Page 80 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

“ Mind your tilt, little ember. Your right wing’s dipping .” Xelaini chided.

“ I’m not dipping,” Jeipier huffed through their shared thread. “I’m scouting low. For wolves.”

“ There are no wolves in this airspace,” Xelaini said with amused disdain. “ And if there were, I doubt Maeve would need your protection ”

Maeve leaned forwards against the warm curve of Xelaini’s neck, her body cradled between the dragon’s shoulder blades, the wind kissing her skin beneath her clothes.

She had dressed with intention magic early in the flight, subtle layers of soft wool and linen, moss-green and black, wrapped tightly to ward off the cool rise in altitude.

“ He’s being sweet,” she sent gently, her mind brushing both dragons. “ Let him guard me, even from flying wolves.”

“ I will,” Jeipier said proudly, “ but I am also terribly fast and fearless. Probably the fastest and bravest dragon to have ever lived.”

“ Second-fastest,” Eiran added, lounging behind her on Xelaini’s back. “ And definitely second bravest.”

“ You’re just saying that because I didn’t eat your boots yesterday.” Xelaini laughed.

Maeve snorted aloud. “ You ate his boots Jei?”

“He tried.” Eiran said dryly. “ Took them from the stables, declared them a trophy.”

“ You should wear something more edible ,” Jeipier said, utterly unrepentant.

Xelaini’s deep laugh rippled through their minds like velvet. “ He has a point .”

“You’re all bloody traitors.” Eiran muttered, Maeve could feel the smile on his lips even through the wind.

The glide slowed and below them, the trees parted in a wide crescent, revealing a grove that pulsed with something more than beauty, something mystical.

The glade seemed untouched by time, the canopy shimmered with drops of water, though no rain had passed.

Wildflowers scattered across the grass like paint flung by the gods, glowing faintly in the soft, low light, and at the grove’s heart stood a tree.

An ancient sentinel of twisted roots and spiralled bark, its trunk as wide as a tower base.

Vines curled along its limbs like veins of metal, and high in its canopy bloomed fuchsia-edged leaves, each one reflecting the sky in shifting glimmers.

Its surface was riddled with symbols, sigils and runes that moved slowly, pulsing like breath.

Maeve exhaled, barely more than a whisper. “Is that…?”

Eiran leaned close behind her. “The oldest living tree in the Fae Lands. Some say it grew from the first seed ever planted by the gods. Others say it was the burial site of a celestial being, but no one denies what it became.”

“What?” she asked.

“A haven to magic and now, to us.”

They landed with soundless grace. Jeipier tucked in behind them, lowering his head to the ground. “It’s… beautiful.”

“And old,” Xelaini added. “ Mind your flame, little ember.”

The dragons moved off without prompting, padding into the glade, like panthers hunting prey. Maeve could hear Jeipier’s excited chuff as he leapt through a patch of drenched wild grass, and Xelaini’s quiet huff of indulgence.

As they drew near, a seam appeared in the bark, curved like an eye half-open, a faint glow emanated from within.

Eiran took her hand, warm and sure, together, they approached the tree.

He reached out, brushing the rune at its centre.

The door opened and it led to a staircase that wound around the trunk, carved directly into the living wood.

The further they descended the air changed, growing warmer, salted and charged with something Maeve had no word for.

She didn’t ask, just simply followed. The glow never flickered, steady in its warmth.

Around them, the tree’s inner walls were smooth but alive, runed and pulsing, like it carried the life force of the land itself.

At the final step, the tunnel opened, and Maeve gave a small cry of surprise.

It was a cove, tucked beneath the heart of the tree, cradled beneath its roots, the world opened wide into a secret shore.

Sand stretched soft underfoot, faintly warm from magic and the glow of a false sky overhead, one that mirrored the stars she’d known her whole life .

The Earth’s sky.

Familiar constellations blinked from above, stitched in light across an enchanted dome. Waves rolled gently in a shallow, glimmering sea that curved against the sand like a whisper, and the air, it smelled like citrus, salt and cooling sand.

Lisbon .

Eiran stepped beside her. “I couldn’t take you there, but I could bring it to you.”

Maeve turned slowly in place, her boots sinking into the sand, breath caught in her throat.

He watched her with soft eyes, waiting. Letting her take it in.

She stepped forwards, kneeling near the water’s edge.

The waves curled against the shore, scattering flecks of light where they kissed the sand.

It wasn’t real, not entirely, but it was close enough.

The air was warm, the salt clung to her skin, and the stars above…

they were hers. The sky she’d known for thirty-five years.

She looked up, heart full. “I missed this.” she said quietly. “I didn’t realise how much until just now.”

Eiran moved closer, kneeling beside her, and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “I know.”

They sat like that for a moment, the only sound the lapping of water and their joined breaths.

Then Eiran conjured something with a flick of his fingers, intention made tangible.

A blanket, soft and thick, unfurled itself onto the sand behind them, and from the folds of his jacket, he withdrew a flask and a single cup.

Maeve raised an eyebrow.

“Not fae-fire, just fairly strong wine,” he said simply, opening the bottle and pouring it into the cup with a small flourish.

He handed her the drink and dropped beside her, pulling her against his side. They passed the cup between them, sharing quiet sips. The warmth of the wine spread slowly, making Maeve’s limbs feel heavier, softer.

She laid herself back onto the blanket, head tilted towards the sky.

The stars above blinked, Orion, Cassiopeia and Ursa Major.

Familiar strangers now and her chest ached.

“My dad taught me every one of these,” she murmured.

“I used to find comfort in them. But now they look… far away. Like I don’t belong to them anymore. ”

Eiran didn’t answer with words. She just felt his warmth moving, a soft exhale and the slight rustle of magic.

When she opened one eye and turned her head, she laughed.

He lay beside her now, dressed in the same white cotton shirt and perfectly fitted blue jeans he’d worn the night they met.

The same sleeves pushed up his forearms, the same few buttons undone, with the exact rogue grin.

“You absolute romantic bastard.” She said, eyes wet from laughter.

He grinned wider. “Had to, for the continuity, love.”

She reached for the wine again, took another sip, and held the cup between them. He accepted it, and without breaking eye contact, she whispered a single intention, and the clothes vanished from her body and Eiran almost choked.

“You wicked little seductress.” He growled, righting himself.

She smiled slow and dangerous, completely unbothered, utterly bare in the glow of the enchanted cove. He propped himself on one elbow, drinking her in with a gaze that turned reverent.

“My wicked seductress,” he murmured, voice rough and full of wonder.

His fingers trailed from her belly to her ribs, then upward, unhurried.

When he reached her chin, he cupped it gently, lifting her face to his.

The kiss that followed was no sweet whisper, it was full possession and claim.

He tasted her like she belonged to no one else.

He moved, down her body, mouth, hands and teeth, exploring, teasing and worshipping.

Eiran moved in slow, aching increments, he would not rush this.

His lips left a trail from the base of her throat to the soft slope of her breast, pausing to pay respect with tongue and teeth, every motion designed to coax sound from her.

She gasped when he grazed her nipple, and his groan met hers, low and rough against her skin.

“You undo me,” he murmured, voice husky. “And you know it.”

Maeve arched beneath him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. “Wicked seductress.”

He kissed lower, across her ribs, over the curve of her hip. His hands gripped her thighs, firm but gentle, guiding her open.

“You wanted to seduce an innocent,” he said, voice thick with heat. “But you forgot, I was never innocent, certainly not with you. My mate.”

Maeve’s laugh caught in her throat as he dipped lower, and then she wasn’t laughing at all. His tongue flicked through her folds, slow and teasing, the first contact so feather-light she nearly sobbed the word, “mine.”

He hummed, pleased by her breathless tone, and did it again in long, lazy strokes, avoiding her clit with infuriating precision. He pulled back slightly, just enough to glance up at her flushed skin and trembling thighs.

“You don’t get to come that easily,” he said darkly. “Wicked, wicked thing.”

Her breath hitched. “You…”

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just above where she throbbed. “I’ll take my time.”

He returned to her with focused devotion, using lips, tongue, and fingers in concert. He built her slowly, deliberately, pulling her towards the edge only to back off with maddening control. Twice she whimpered, begging wordlessly, and twice he denied her.

By the third time, her nails dug into the blanket, her legs shaking. “Eiran, please.”

His voice, when it came, was rough and full of want. “That’s it, say it again.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, Eiran, let me.”

Only then did he give her everything, his mouth latched around her clit, sucking firm and sure as two fingers pressed deep inside her, curling into her.

She shattered in seconds, her climax slamming through her like a crashing wave, body arching, thighs clenching around his head.

He didn’t stop until she sagged into the sand, panting, eyes glazed, then he kissed her inner thigh, gently, and whispered, “My strong, ruthless mate.”

When he moved over her again, her fingers reached for him, undoing his shirt, tugging it down his arms, pressing her palms over his heart as she kissed his neck. He stripped out of his jeans in a blur of magic, groaning as her hands slid down his chest.

“I need you,” she said against his skin.

“I’m here,” he promised. “Always.”

He entered her in a slow but powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. They both stilled, locked in that breathless moment of being full, of being home. He didn’t move yet, he just stayed there, forehead pressed to hers, their breath mixing.

“You’re everything,” he whispered .

“So fucking cheesy!” Maeve replied.

“You knew that from the beginning.” Eiran said before he began to move.

Their bodies met in a rhythm that wasn’t fast, but deep, full and intimate.

He held her close, one hand tangled in her hair, the other anchoring her hip as they moved together beneath the stars of her old world.

She clutched him close, whispering his name over and over, until her voice cracked and her second climax overtook her, hot, shuddering and totally overwhelming.

She cried out and he followed, groaning her name into her shoulder as he spilled inside her, pulsing with the force of it.

They lay in a tangle afterward, limbs heavy, breath slowing.

He wrapped the blanket over them both, kissing her temple and lips.

Maeve, voice drowsy, whispered, “Romantic, cheesy bastard.”

He chuckled into her hair. “Oh, only for you, love.”