Page 48 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Eiran clenched his jaw. “Fuck… just do it now, p-please.”

Cira stepped to the bed, holding the stone with the velvet, above Maeve’s brow. “Hold her,” she said softly. “She’ll need you, Eiran.”

Cira took a steadying breathe before pressing the stone to Maeve’s forehead murmuring something old and unknown.

The reaction was instant, Maeve’s back bowed violently, her body arching off the bed as if struck by lightning.

A sound tore from her throat, a wail that was raw and shattering.

It was the sound of something being burned away and Eiran flinched as though he had been struck, tightening his grip around her as she thrashed in his arms.

“STOP!” he bellowed, the sound hoarse and breaking and he lunged forwards, reaching for the stone, for Cira, for anything to end it.

Soren slammed into Eiran from the side, arms locking around him in a brutal hold.

Eiran fought like a wild creature, teeth bared, every instinct in him screaming to protect her.

“She’ll live,” Soren growled in his ear, muscles straining as Eiran bucked in his grip.

“If you want her to live, let her scream.”

Maeve convulsed again, her body jerking.

Her nails dug into his forearm, her eyes blown and sightless, mouth open in a now silent cry.

The Chain around her wrist pulsed violently, its light sparking like fire caught in a storm.

Eiran roared, thrashing, wild with helpless fury, his magic flared unchecked, rattling the bottles and vials on the wall, cracking a lantern overhead.

His mate bond straining, urging him to fight and protect her.

“Eiran!” Taelin barked. “Control yourself or you’ll kill all of us, you stupid bastard!”

Maeve shuddered violently again, her jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.

Each breath rasped wetly, blood frothing at her mouth and spilling down to meet the crimson tide pouring from the open wound in her chest where flesh split, and pulsed with every beat of her failing heart.

Her hand reached for something, anything and Eiran broke free just enough to take it. “I’m here, love.”

Blood though slowing, still ran in rivers down the table. The sword still jutted from her chest glowed violet, showing a cruel, gleaming truth.

Death, certain death .

Maeve’s body shook again and again beneath the stone, her teeth ground together as another wave of pain cracked through her chest. Her eyes bulged, locking eyes with Eiran, as if urging him to help her, to save her from the agony.

Eiran clutched her hand tighter, knuckles white, kissing the skin on the back of her hand. “I’m here, love. Don’t leave.”

Cira leaned closer, eyes narrowed, voice cutting through the panic. “Taelin. Now.”

He hesitated only a second, then he stepped forwards, face pale, jaw clenched and nodded, raising both hands above the wound.

“Gods, please guide me,” he murmured under his breath, an old invocation, runes on his ring flashed. “Not to strike, but to free.”

Then he gritted his teeth and began the removal and the room held its breath.

His magic, pure and sharp, shimmered at his fingertips.

He didn’t pull the sword, instead, it slid free in perfect silent accuracy, clattering to the floor.

A blinding flash of gold-white magic erupted outward from the Chain, swallowing the room in radiant force.

The air cracked with soundless pressure, and everyone staggered back, struck by an invisible wave.

Shields went up instinctively, arms raised, magic flared, anything to protect against the searing brilliance that spilled like a sun igniting indoors.

Runes burst into life, hundreds of them, glowing sigils in foreign scripts, spiralling from the Chain in swarms of molten gold.

They moved with purpose, orbiting Maeve’s body in perfect, pulsing patterns.

Some spun faster, some slower, all drawn to her like planets pulled to gravity.

The temperature dropped sharply as light and magic collided in the air, sucking heat from the room even as power surged.

Maeve’s body rose a few inches off the bed, suspended in a cocoon of swirling light.

Her hair floated weightless around her face, lips parted and skin glowing faintly from within.

The Chain had come alive, no longer just a metal artefact.

It was spellwork made flesh, intent, legacy and fury forged into form and at its centre, Maeve did not scream, she just burned.

Then a primal sound came, like a low chime, deep not magical, the light faded and then the room was still.

Maeve lay flat on the healer’s table, her clothes were torn and soaked, beneath them her skin was slick with blood but whole, healed and unbroken.

The wound was gone, no gash, no bruising, just a faint raised line where the blade had pierced her only minutes ago.

Her breathing was now steady, slow and calm.

Eiran blinked in disbelief, one hand drifting to her cheek, warm and alive.

She was alive .

Soren took an instinctive step back, glancing from Maeve to the Chain, which again glowed with its now customary soft, golden light. “That’s not natural,” Soren murmured. “That’s not just magic.”

Cira stared, silent for once, then she gave a soft, distracted hum, as if trying to remember something long forgotten. “That should have killed her,” she said finally. “The blade, the trauma, the painstone, all of it. It was a rash decision, a final reach.”

Taelin breathing hard, his hands were trembling, not from exhaustion, but concern. “You risked her further on a bloody gamble?”

“There was no other option. It just felt as if I had to, something told me to. I don’t know Taelin… I just had to try… I had to.” Cira answered looking nervous, her bloodied hands clasped at her waist.

There was a long moment of thought and finally Taelin whispered, still staring at Maeve. “Thank you Cira, forgive me.”

He then slowly, dropped to one knee beside the healer’s bed.

“I swear the fealty of my lands, my crown and myself to her,” he said, voice rough, gaze still locked on Maeve’s face.

“As witness to this moment, the Gods can attest. As proof of what she is, as proof of what she will be. I will protect her at all costs and all those who protect her, fight alongside her, are my sworn-bound. I am charged to burn and to shield and I shall.”

More shocked silence followed and no one moved. Eiran stared at him, stunned but something in him knew this was right. That Maeve wasn’t just the centre of his world anymore, she was now something far more.

Soren, Branfil and Cira knelt together uttering, “To burn and to shield, sworn-bound.”

Cira slowly stood and carefully lifted the painstone from Maeve’s forehead, her touch soft.

The runes were now dim, its glow fading to almost nothing.

She cupped it in her palm a moment, then passed it to Eiran without a word and he looked at it, frowning.

“You should have it set in a ring,” she said softly.

“It’s tradition for the healed one’s most treasured to wear it.

To honour outwardly, the stone that saved them.

It’s symbolic, of survival, of devotion and of defying death. ”

Eiran’s throat worked as he swallowed, staring at the small stone now dull in his hand. “She’ll laugh at that drama of it,” he murmured. “But I’ll explain it to her.”

???? ?

Taelin had left a few minutes ago, striding from the room to inform the King and Soren and Branfil had followed, their expressions withdrawn, already preparing the keep for their incoming prisoner.

Eiran remained, he hadn’t moved from Maeve’s side. His clothes were still soaked with her blood as he sat beside the healer’s bed in silence, head bowed, murmuring thanks to the gods and the magic.

Cira emptied vials into a bowl of warm water and brought it over to the bed and carefully, he dipped a cloth in mixture and cleaned the blood from her neck and face, each pass tender, his fingers trembling as he worked, as if each stroke might bring her back a little more.

The chaos had passed, but inside him, everything still screamed.

He had carried her here in his arms. Had thought she was dying, he had felt her slipping through his fingers and Eiran dropped the cloth in the bowl and sat back, running a hand down his face, trying to gather himself.

“You know,” Maeve rasped, “I can’t seem to wake up without you being the first fucking thing I see.”

His head snapped up. Maeve’s eyes were heavy-lidded and watery, but scanning his face. Her lips tugged into a crooked smile. Eiran let out a whoosh of air, leaning over her, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “Love...”

“Did we win?” she interrupted.

“You didn’t die,” he said thickly. “So yes, I think that counts, my darling girl.”

She groaned softly, fingers curling weakly around his. “What happened? Last thing I remember, pain. So much sodding pain, then shouting. Then… Jeipier?”

He laughed again, breathless this time. “Yeah. Jeipier nearly tore a male in half, and Xelaini looked disappointed she didn’t get to do it herself. They’re both safe and on their way with him.”

Maeve blinked slowly, her gaze drifting towards the ceiling. “Remind me to give them a steak each.”

“You can give them the whole fucking herd,” Eiran said. “You scared the shit out of me, out of all of us.”

Her eyes found his again, softer now. “You stayed… again.”

He nodded. “Always. ”

She reached for him weakly, fingers brushing his chest. Her eyes were already fluttering shut, exhaustion dragging her under. “Tell me the rest later, Eiran,” she murmured.

“I will,” he promised. “Sleep now, love. Just sleep.”

As her breathing evened out again, Eiran looked down at the painstone in his hand.

The one that had saved her, the one that would never glow again.

He turned it slowly between his fingers.

Maeve’s chest rose and fell in slow and steady breaths, peaceful.

The blood on her chest was drying now, Cira had said the wound that should have killed her was gone, like it had never existed.

Eiran stared at the rhythm of her breath and his shoulders began to shake.

Silent at first, just a tremble, just a breath, but then it hit,

A tide too vast to bear.

He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to the back of her hand, desperate to feel her skin.

To prove she was still there. Still warm, still breathing.

He tried to hold it in, but the dam cracked, it broke as he broke and a sob tore from his throat, sharp and brutal.

Then another, and another. Each one louder, rougher and ragged than the one before.

They seemed to be pulled from the depths of a soul that had been stretched far too thin.

Cira turned her back and left the room without a word, respectfully silent and no one else saw.

No one witnessed Eiran crying for everything that could’ve been lost. He gasped for breath between sobs, but it wouldn’t come right.

His chest hitched, his mouth opened, but no words formed, just sound, just pain.

The kind only grief, love and helpless, blistering relief can make.

His spine curled inward, curving him over her hand like he could shield her even now.

His armour cracked, not the prince, not the mate, but the male beneath it.

The boy who had feared losing the one thing he’d dared to love.

Tears soaked her wrist, hot and constant, his hands trembled around hers. “I thought I’d lost you,” he choked, voice raw. “Fuck, Maeve. I thought you.. you w-were gone… I didn’t know h-how to breathe. I didn’t…”

He broke again, words drowning in another sob.

He gripped her hand tighter, like he could anchor himself with it.

All the power he held, all the magic, the name, the title, none of it had mattered in that moment.

He would have traded every crown, every realm, every drop of his blood just to see his mate’s chest rise again.

Now it did, and still he wept. The cries poured out, unrelenting.

A terrible, aching crescendo until there was no silence or restraint left.

The vulnerability of memories .

The weeping slowed, not because the grief had lessened, but because it had been spent, wrung out in full. Leaving only the hollow echo of what might have been lost. Maeve stirred faintly, her fingers twitched in his, she was alive and that was enough.