Page 87 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The war hall at Maelinar Ridge wasn’t built for comfort, but tonight it was full.

Long tables stretched the length of the chamber, lined with platters of roasted meat, thick bread, and sharp cheese.

Bottles of plum wine and dark ale were scattered like fallen weapons between maps and rune-carved tokens, the air smelled of food, sweat, and ale.

Maeve sat with Eiran on one side, Branfil across from them, the rest of the royal circle flanking down.

Soren, silent and grim, Aeilanna and Nolenne once again, whispering close at the far end.

Laren leaning back, legs spread, wine in hand, grinning like a fox who’d just mauled a chicken, Fenric gazing at her as if he were the chicken.

Beside him, Taelin sipped dark liquor and pretended he wasn’t listening.

Jeipier was curled outside the barracks wall, breathing faintly through the bond, a warm presence against the chill rising in Maeve’s bones.

Orilan stood at the head of the table, cloaked in black and slate-grey leathers, one hand resting on the corner of a projected map rune that flickered in the firelight.

They were reviewing the final strategy, and drinking, a lot.

Maeve frowned as Fenric poured himself another heavy splash of wine, then, very theatrically, refilled Laren’s with a wink and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry.” Maeve said, voice dry, “Are we celebrating or preparing to die?”

“Both,” Fenric said brightly.

Laren chimed in, raising her glass. “To death!”

“You’re all fucking mad,” Maeve muttered.

“It is customary, Princess Maeve,” Fenric said, dragging his hair over one shoulder like he was preparing to be crowned or executed. “We drink before battle.”

Maeve raised a brow. “And what’s the sacred logic behind this tradition?”

Fenric held up his goblet. “Because if I’m going to die horribly tomorrow, I’d like to go down with something warm on my tongue and a beautiful woman on my lap.”

Laren snorted. “You already got one of those midair, didn’t you? ”

Maeve blinked. “Wait you actually had sky sex, the dragons weren’t joking?”

“She insisted,” Fenric said proudly, pointing at Laren. “On a fucking dragon, mid-flight.”

“She must have been bored,” Branfil deadpanned.

“Hmmm, I was efficient,” Laren said. “Two birds, one cock.”

Eiran choked on his wine, Taelin winced, and Maeve cackled. “That’s the title of your memoir, surely.”

Orilan didn’t look up from the map. “Some of my best fighting,” he said dryly, “was done with a hangover.”

“You fought the entire Siege of Merroth on plum wine and arrogance,” Taelin muttered.

“I won the Siege of Merroth on plum wine and arrogance,” Orilan corrected.

Ghaul gave a short laugh. “Sounds familiar. Like when we held the pass at Eldrisil.”

Further down the table, Veralis spoke without raising his voice, though it carried just the same. “Taelin won more than a battle that day. He won my favour, finally getting his girl.”

Taelin, mid-sip went still, struck by the memory, a slow smile creeping uninvited across his face.

Orilan leaned back, smirking. “Yes, well. That was certainly a love match. Couldn’t keep their bloody hands off each other.”

Veralis nodded, serene. “Hmm, love-struck. Young and so very… passionate.”

Rinya leaned forwards with an exaggerated grin. “Oh, please say more.”

“I was the architect of their rendezvous,” Ghaul announced proudly. “Coordinated half their sordid little meetings. Covered for him so often I should’ve been listed on the marriage contract.”

“Sordid!” Fenric exclaimed.

Orilan gave Veralis a sidelong glance. “That’s when you and I didn’t quite see eye to eye. ”

Veralis arched a brow. “No, but we share grandchildren now, and Taelin and Hayvalaine… they’ve stood the test of time. Even if they were both pains in the arse at the beginning.”

From further down the table, the Edhenvale prince, Thalen, leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Oh, please go on. How did the most venerated Taelin of Melrathen fuck up?”

Fenric was practically glowing, wide-eyed and grinning. “I can't believe it, my father was an unruly youth.”

Taelin gave him a look. “If we’re going to rake over my past, I might as well tell it properly.” He turned to Ghaul, comically accusing. “Since certain people can’t keep their stories to themselves.”

“I regret nothing.” Ghaul said cheerfully.

Taelin glanced around the table, tone shifting into something gentler. “Hayvalaine and I were… very much in love. She was clever, funny, and so, so beautiful. Still is now, even more so actually.”

The table fell quiet for a moment.

“She’s given me over four hundred years of her life,” he went on. “Six children, almost seven. But back then, we couldn’t bear to be apart. We planned to elope to Armathen.”

General Kareth Stonebind rumbled a dry laugh from his seat. “Aye. He came to me, red-faced and wild-eyed. Begged like a boy caught in the pantry.”

Taelin shook his head, smiling, and turned to his father. “But we didn’t need to run. He understood, knew I needed to be with her. Needed to… be hers.”

That earned groans and laughter around the fire, Rinya almost snorted wine through her nose. Maeve, sitting quietly beside Eiran, watched Taelin in a way she never had before, utterly free and light with feeling. He didn’t speak like a commander now, but like a man in love, and still deeply in it.

Veralis’ voice was warm now. “It all worked out in the end.”

Ghaul raised his cup. “All thanks to me.”

“Here he goes.” Taelin muttered.

“I’m owed, frankly,” Ghaul said. “Between the excuses I made and the patrols I rearranged, they should’ve named a child after me. ”

“They still might,” Fenric said brightly. “The next one’s not here yet. Ghaul Junior?”

Taelin recoiled, pointing to Ghaul. “We will not.”

“Ghaulor?” Laren suggested helpfully.

“Ghaulien,” Fenric said, grinning.

Ghaul deadpanned. “May your blades all rust.”

Taelin raised his cup, eyes dancing. “To every fool who helped us.”

“Mostly me,” Ghaul muttered.

Soren finally snorted, but beneath the laughter, the weight of what came before and next sat heavy. It was also etched in every other tensed jaw, the glint of sharpened weapons stacked near the door, and the quiet glances towards the healer’s hall where Calen slept, still unconscious.

They would fight at dawn, and no one intended to come back with the matter unfinished.

General Kareth leant forwards, elbows braced on the table. “As charming as all this is, some of us still have a war to plan. My scouts say Avelan’s legions are still split by their own supply wagons. If we strike before first light, we catch the second wake in their cots.”

“Or hungover,” Fenric said. “Which I deeply respect.”

“Minimal casualties if we’re quick,” Elenwe said from further down the table. “Our illusion casters are preparing a shadow veil. The thunder flies under cover until the last moment.”

“We still have the edge,” Branfil added. “Their relay and regional transport network is crippled. They’re deaf east of the stone hills, they don’t know we’ll be there.”

Rinya leaned back. “I’ll have my tide-riders loop from the riverside. Cause some chaos on the flanks, maybe set a few tents on fire for good luck.”

“You’re volunteering for the loud and messy job?” Maeve asked.

“Always,” Rinya said. “The prettier jobs are taken by the… males.”

“Xelaini will take point on the hammer,” Eiran added. “The thunder will fall behind her.”

Aeilanna tapped her knuckles on the table. “And Solirra and Hervour will lead the side strikes, we’re already synced. ”

Orilan nodded once. “Dawn strike. Three wings. Silent until it isn’t. We crush the outer lines, trap the core. There will be no way out.”

Maeve stared at the flickering projection, golden runes forming into sweeping paths of attack, one was already marked . Orilan’s gaze swept the room. “You’ve all done what you were brought here to do. The snakes have been scattered, now we must stomp the nest.”

There were nods, some solemn, some sharp and Fenric raised his goblet again. “To Calen, and all the bastards who’ll pay for his blood.”

Soren lifted his mug, eyes burning. “To making them choke on it.”

They all drank, and the wine burned down Maeve’s throat as she set the cup down, hand trembling slightly.

Eiran leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Talk to me love.”

She didn’t look at him. Just kept watching the map. “I’ve killed before,” she murmured. “At the prison, the southern gate, the other skirmishes. But this... this is different.”

He waited.

“It’s not desperation,” she continued. “It’s premeditated. We’re planning who to kill and where to make the bodies fall. And I get it, I do . But it feels too clean, too much like playing God.”

Eiran reached beneath the table and took her hand, lacing their fingers together, always trying to ground her.

“And it feels like a goodbye,” Maeve whispered. “I don’t want it to, but it does.”

His voice was low and rough. “It’s not.”

“Eiran, you don’t know that.” One tear trailing down her cheek.

“No, but I believe it and that has to be enough right now.”

She finally looked at him. “Promise me,” she said. “Promise me you’ll choose us. Every time.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “Always, love.”

?????

Their room was small with stone walls, a lantern of faelight, a trunk and a bed barely wide enough for two bodies. Maeve lay tangled with Eiran, his arm heavy over her hip, his breath steady against her neck, but her heart was a drumbeat in her throat .

She turned towards him. “I can’t sleep.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Stay awake with me.”

He kissed her, slow and deep, like a promise wrapped in want. Her hands exploring the lines of his ribs, the warm press of his chest.

“I want to remember this,” she whispered.

“You will,” he said, his voice already fraying. “How could anyone forget me?”

His hand slid along her, cupping her breast, thumb brushing her nipple until she gasped. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, the curve of her ribs, murmuring against her skin.

“My mate,” he growled. “You feel like warmth and home all at once.”

She arched into him, her hand gripping his hard cock.

“Oh, you cruel, vicious seductress.” He retorted with a kiss to her neck. “A temptress, in fact!”

“I need you,” she breathed. “All of you.”

He slid down her body with reverent hunger, licking slowly between her thighs until she was shaking under his mouth.

He teased her, worshipped her with filthy, focused devotion until she begged.

Then he moved up her body, his cock rigid and slightly leaking against her thigh, and entered her in a deep, slow thrust.

Maeve gasped, as her legs wrapped around him. They moved together like an ache they’d never get enough of.

“I love you,” he whispered into her mouth.

“I love you,” she moaned. “Just don’t stop.”

He fucked her like a man who had everything to lose, and when they came, it was with each other’s names, breathless and wrecked.

Afterwards, still tangled and trembling, she kissed his jaw. “Say it again,” she whispered.

He kissed her temple. “It’s not a goodbye,” he said. “It’s a beginning, I promise.”