Page 58 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Every thrust was measured, controlled. He didn’t pound into her wildly, he claimed her deliberately, with the rhythm of a man who knew exactly how to unravel her.

Her cries echoed off the walls, the cold stone behind her a stark contrast to the heat building in every nerve.

“You’re mine,” he said again, biting at her throat, “and I will kill anyone who tries to take you from me.”

Maeve shattered once, hard, keening into his mouth and he didn’t stop.

“Again.” He grunted.

“I… I can’t, ”

“You can.”

She did as he kept her close, his arms firm, his breathing steady even as hers faltered. Then his voice came low again. “You’re mine. But I’m yours, too. Every brutal, broken part of me.”

His hand slipped between them, gripped her thigh, hitched her higher, withdrawing his cock, hard, hot, and already leaking, and rubbed against her slick entrance, dragging a desperate sound from them both.

He met her eyes, all fury and adoration, then he thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke.

Maeve cried out, her head slamming back against the wall, the sound echoing off the stone.

He filled her so completely, so suddenly, it stole the breath from her lungs.

He growled her name like a prayer and a curse, pulling back only to slam into her again.

The rhythm was relentless, every thrust driving her harder against the cold wall.

“Eiran… ”

Her nipples peaked from the chill and the friction of his chest against hers, her moans turning into sharp, helpless gasps. Eiran bent his head to her breast, teeth and tongue worshipping her there, sucking bruises into soft flesh. He rasped, voice wrecked. “I’ll never stop needing you. Never.”

She clenched around him, nails digging into his back, legs trembling from the sheer force of his possession. “Then take it,” she panted. “Fucking take all of me.”

He fucked her, trying to exorcise every ghost of his past. Every bit of doubt, every scream and every shadow. His hand gripped her throat, not choking, but holding, steadying, claiming, and wild. Maeve shattered, her climax crashing through her, and still he didn’t stop.

“Come again,” he growled, voice barely human. “I want to feel you fall apart again.”

She sobbed his name, coming undone with him still deep inside her, shaking, wrecked and radiant. Eiran came with a roar, hips slamming flush, filling her with a raw, helpless cry of devotion and fury all braided together.

After a time, they sat opposite each other in the bath again, both hot and chilled, steam rising between them. Eiran sagged forwards, his voice cracked like old wood. “I’m sorry. For shouting, for disappointing you.”

“I know and so am I,” she whispered.

The bathroom was quiet as they contemplated recent events. Maeve broke the tension with an exhale. “So, any females with the royals?”

Sorrow lingered in his eyes. “I think it is out of you, Nolenne or Aeilanna.”

Maeve sighed. “Aeilanna’s a threat to Vargen. Nolenne’s a threat to his propaganda. And me…”

“You have the fucking Chain, you’re more than a threat.” He met her eyes. “You’re the end.”

Maeve rubbed her eyes. “Shit. We need to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

She straightened. “Let me speak to Davmon.”

“Absolutely not, Maeve. I want you nowhere near that fucking dog.” Eiran’s head shook so hard it looked like it might rattle off his neck.

Maeve met his gaze, her voice gentle. “I’ve interrogated people too. The Met taught me a lot, you don’t need to hurt someone to make them break. You just have to know what scares them most.”

Eiran looked down into the water. “And what if he doesn’t scare?”

“Oh, they all scare,” she said quietly. “You just have to find the crack.”

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m not saying I’ll succeed,” Maeve added, steady. “But if you get nothing else, please. Let me try. Let me take a crack at him.”

Eiran nodded after a long pause, voice low. “Alright. If he’s still clinging to the same story, you’re in. I do trust you, I just don’t want him near you.”

She leaned back with another sigh. “Training with Nolenne and Soren was intense, but kind of fun. Flight drills were exhilarating, and I finally got a grip on my magic for more than five seconds without frying something.”

Eiran’s face lit up. “See? You’re already more impressive than half the royal bloodline.”

Maeve laughed. “Oh yes. Behold the great and mighty half-human who accidentally set her sleeve on fire while trying to cast a basic deflection ward.”

Eiran reached over and caught her foot under the water, fingers curling around her ankle. “You’re doing more than anyone expected, and you look incredible while doing it.”

She smirked. “Still thinking about the leathers?”

He gave a low, unapologetic hum of approval. “Absolutely. You wore them too well, made it almost impossible to concentrate.”

“Not sorry.”

?????

Even after the bath, Maeve felt it in her bones. The ache of training, the thrill of magic, the lingering high of flying with Jeipier and fucking Eiran. There was knocking at the main door and Eiran groaned in annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, not now.”

Maeve, laughing from the dressing room, waved him off. “Your kingdom. Your door.”

“Our realm. Our door.” He corrected, still damp, opening the door a crack.

Branfil stood there, holding a stack of scrolls and looking very much like he wished he were anywhere else. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to finalise the guest list for the binding ceremony,” Bran said flatly, eyes resolutely avoiding Eiran’s.

Eiran leaned his head against the doorframe. “Of course we do, come in.”

He walked back into the bedroom as Maeve passed him, now dressed in a soft green tunic and leggings that hugged her comfortably.

Branfil was already seating himself at the low table, parchment spread and he smiled as she joined him.

“Apologies again,” he said, handing her a scroll.

“But ceremony preparation waits for no one, not even two very recently bathed lovers. ”

“Don’t apologise.” Maeve snorted. “I’m learning nothing in this Keep waits.”

Branfil offered a faint smile. “You’ll meet the seamstress tomorrow, after magic training with Yendel. She’s old enough to remember Orilan’s coronation and twice as blunt. Move careful with that one.”

Maeve blinked at the scroll. “These are… all outfit pieces?”

“Yes,” Branfil said, folding his arms. “You’ll need a ceremonial gown, several formal options, and more battle attire tailored to your new fae form. We’re also including cloaks, and enchanted under… ”

Maeve held up a hand. “I’ve already heard about the warded knickers, thank you.”

“Essential item,” Eiran called from the other room. “You want your assets spell-proof.”

Branfil didn’t miss a beat. “Nothing more tragic than a cursed arse cheek.”

Maeve choked on a laugh, just as a knock sounded again and a servant entered with platters of food.

Roasted chicken, spiced vegetables, warm bread, fruit dessert, and cold drinks laid out with light conversation.

Aeilanna arrived just as the food was being arranged, her usual plaits windswept but posture relaxed.

She offered Maeve a knowing smile before settling near the fire.

Nolenne came in behind her, immediately stealing a piece of candied fig.

“I flew for hours today,” she said. “I’m eating the sweet first.”

Soren and Calen sauntered in mid-argument, something about who had better footwork, while Fenric trailed behind, already sipping something dark and clearly alcoholic.

Eiran emerged, finally dressed, and crossed to the table.

Maeve shifted easily into his lap, her back pressed to his chest, one arm curling around his.

It felt familiar, like all the sharp edges had softened just a little.

The room filled with voices and laughter. “So,” Calen said, snagging a slice of meat, “does Maeve get to pick the colour of her binding gown, or is it still determined by ancestral visions, moonlight and unicorn shit?”

“Royal tradition,” Branfil said, deadpan. “It’s based on her aura’s third harmonic.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Fenric cut in. “They just want to see how good she looks in gold. ”

“She looks good in everything,” Eiran murmured into her ear. “Especially nothing.”

The table erupted in laughter, Maeve elbowed him and slid off his lap with exaggerated dignity.

“Truly poetic,” Nolenne said, raising a glass. “You could be a bard.”

“He tried,” Calen said. “Once. For three days. It ended with a broken harp and a crying wood nymph.”

“Fuck off, Calen!” Eiran laughed.

Maeve laughed until her ribs ached. The banter flowed, jokes on jokes, jabs tossed like coins, more food disappearing by the minute. Eiran was warm beside her, his hand resting at her waist, argument forgotten and his body relaxing for the first time all day.

“Feels like the Cottage again,” she said instead. “Like we’re all just… here. Together. A little broken, very ridiculous, but somehow still whole.”

Eiran kissed her temple. “Oh, definitely ridiculous, love.”

Fenric raised his glass. “Speak for yourselves. I am elegance personified.”

Soren snorted. “You were so drunk last week you cried at the moon and told it you missed her.”

Fenric faltered, just for a breath, then lifted his chin. “I do. She’s bright, unreachable and probably never thinks of me at all.”