Page 68 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Fenric moved quietly, easing himself from the bed with a careful grace that betrayed his usual swagger.

He didn’t want to wake her. Not because he regretted the night before, fuck no, but because he knew how deeply Laren guarded her pride.

She’d spoken the words he’d waited centuries to hear, and he refused to let the morning twist that into awkwardness or regret.

As he reached for the door, her voice, soft and drowsy, caught him mid-step. “Where are you going?”

He froze, hand still on the latch. “Didn’t want you to wake up and feel… foolish or cornered. I thought I’d slip out and spare you the uncomfortable morning-after.”

Laren pushed up onto one elbow, hair tousled, eyes still hazy with sleep. “Fen, I’ve waited over a century to be ready. I love you, I’ve tortured you, and yet you still think of me.”

He turned back to her fully, and she crossed the room, placing her palm to his chest. “I think about you above all else,” he murmured, and bent to kiss her, lightly.

She leaned into it for a moment, then pulled back with a smile. “Where were you planning on going?”

“Rivakar’s restless. I thought we might go for a ride, clear my head before the city stirs.”

Laren tilted her head, already pulling on her boots. “Think we could try a hunt? I haven’t had real practice with my longbow in weeks.”

He grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

They left hand in hand, slipping through the quiet Keep like mischief, barely making a sound as they crept down to the stables where Rivakar waited, snorting softly as they approached. “ She is always welcome,” the Blightflare murmured in Fenric’s mind. “You’ve waited long enough.”

They saddled up, and Rivakar launched them into the pale blush of dawn. Moraveth sprawled beneath them in muted hues of stone and silver. They soared, diving, spinning and laughing into the wind, but as they flew towards the outer city, the wind changed, carrying smoke and panicked shouting.

Fenric stiffened in the saddle. “There’s trouble at the gates. ”

“Outer wall breach. Small force, Avelan colours.” Rivakar’s inner voice pulsed with urgency.

Fenric relayed the information to Laren, and she said, “Go!” while knocking her bow.

They dove towards the city that still slept beneath them, blissfully unaware, but at the eastern gate, chaos reigned.

A cluster of Avelan soldiers had breached the perimeter, overwhelming the posted guards.

Their formation was tight and disciplined.

It wasn’t a raid, it felt similar to a test, or perhaps the planned assassination attempt.

“Drop me on the wall,” Laren ordered. “I’ll pin them from above.”

Rivakar obeyed, and she dropped through the air, using magic to lessen the impact before crouching with utter grace. Fenric drew twin daggers etched with runes of impact, shadow and silence. “Don’t be a hero,” he called down.

“I’m not the one who thinks skin is sufficient armour!” she shot back.

He smiled, descending further, and then launched himself from Rivakar’s back, rolling to absorb the impact and disappearing into the haze of battle.

The clash was sharp and brutal. Steel clanged, magic flashed, pulses of air, water and fire and shimmering wards igniting in bursts of runes and intention magic.

Laren’s arrows found their marks with unerring precision, more runes flaring on contact.

Rivakar’s flame rolled over the enemy like a tidal wave of molten dusk, hitting and splitting wards.

“Behind you,” the dragon warned.

Fenric pivoted, catching a blade with one dagger and driving the other into the soldier’s throat.

He spun and rejoined Rivakar, who had circled low to block retreat.

In under ten minutes, it was over. A dozen Avelan bodies littered the grass, smoke curling from scorched armour and ruined weapons.

Laren jogged towards him, sweat-covered and radiant, her bow still in hand.

Before she could speak, wind thundered behind them and three dragons landed, Xelaini, Brontis, and Venleo flanking the devastation in a sudden rush of wings and presence. Eiran leapt down first, sword already in hand, eyes scanning the aftermath with a frantic edge.

“Are you all right?” he barked.

Fenric threw an arm around Laren’s shoulders. “Bit late, little Princeling. We handled it. ”

Soren and Calen landed beside Eiran, swords unsheathed, breathing hard. “You could’ve saved us some fun, shithead” Soren muttered, kicking one of the fallen.

Laren rolled her eyes. “You can still help clean up.”

Eiran turned to the approaching city guard, his voice calm but edged with command. “Remove and burn the bodies before the city wakes.”

He turned to the dragons. “Xelaini and Brontis, can you assist with the fire?”

Both rumbled agreement, smoke already curling from their jaws.

Calen looked to Venleo. “Ven, can you help Rivakar back to the stables? His wing’s torn.”

“Of course,” Venleo replied. “He fought well.”

As the guards scrambled to obey and the dragons moved into place, the others began a slow walk back to the keep.

“I don’t like this,” Fenric said. “It was too organised, too precise for a probe.”

“They were testing something,” Laren agreed. “Maybe the dragon response time.”

Calen snorted. “Well, they found it.”

Eiran was quiet, thoughtful. Beside him, Fenric squeezed Laren’s hand. “Next time, let’s skip the sunrise hunting and stick to bedsheets.”

She smirked. “Oh no, next time I’ll be bringing more arrows.”