Page 74 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

A ripple of fond laughter moved through the hall.

Eiran looked at her for a long moment, visibly moved, before turning back to the gathered guests.

“I am blessed beyond measure to be gifted a mate,” he said, voice low but clear, each word weighed and sure.

“I know this, and I will spend the rest of my life thanking the gods for that gift.”

He glanced at Maeve again, something fierce and fragile in his expression.

“She is the other half of my soul. I do not function without her. The bond we share will be recognised tomorrow, but tonight… tonight I will tell you this. It already lives in me, breathes in me… it rules me.” His hand tightened gently on hers.

“Maeve is my sun, my stars and every planet in me revolves around her. She is my waking thought, my sleeping breath, my joy, my hunger and my peace. She is the home I never thought I’d find.

She rules my heart, my mind, and my body and I will be her ever-faithful, ever-loving servant for all the days I draw breath.

I begin with her and I end with her. There was nothing before and there will be nothing after. Only her, always”

Maeve let out a soft breath, willing her voice to steady as she glanced towards Yendel, smiling.

“I was told by a very dear friend, that mate bonds are sacred and require the careful stitching of two souls. Not too much, not too little. That you must care for yourself as much as your mate, because your half, your wholeness, is their gift too.” She looked out at the gathered crowd, then back at Eiran.

“I was broken before I found him. Eiran has helped me heal, yes. But I’ve helped myself too.

I am stronger for his love, but I am happier because I’ve come to love myself again.

The bond makes me feel like he’s the most important part of my life.

But my love for him, what we’ve chosen, knows that he is. ”

Another pause followed Maeve’s words, then Soren rose to his feet, goblet in hand, his smile a little too bright to be entirely innocent.

“To Maeve and Eiran,” he said, raising his glass.

“To soul-stitched love, to healing and to firelight in dark places. To Maeve, for finding the one person who makes you willing to say things that would’ve made your past-self gag. ”

“And,” Calen added, casually lifting his own glass, “to Eiran, may he one day recover from the look Maeve just gave him when she imagined all the things she plans to do to him later.”

The hall erupted into more noisy shouting and clapping and Fenric knocked back his drink then muttered, “Gods, I’m drinking to that!”

“Ooh, and me,” Laren chimed in brightly, clinking glasses with the nearest hand. “Can we all get one of those looks? Just once?”

“Enough,” Hayvalaine said dryly, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “It’s a wedding, not a tavern contest.”

“Pity…” Laren pouted into her wine. “I was winning.”

Eiran and Maeve finally sat, plates before them, the laughter still echoing. Maeve smiled and leaned towards Laren. “Are you lot always like this?”

Laren snorted. “This is us behaving.”

Soren lifted his goblet again. “We’re glad you didn’t run, you know.”

Maeve blinked. “Run? You thought I almost did?”

“Well,” Soren said, shrugging with a grin, “you’ve got a habit of charging headlong into danger and panicking in palace corridors. It was a toss-up.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Maeve said, laughing. “You’re just mad I beat your record in wards last week.”

“She did,” Branfil confirmed, not looking up from his plate. “Two full seconds faster.”

Soren blinked. “This is a fucking ambush.”

“Welcome to being outclassed!” Eiran murmured.

Laren raised a brow. “A toast to Maeve, realm-shaker, ward-breaker, and the only woman who’s ever made Eiran visibly nervous.”

Eiran deadpanned, “I’m never nervous.”

“You were definitely sweating in Lisbon,” Maeve muttered, sipping her wine.

Fenric coughed loudly. “I need to hear about Lisbon. Was he tragically poetic? Did he quote fae rhyme and stare at the moon? ”

“Sounds more like you,” Soren said to Fenric, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Maeve said, eyes dancing. “He wore a tight white shirt and tried to smoulder at me.”

“I did smoulder,” Eiran objected. “You just obviously didn’t appreciate it.”

“Oh, that’s romantic,” Aeilanna added.

The group laughed, truly, deeply, and the tension that had quietly buzzed beneath the surface seemed to lift, if only for a little while.

Plates were passed, wine was poured, and the hall came alive with warm noise.

Branfil and Taelin resumed their debate over defence corridors.

Aeilanna leaned back against Nolenne’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded with wine and affection.

Laren fed Fenric something from her plate, and he bit her fingers in return and Calen and Soren nearly knocked over a wine jug trying to arm-wrestle across the table.

Hayvalaine swatted them both on the head with her napkin.

Amid it all, Maeve looked around the hall, at this strange, powerful, chaotic circle of people who had, somehow, become hers and felt as if she were home.