Page 9 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

“No, to retrieve it , ” he said. “He didn’t want soldiers or fanfare, just a simple recovery. So he sent the prince with decent manners and allegedly calming energy.”

Maeve’s mouth curled. “And how exactly am I a link to the Fae Lands?”

Eiran winced, just slightly. “It must have sensed our bond, veiled as it was.”

“You don’t need to dance around it,” Maeve said, voice steady. “I want the truth, please.”

Eiran’s fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup, his expression turning quieter. “The truth is, we don’t know much, not really.”

Maeve raised a brow. “That’s reassuring.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s rare. One bond in every few generations, if that. Some fae go without ever hearing of one appearing in their lifetime. Even when it does, it’s not studied. It’s private and revered. Fae don’t question gifts from the gods, they accept them with humility.”

She looked unconvinced. “So the fae never thought to investigate?”

“We’ve tried,” he said. “But the bond doesn’t behave like other magic. It doesn’t follow rules, it doesn’t respond to spells, tests or logic. It simply... is.”

Maeve stared at him. “So, I’m magically married to a man who doesn’t know what the magic means. Fantastic!”

“That’s one way to put it,” he said softly.

“Another is, you’re bound to someone who would spend lifetimes trying to understand you.

Not to figure you out, not to solve you.

Just to… witness you. To learn the sh ape of your silences, the reasons behind your laughter.

To know how you take your coffee, and why you flinch when the wind sounds like footsteps.

If the gods tied us together, Maeve, it wasn’t for convenience.

It was for depth, and I intend to earn every inch of it. ”

Her heart was doing that traitorous thing again, unfurling.

She hated it, loved it and feared it. She wanted to run, but needed to stay.

Her eyes were wide, like she was trying to see through him, or make him disappear.

“I don’t know if I’d call this calming.” She breathed.

“I mean, fuck, Eiran. You can’t just say things like that.

You talk about lifetimes like that’s a normal amount of pressure. ”

She stood abruptly, needing motion, needing distance that didn’t help. “I’m not used to being... witnessed. It’s not a comforting thought and to be honest, it’s terrifying.”

“Is that so?” he asked, too smoothly.

His voice did that thing again, low, warm, threaded with something she wasn’t ready to name. The way he was looking at her now, eyes narrowed just a little, corners of his mouth twitching like he knew exactly what effect he was having, it didn’t help.

Maeve sat down again, too quickly, like her body had decided without her and she stared at him. “You’ve got suspiciously good hair for a stress delivery service.”

Eiran leaned back, eyes dancing. “And you’re handling this exceptionally well, considering your mate is this fucking handsome, and you’ve somehow found the fae realm’s most unpredictable magical artefact.

” He grinned at her eyeroll. “And you’re wearing it, casually.

Like it’s not usually locked in a vault guarded by wards and enchantments and, I don’t know, maybe a cursed beast or two. ”

“Don’t flatter me,” she said.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, soft.

The silence stretched between them and Maeve glanced down at the bracelet, the Chain. It pulsed again, not just responding, but as if it were trying to commune.

“It’s like it knows me,” she murmured. “Like it’s trying to speak. It hums, pulses, whispers. It feels, is that just magic.”

Eiran’s brow creased. “It’s never done that before. Not that I’ve heard anyway. It’s never even been worn, not by a living fae bearer.”

Maeve looked up, startled. “I’m not fae. ”

He met her gaze without flinching. “Not yet.”

A beat as her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Eiran’s voice was calm, almost serene. “Being fae is something you can become. Anyone who lives long enough in the Fae Lands begins to change. We’re a species that is the result of magic.”

She stared. “So that’s it? I step over a threshold and suddenly I’m not human anymore?”

“It’s not sudden,” he said gently. “But yes, eventually. The land awakens you, piece by piece. It’s not blood that defines fae, Maeve. It’s the magic that seeps into you.”

Maeve took a slow sip of her coffee. “Magic. How does it actually work?”

“It’s not like your stories,” Eiran said. “No hexes, no wands or Latin chants. In our realm, magic responds to intention, what you want, what you feel, what you believe, deep down. Runes and sigils can guide it, transform it, but most of it comes through the body, through will.”

Maeve tilted her head. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be,” he admitted. “That’s why the Chain matters. It helps focus power. We have schools, guides, structure, but some are born stronger, and some…” He met her eyes. “Some, like you, are unexpected.”

She blinked. “Because I’m human?”

Eiran nodded, slow. “I don’t think there’s ever been a bond like this. Not between fae and human. Maybe that’s why they’re so rare, we don’t mix often enough to find them.”

Maeve looked down at the bracelet again. The stones shimmered faintly in the dying light, like they were listening. “And... is this a good thing?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

Eiran hesitated, then, softly, like the truth had weight. “I think it’s the beginning of something we haven’t seen in a very long time, maybe not ever, love.”

?????

The sun had long since dipped behind the terracotta rooftops, casting the city in the kind of warmth that softened even the harshest edges.

The café stayed open late, and no one rushed them.

It had emptied slowly around them, tables clearing and candles flickering low.

A single string of lights buzzed overhead, lending the moment a kind of suspended intimacy .

“He said, ‘Smile, gorgeous,’” Maeve mimicked the oily tone perfectly.

Eiran leaned back in his chair, laughing, not polite and definitely not princely. Real, loud, undignified laughter that drew a few glances from passersby but he didn’t seem to care.

Maeve sipped her coffee, unimpressed. “Are you quite finished?”

He wiped at his eye, still grinning. “You told a London bus driver, very loudly, that if he wanted to flirt, he should try growing a neck first.”

“I was being generous,” she said, cool as anything. “I could’ve gone for his ears instead.”

“Well, I suppose he did catcall you while you were just trying to cross the road. Did you say anything else?”

“Hmm,” she nodded. “I asked if he was legally allowed to operate heavy machinery with so few brain cells.”

Eiran wheezed. “And then?”

“I stepped onto the bus like nothing had happened and complimented the woman behind me on her scarf. I believe that’s what we call a reset.”

Eiran leaned forwards, resting his arms on the table, still shaking his head. “Gods, you are absolutely terrifying.”

“I’m efficient,” she said. “And occasionally vindictive.”

He smiled, softer this time, but no less amused. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Thank you.”

The words came quiet, but stuck the landing with just enough weight to make them feel like more than filler.

Maeve tilted her head. “You should get out more.”

“Or just spend more time around you,” he said, watching her with that annoying level of eye contact.

She raised a brow. “Careful, that sounded dangerously like flirting.”

“Only if it’s working.” He said with a wink.

She held his gaze, took a slow sip of her coffee, and let the corner of her mouth tilt, barely. “Tragic for you, then. ”

He grinned wider. “Yes, very vindictive, but we’ll see.”

He leant in, “I’m very patient, Maeve. But when I decide to flirt properly, when I stop being polite, it won’t be something you can brush off.

” Eiran moved closer, voice velvet and dark.

“It’ll be something you feel in your spine…

your thighs, your core and in every breath that won’t come easy after.

You’ll remember exactly what I want to do to you.

.. and exactly how much you’ll want to take it. ”

Maeve felt it like a jolt, low and molten, his words curled down her neck and coiled deep in her stomach.

A throb lit in her, sharp and undeniable, her thighs clenching beneath the table like her body was answering a question her mouth hadn’t dared to ask.

Heat licked up her back, bloomed behind her ribs, too fast and far too welcome.

Her traitorous body ignited like it had been waiting for just that tone, that look, that promise.

Her stubborn streak stirred again, slow and sly, dragging its claws through her chest.

Oh, don’t let him win that easily.

So she smiled, sweet, sharp-edged. “Good luck with that, your Highness.”

Eiran’s eyes flicked to her mouth, and his eyes deepened into something darker. “Oh, I don’t need luck, love,” he said, voice low. “I just need time, and a very sturdy bed.”

?????

Maeve looked down at her plate, pushing around a rogue olive from the salad they’d ordered some hours ago.

They’d eaten slowly, talked without pause, talked about everything and nothing.

Her time at university, the long, grey ache of losing her parents in her early twenties, and so close together.

The loneliness of trying to be the best in a system that expected her to fail.

Her voice had warmed when she spoke about the Met, but there was still steel beneath it.

Eiran had heard it in the way she described her training, the constant push for more, for better, for perfection.

“You weren’t just good at your job,” he said, watching her. “You were it, the tip of the spear.”

Maeve offered him a tight smile. “Doesn’t matter anymore. They shelved me, pushed me into forced leave after the…” She trailed off, lips moving like they wanted to form words but couldn’t commit.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly.