Page 14 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

Early-morning light filtered through the windowpane, drawing Callan from his sleep.

Confusion struck as he glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

He flinched at a quiet stirring beside him and found Nova nuzzling her cheek against the pillow, her face innocent and untroubled as she slept, her soft lips parted slightly.

Callan rose from the bed as quickly as he could manage without waking her.

He had intended to leave her chamber once she fell asleep, but he’d drifted off as well.

His thoughts returned to the night before.

After bidding Nova good night, he had first paced along the far wall of his chamber before forcing himself to sit beside the fire.

He sank into the armchair and stared into the low, lapping flames.

The sound Nova made when he touched her face in the hallway outside her room had bewitched him.

He’d wanted to cover her mouth with his and drink in that gasp.

To taste it on his tongue and swallow it down, keeping it for himself.

He’d grown hard at the mere thought of it.

It was unusual. True, he was no stranger to female company.

But it had been many years since he’d lain with anyone, and he’d never desired anything beyond a single encounter.

Before long, his eyes had fallen shut, but not to sleep.

Callan’s hand drifted from the arm of the chair to the swell in his lap, growing evidence of his attraction to a female he barely knew.

He imagined her in his chamber with him.

Hair unbound and cheeks pink. Those long legs, her thighs, supple and strong, straddling his own.

But most of all, he imagined that sweet, soft sound escaping from her mouth.

He’d gripped himself through his breeches, hissing a breath between his teeth, desperate to relieve the pressure.

Nova’s scream had ripped him from the fantasy, the sound slicing through him like an icy blade.

The air in her chamber was thick with the scent of her terror when he threw open the door and raced to her side.

Still, he hadn’t expected her to wrap her arms around him, clinging to him as if his embrace was all that kept her from shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

Gods help him, he enjoyed it.

Nova’s breath had slowed as he stroked her hair, the scent of her fear gradually dissipating.

It was then that he detected it: the scent of her desire.

It was the same fragrance he already associated with her but highly concentrated, sweet and smoky, unique to her.

It lingered in the corners of the room, faint but potent.

His chest had tightened with the foolish hope that he was the object of her desire.

But he’d lived with Evander for decades.

He’d seen time and again how females responded to his cousin’s playful charm and ready smile.

Surely, Nova had missed Evander at dinner and had been thinking of him as she lay in bed.

Callan left Nova sleeping and crept out of the room, returning to his own chamber. Raking a hand through his hair, he threw himself down on his bed, sprawling out on the cold, rumpled sheets.

What had come over him? While Evander’s delivery had been harsh, Callan could admit his cousin was right.

His responsibility for Nova ended once he delivered her to the Pyralis Estate.

He had told himself he would stay away. He’d spent the past week intentionally keeping as far away from her as possible, a feat requiring no small measure of effort and restraint on his part.

Then he’d gone and touched her—several times in the span of a few hours.

The slightest touch was all it took to set his heart racing, awakening something within him that had lain dormant for longer than he even remembered.

Like a fool, he’d offered to train her, an activity that would bring them together as often as she wished it.

Callan ran a hand over his jaw and chuckled humorlessly at his apparent newfound affinity for torture.

Nothing would ever come of it, he knew. But he couldn’t deny that it felt right somehow. The two of them. Together.

Callan dragged himself from his bed and into the bathing chamber to make himself presentable before breakfast, welcoming the icy water as it rained down upon his heated body.

“And where have you been?” Evander asked when Callan entered the dining room a short time later, clapping him on the back as Callan took a seat at the table. It was as if their conversation the week prior had never happened. But Callan was too clever to believe his cousin had forgotten.

“Keeping busy on the training field, mostly.”

“Training for anything in particular?” Evander arched an eyebrow.

“A true warrior ensures his blade is always sharp,” Callan replied, a veiled taunt. Though Evander was a gifted bowman, he had come by the skill naturally and rarely bothered to train.

Evander held Callan’s gaze for a beat; the jab had not gone unnoticed.

“Perhaps training is wise. There was an attack in Tundara. An entire patrol squad disappeared leaving no trace.”

“How many taken?” Callan asked, his grip tightening around the end of his butter knife.

“Twenty or so. Lady Samira’s elite guard followed the trail to the foot of the Gray Mountains, but the tracks ended there.”

“Have you spoken with your parents?”

The Lord and Lady were guests in the Summer Court, which bordered Pyralis to the west.

“Yes. That’s what kept me yesterday. Apologies I wasn’t around to entertain you,” Evander said, pouring himself a steaming cup of tea. “I’ll have more time for diversions after the celebration.”

“I managed to entertain myself, cousin. Nova allowed me to give her a tour of the Estate,” Callan said, avoiding further conversation by making quick work of wolfing down all the food piled on his plate.

“How interesting. And where is our lovely guest this morning? Ah, there she is, looking good enough to eat. Is that a new dress, Nova?” Evander rose from his seat as Nova descended the staircase. “You look exquisite.”

Evander intercepted her at the foot of the stairs and grasped her hand, once again pressing his lips to her knuckles. Callan drank in the stunning sight of Nova in a flowing gown of pale lilac. Her hair was gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck, a few strands hanging loose around her face.

“Charming as always, Evander,” Nova said, her tone neutral as she removed her hand from his. “Fawn was kind enough to bring me to the seamstress.”

She breezed past him and filled her plate with food, eventually settling into the empty chair next to Callan.

“Speaking of Fawn, has anyone seen my sister?” Evander asked, taking his seat again.

Fawn burst into the room just then, as if on cue.

“Good morning, everyone!” She flung herself down into the chair at the head of the table.

“How was your visit with ...” Evander snapped his fingers in the air, a sausage speared on the tines of his fork.

“Josef.”

“Yes, Josef.”

“Quite enjoyable,” Fawn huffed, her tone betraying her annoyance.

“Fawn has a suitor,” Callan whispered to Nova.

“He still hasn’t proposed,” Fawn said, waving her hand in the air as she slumped further down in her seat.

“Perhaps he’s waiting for the right moment,” Evander suggested between bites of egg. “The upcoming celebration would be a grand event for announcing an engagement.”

Fawn sat up at once, as if the thought had never occurred to her.

“Nova, you must come to the seamstress with me after breakfast. I suddenly feel as though I need an even fancier gown for Hayer,” Fawn said excitedly, begging Nova with her big brown eyes.

“I can’t,” Nova said, her tone not quite apologetic. “I hoped to join Callan on the training field today.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” Evander scoffed. “A dirt pit is hardly a suitable place for someone as lovely as you.”

“I want to learn to fight,” she said. “Callan offered to teach me, and I accepted.” Callan’s spine straightened as she turned to face him. “If you’re free.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

“But what about my gown?” Fawn whined.

“Honestly, Fawn. You have much better taste than I do. I wouldn’t even be any help,” Nova said.

“Very well.” Fawn rose from the table and climbed the stairs, pausing to call Nova a deserter before disappearing into the hallway above.

Nova passed beneath the archway leading to the training field, a wide expanse of dirt and yellowing grass rolled out under an open sky.

She wore the black breeches and loose-fitting shirt she’d commissioned from the seamstress.

The brown leather riding boots she wore the night she crossed the Boundary were free of mud, but three drops of blood marred the toe of the left one.

Her dagger hung at her waist, held in place with a braided leather cord fashioned into a belt.

Nova threw her shoulders back, her thick braid swishing back and forth as she strode across the grass. She turned the corner around a wooden equipment rack but stopped short, shrinking behind it when she spied Callan already on the field.

He slashed and struck at an invisible opponent, his movements flowing as elegantly as a dancer’s, contrasting sharply with the hard lines of his tall frame.

His long, muscular torso was visible through his shirt, which stuck to the sweat gathering along his spine.

Nova spied faint black lines beneath the thin fabric, evidence of more markings on his back.

Her mind sprinted with imaginings of what they might be.

Half up and gathered with a leather cord at the back of his head, some of his hair had come loose toward the front, the dark strands clinging to his forehead.

Callan was different on the training field.

She had only seen him quiet and reserved, spine straight with hands clasped behind his back.

She was uncertain what to make of this Callan —wild and unrestrained, grunting with the force of his strikes.

Nova drew her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, tracking his movements like a huntress concealed behind a blind.

Disappointment washed over her when he completed the sequence and stood under the autumn sun, chest heaving as he swiped a shirtsleeve across his brow.

“What a fetching ensemble.” Evander’s teasing voice came from behind her, and she spun to face him. Though he’d changed from his fine clothing into more casual attire, he still wore his signature smirk. He carried a fine redwood bow in his hand and a quiver full of arrows at his back.

“It hardly seems practical to train in a gown and silk slippers,” Nova replied, praying her cheeks didn’t look half as flushed as they felt.

“Now that I’d like to see,” Evander drawled, stepping in closer. “Honestly, why would you bother to train out here in the dirt when you’ve got me to protect you?”

He glanced away, spotting Callan on the field over her shoulder.

“Hello, cousin,” he called out, waving Callan over. “What were you doing out there?”

“Nothing really,” Callan answered, still a bit out of breath. “Just running through a strike sequence.” He eyed Nova’s training uniform and nodded approvingly.

Evander hooked a finger under Nova’s chin, turning her face toward his.

“Seek me out when you’re ready to handle a superior weapon.

” His eyes went to Callan. “Any brute can swing a sword. It takes skill and precision to strike one’s mark from a distance.

” With that, the heir of Pyralis sauntered past them toward the row of straw targets lining the far side of the field.

Nova bit the inside of her cheek and fiddled with the hilt of her dagger. “You’re very skilled,” she said, gesturing to Callan’s sword.

His smile beamed, but he dipped his head toward the ground.“Would you like to hold it?”

He stretched out his arm, offering his weapon to her. Nova took it by the hilt; her arm dropped like a stone with the sheer weight of it. Hefting the sword up with both hands, she admired the craftsmanship and the shiny blade engraved with characters from an unfamiliar language.

“What does this writing say?” she asked.

“It’s a charm of sorts. A Nivalian custom to ensure the blade always strikes its target.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, handing it back to him.

“It was my father’s.” His gold-flecked eyes found hers, and she instantly recognized the loss reflected in them.

Callan slid the sword carefully into its sheath and laid it on a wooden bench.

“So, what do you have planned for me?” she asked, aiming for a cheerful tone.

“I think it’s best you start with your dagger and work your way up to a sword.”

“Let’s begin,” Nova said. Callan turned to lead the way as Nova pulled the dagger from her belt. “ Shit .”

The bite of the blade hurt less than her embarrassment at her clumsiness.

Callan twisted to face her as she brought her forefinger to her mouth and drew the tip between her lips to stem the flow of blood.

His eyes dimmed a shade darker for an instant, his jaw ticking once.

The muscles in Nova’s lower belly tensed at his reaction, but the sultry look in his eyes vanished, quickly replaced with concern, as he held out his hand to her.

Begrudgingly, she allowed him to inspect her injury.

“It’s nothing,” she said, shrugging off the shiver rippling through her at his touch before pulling out of his grasp. “It will probably be healed in a few hours anyway.”

Callan nodded and led her out onto the field.