.

Maeve doubled over, choking on her laughter. “Oh gods, please tell me it hissed in perfect posture.”

Eiran muttered, “It bit me, actually.”

She wheezed. “Where?”

He grumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, which only made her laugh harder.

They flew like that for what felt like hours, but was only minutes.

Eiran pointing out towns nestled in valleys, old ruins half-swallowed by ivy, little pockets of glowing magic that twinkled beneath the trees.

He told her stories from his youth, sometimes solemn, sometimes outrageous, and Maeve listened like she was drinking sunlight.

Xelaini chimed in now and then with dry observations, tossing in details that made Eiran redden with embarrassment and Maeve clutch at her sides.

At one point, all three of them were laughing so hard Maeve had tears on her cheeks and no air in her lungs.

They landed on the outskirts of a small village nestled in a sloping valley, smoke curling gently from chimneys, the air rich with the smell of fresh bread and damp earth.

The buildings were built of stone and wood, sturdy and worn with time, but welcoming in their quiet way.

Maeve climbed down from the saddle, legs shaking a little, not just from the flight, but from the lingering high of it all.

Eiran was at her side in an instant, a pouch of silver in one hand and steadying her with the other at her waist.

“Still breathing?” he asked, grinning.

“Barely,” she grimaced. “I don’t know if I’m exhilarated or queasy.”

He brushed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Both is acceptable.”

The villagers noticed them almost immediately, heads turning and voices rising with delighted murmurs.

Eiran greeted several by name, pausing to ask after family members, passing silver coins and offering that warm, princely smile that made Maeve’s chest feel stupidly full.

She watched him with something like wonder.

He didn’t just help rule these people, he belonged to them.

It was in the way their faces lit up at the sight of him, the casual touches to his shoulder, the open affection in their eyes, and he returned it all with easy grace, like it was second nature.

They made their way to a small inn near the village centre, charming with window boxes of flowers and an old wooden sign swinging in the breeze.

The Old Hen.

Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of eggs, toasted bread, and strong, dark coffee.

They found a seat near the hearth, and Maeve didn’t bother hiding her delight when the innkeeper brought over plates of food, eggs fried in herbs, grilled mushrooms, little rounds of spiced sausage, and thick slices of buttered toast. She dove in with the kind of hunger only flying dragons and cosmic-level sex could stir up.

Eiran sipped his coffee and watched her with that maddening glint in his eyes.

“What?” she asked through a mouthful of egg.

“You’re beautiful when you’re ravenous.” He purred, his gaze lingering.

She snorted. “You should see me with a proper hangover. Real poetry.”

They lingered after breakfast, enjoying a second round of coffee as people came and went, offering smiles and greetings. More silver was passed and someone brought Eiran a small parcel, a herbal remedy for an elderly relative, and he tucked it away with a quiet promise to deliver it later.

When they finally stepped outside, the air was warmer but the breeze still cool against Maeve’s skin. Xelaini waited in a clearing just beyond the village, lounging in the grass like a sleeping cat, her great wings half-spread and eyes slitted in contentment.

“I ate,” she said in Maeve’s mind, a satisfied hum in her voice. “Three bucks and a very nasty boar. He tasted nice, though.”

Maeve laughed and said, “a productive morning, then.”

Eiran pulled her close before they climbed back into the saddle. His kiss was slow, unhurried and tongue teasing. Lips brushing hers like he was tasting the memory of earlier again. Her hands slid up into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, anchoring herself to him.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth .

Her breath caught, heart stuttering. “You said that already.”

Eiran just grinned, dimples and all.

“Hmm,” she hummed, kissing him again. “You’ll regret it if you start saying that too often.”

“Not a chance. Never, love.”

They mounted Xelaini again, Maeve sliding into the saddle with slightly more confidence this time.

Eiran’s arm wrapped around her waist as they lifted into the air, the village shrinking beneath them.

Having stopped to deliver the medicine, they returned to Elanthir Keep with the sun high and the shadows short, the towers loomed ahead, regal and stoic.

Home.

She couldn’t remember a time she thought of somewhere as a home, where people waited for her return.