Page 29

T he Craiggybottom clan house rose ahead. From the river, we had watched pillars of smoke rise from districts loyal to Tarathiel as word of our escape spread through D'thallanar. Bells rang continuously from the Assembly Hall, their urgent pealing carrying across water and stone to signal emergency throughout the city.

Captain Seagrave's people escorted us through back alleys and hidden passages, avoiding the main thoroughfares where Tarathiel's guards hunted us with increasing desperation. As we approached the merchant quarter, the buildings became more diverse and sturdy, and the patrols vanished.

"The guild compound is just ahead," our guide whispered, gesturing toward the sprawling complex that resembled a small village unto itself rather than a traditional clan seat. Blue banners displaying their sail-and-star emblem hung alongside flags representing member families and allied trading partners. "Representative Seagrave awaits within."

My body felt like lead, each step requiring conscious effort as the adrenaline of our escape faded. Beside me, Elindir scanned our surroundings despite his own evident exhaustion. The past days had marked him, thinning his face and adding shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and constant tension.

At the gates, guards with distinctive indigo sashes verified our identities. As they ushered us inside, the transition was jarring: outside lay a city trembling on the edge of civil war, while inside existed a world untouched by the impending chaos.

From beyond the walls came the distant crash of breaking glass, shouted orders of city guards, and the ominous tolling of alarm bells. Yet here, music floated from a stringed instrument while an elderly elf sang verses in a language I didn't recognize. The scent of spiced wine and fresh bread replaced the acrid smell of smoke that had followed us through the streets. The jarring contrast made me stumble slightly, my exhausted mind struggling to reconcile these parallel realities.

Around the fire pits, elves sat shoulder-to-shoulder with humans who wore no collars, their laughter mingling without hierarchy or hesitation. Half-elven children darted between groups, playing games. This wasn't just a haven. It was a living example of the world we were fighting to build, existing improbably in the heart of D'thallanar itself.

"Your Majesty." Representative Seagrave approached as we entered the central courtyard, bowing briefly. She wore simple but well-made clothing with subtle embroidery of her house's sail and star emblem, quality fabric rather than ostentatious jewelry marking her status. "We've prepared quarters for you and your companions. Our healers await, and food has been made ready."

I nodded, too weary for formal speech. Behind us, Aryn supported Daraith. His typically stoic expression softened with concern as his husband leaned heavily against him. Katyr walked beside them, his shoulders brushing Niro’s.

"Rest is our most immediate need," I managed, forcing the words past a throat raw from days of thirst and tension. "Then we must contact our forces."

"Already done, Your Majesty," Captain Seagrave assured me. "Messengers were dispatched the moment we received word of your escape. Your armies have been alerted and move to secure positions around the city."

Relief flooded through me, momentarily overshadowing the bone-deep weariness. "And the Yeutish forces?"

"Three hours from the city gates, according to our latest reports. Kudai leads them personally." She gestured toward a stone building that stood slightly apart from the others, its windows protected by finely crafted iron lattices. "Please, this way. You'll have privacy there."

We followed her through the bustling compound, passing merchants and guild members who paused in their activities to bow or nod respectfully.

The building she led us to resembled those I'd seen in coastal trading ports, its nautical influences evident in the curved roofs and facades decorated with stylized sea creatures carved by artisans from diverse backgrounds. Inside proved even more striking, with rooms showcasing items from the Craiggybottoms' far-reaching trade connections. Each chamber we passed displayed a different cultural aesthetic, reflecting the patchwork nature of a community built on membership rather than birth.

"These chambers were designed for visiting trade partners," Captain Seagrave explained, leading us down a wide corridor. "We've allocated the entire wing for your party. Guards are positioned at all entrances and have been instructed to admit only those you specifically authorize."

She stopped before a set of double doors crafted from rich red wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. "Your quarters, Your Majesty." She presented a key of similar craftsmanship. "The healing chambers are directly across the hall, where your companions will be treated. When you're ready, I'll be available to discuss our strategic position."

I accepted the key with a nod of thanks, aware that proper gratitude would have to wait until my mind was clearer. "You've taken considerable risk harboring us, Captain. House Craiggybottom has proven itself a true ally."

A hint of pride touched her features. "We remember who stood with us when traditional houses sought to strip our trading rights. Your support then earned our loyalty now." She bowed again and departed, leaving us to recover from our ordeal in private.

Katyr touched my shoulder briefly as he guided Daraith toward the healing chambers. "We'll speak when you've rested," he said, understanding in his golden eyes. "The city won't fall in a few hours, and you're in no condition for strategy yet."

I couldn't argue with his assessment. Even standing upright had become a challenge, my body demanding recompense for days of deprivation and stress. Niro and Aryn followed them, though Aryn cast a meaningful glance at Elindir before departing.

"I'll stand watch while you rest," Elindir said once they had gone, his hand moving to the sword he'd acquired during our escape.

"No," I countered, unlocking the chamber doors. "You're as exhausted as I am. Perhaps more so, after whatever you endured to reach D'thallanar."

The quarters beyond the doors were spacious and well-appointed, though lacking the ostentatious luxury of traditional noble houses. A large sitting area centered around a fireplace already lit against the winter chill. Beyond, visible through an arched doorway, stood a bedroom containing a wide bed covered in richly colored blankets. A copper bathing tub occupied a small adjacent chamber, steam rising gently from water that must have been prepared moments before our arrival.

I barely registered these details, my attention fixed on Elindir as he secured the door behind us. Now, in the privacy of these chambers, I could finally see him properly. Could finally believe he was real, not some desperate hallucination born of imprisonment and near-execution.

"You're here," I whispered, the words inadequate for the storm of emotion they attempted to contain. "In D'thallanar. You risked everything..."

He crossed the room in swift strides, closing the distance between us. His hands framed my face with surprising gentleness, his eyes searching mine as if memorizing every detail.

"I came to warn the Assembly about Michail," he said, his eyes holding mine. "But when I arrived in D'thallanar and learned of your capture..." His voice roughened with emotion. "Finding you became as vital as my original mission. Perhaps more so."

Something broke inside me then, a dam holding back all I'd suppressed during my imprisonment. My arms wrapped around him, pulling him against me desperately. He returned the embrace without hesitation, his body solid and warm against mine, proof that this moment was real. That we had survived.

"When my father offered me exile instead of execution," I confessed against his neck, inhaling the scent of him beneath tunnel dust and river water, "the price was renouncing you. Publicly declaring our relationship a mistake. Even knowing it meant death, I couldn't do it."

His arms tightened around me. "I would have understood. We do what we must to stay alive."

"No," I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "Some prices are too high. Some truths are too essential to deny, even for survival."

His hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with painful tenderness. "You impossible, stubborn elf," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I never doubted you would choose death before dishonor. That's why we had to get you out."

How long we stood there, I couldn't say. Time seemed suspended as we held each other, the simple act of embrace more healing than anything the Craiggybottom physicians might offer. When we finally separated, it was only far enough to look at each other properly, my hands still resting at his waist, his remaining on my shoulders.

"You need to rest," he said, his eyes taking in the evidence of my ordeal with carefully controlled anger. "And that bath will grow cold if we don't use it."

The thought of warm water against my skin after days in a filthy cell sent a shiver of longing through me. "Will you join me?"

A smile touched his lips, brief but genuine. "Do you think I'd let you out of my sight now?"

He guided me toward the bathing chamber, his hands steady as he helped me remove the formal clothing Tarathiel had chosen for my execution. The Deepfrost insignia on the tunic made his face tighten with disgust, and he discarded the garment with particular vehemence.

"They made you wear his colors," he muttered, anger flashing in his eyes.

"A final humiliation," I confirmed. "Or so he thought."

As the last of the clothing fell away, Elindir's expression transformed from anger to concern. His fingers traced the unbandaged wounds on my ribs from my father's sword, bruises in various stages of healing from my capture, the hollowness around my collar bones that spoke of days with minimal nourishment.

"They hurt you," he said, his voice dangerously soft.

"They tried," I replied, attempting lightness I didn't feel. "The physical damage will heal."

His eyes met mine, seeing beyond the false bravado to the deeper wounds no bath could cleanse. He understood, as few others could, that captivity left marks far beyond the visible. That chains scarred the spirit even after they were removed from the wrists.

"Come," he said, guiding me to the tub. "Let me help you."

I sank into the water, heat seeping into muscles knotted with tension and exertion. Elindir removed his own travel-stained clothing before joining me. The tub was large enough to accommodate us both comfortably, a luxury I hadn't expected from the practical Craiggybottoms.

Silence settled around us as we soaked, the only sounds the occasional drip of water and the distant murmur of activity beyond our chambers. I watched Elindir through half-closed eyes, still unable to fully believe he was here with me. That he had somehow infiltrated D'thallanar itself, risked everything to reach me.

"You infiltrated the Assembly," I said when the silence had stretched long enough. "How?"

A hint of pride touched his features. "Disguised as a clerk. No one looks closely at administrative staff. It was Niro's idea."

"Of course it was," I said softly, remembering my general's pragmatic approach to impossible problems. "And House Redrock? Their vote surprised everyone."

Elindir's expression shifted to something more complex. "That was... unexpected. Lady Sariel insisted I prove my conviction through their sacred trial. A duel that apparently hadn't been offered to an outsider in generations." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I won."

I stared at him, fresh astonishment cutting through my fatigue. "You defeated Lady Sariel in ritual combat? The same Lady Sariel who has reportedly never lost a duel in thirty years?"

"First blood only," he clarified, though the accomplishment remained extraordinary. "She seemed more impressed that I tried than that I succeeded. Something about proving humans and elves could meet as equals."

Water sloshed gently as I shifted to face him more directly. "You risked everything for me. Your life facing Michail at Homeshore. Your safety infiltrating D'thallanar. Why?"

His eyes held mine, steady and certain. "You know why."

"Tell me anyway," I said, needing to hear the words after so many days of believing I would never hear them again.

"Because I love you," he said simply, as if stating an immutable law of nature. "Because the world we're building matters too much to let it die with you. Because I promised Leif and Torsten we would both return. Because I cannot imagine a world without you in it, and I will fight anyone or anything that tries to take you from me."

Something tight in my chest eased at his words, a knot of fear and doubt loosening for the first time since my capture. I reached for him, drawing him closer until our foreheads touched, the water lapping gently around us.

"I love you," I whispered against his lips.

His mouth found mine in a kiss that began gently but quickly deepened, despite our exhaustion. His hands slid up my arms to cup my face, holding me as if I might disappear. I pulled him closer, needing to feel the solid reality of him against me, proof that we had both survived, that we were together when all logic said we should have been separated forever.

The kiss broke only when we both needed air, though we remained close, sharing breath and warmth.

"Let me take care of you," he said, reaching for the soap and soft cloths that had been left nearby. "You've endured enough."

I leaned back with a nod.

Once, not so long ago, he had been forced to bathe me as a slave, his hands moving with bitter resentment under the weight of his collar. He had hated it then, that intimate service performed under compulsion. Now he chose to care for me this way, and that still held weight.

His touch moved over my body with careful thoroughness, cleaning away the grime of the tunnels and the deeper taint of imprisonment. He worked methodically, starting with my shoulders and arms, his touch gentle over bruises and scrapes, firmer where tension knotted muscles.

When he reached the wound on my side, he paused, his fingertips tracing the edges with a healer's assessment. "This was deliberate," he observed, anger flashing briefly in his eyes. "A sword wound, precise and calculated."

"My father's work," I confirmed. "During my time in his custody. One of many lessons in obedience he thought I needed."

Elindir's expression darkened, a cold fury settling in his eyes that I rarely saw there. "He will answer for this," he said simply, the quiet promise more chilling than any shouted oath.

His jaw tightened, but he continued his careful cleaning, ensuring no infection would take hold. He worked down my body with the same attentive care, handling each injury as if it were simultaneously precious and painful, both to be treated with equal respect.

By the time he finished, the water had begun to cool, but I felt more myself than I had since my capture. Clean, warm, and most importantly, no longer alone.

We dried each other with the soft towels provided, though the task quickly transformed from practical to something else entirely. My hand slowed as I traced the towel across his chest, lingering over the familiar planes of muscle and subtle scars that told the story of his life before me. His breath hitched when my fingers grazed his nipple, the simple touch awakening something primal beneath our exhaustion.

"Ruith," he whispered.

I let the towel fall forgotten to the floor as I pulled him closer. Our kiss began gently, a reaffirmation of connection rather than passion, but quickly deepened as weeks of separation and days of fear ignited between us. His mouth opened under mine, tongue seeking entry that I gladly granted. My hands slid down the smooth skin of his back, still warm and damp from the bath, to cup the firm curve of his ass.

He pressed against me with urgent need, our bodies crashing together with none of the careful gentleness from moments before. I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothed the sting with my tongue. His response was immediate and fierce, teeth sinking into the junction of my neck and shoulder, marking me with a possessiveness that made my cock throb against his hip.

"Fuck," I growled as his hand slipped between us to grip my length, his fingers wrapping around me with perfect pressure. "I need you. Now."

"You have me," he panted, his own cock rutting against my thigh, leaving slick trails of pre-cum on my skin. "Every part of me."

I pinned him against the wall beside the bed, lifting him easily. His legs wrapped around my waist as I ground against him, the friction of our cocks sliding together, drawing desperate sounds from us both. His head fell back, exposing the length of his throat, still bearing the faint scars from his collar. I attacked the sensitive skin there, sucking hard marks that would bloom purple by morning, a declaration of ownership more honest than any formal document.

"More," he demanded, his hands clawing at my back, nails digging half-moons into my skin that fired every nerve ending. "Harder."

I reached between us, taking both our cocks in my hand, the slide eased by our combined wetness. His entire body shuddered at the contact, his hole clenching against my fingers as my other hand moved lower, teasing his entrance with deliberate pressure. He keened when I pushed just the tip of one finger inside him, his body arching to take me deeper.

"The bed," I managed between harsh breaths, "or I'll fuck you against this wall."

"Either," he gasped, his pupils blown wide with desire. "Both. I don't care. Just don't stop touching me."

We stumbled toward the bed, still locked together, neither willing to surrender contact even for a moment. As we fell onto the soft blankets, his thighs spread wider. I moved lower, marking a trail of bites down his chest, his abdomen, his hip bones, until I reached the straining length of his cock. I took him deep in one motion, the taste of him sharp and familiar on my tongue. His hands fisted in my hair, tight enough to bring tears to my eyes, the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain sending blood rushing to my already aching cock.

I worked him with my mouth, tongue tracing the sensitive underside while my fingers continued their exploration of his entrance. His hips bucked up involuntarily, seeking more of the wet heat surrounding him. I pulled back, drawing a frustrated groan from him.

"Oil," I murmured, glancing around the unfamiliar room.

Elindir reached toward the bedside table, fumbling until his fingers closed around a small vial. "Here," he gasped, pressing it into my palm.

The oil was scented with exotic herbs I didn't recognize—some Craiggybottom trade good from distant shores, no doubt. I coated my fingers liberally, returning to my position between his thighs. This time I took my time, circling his entrance with teasing pressure before slowly pressing one finger inside.

The tight heat of him clenched around me, his body both resisting and inviting deeper penetration. I watched his face as I added a second finger, stretching him carefully despite the urgency thrumming through us both. His copper hair spread across the pillows like flame, his eyes closed in concentration as he adjusted to the intrusion.

"Look at me," I commanded, curling my fingers to find that spot inside him that made coherent thought impossible.

His eyes flew open, pupils blown wide, as his entire body arched off the bed. "Fuck!" he cried out, hands clutching the bedsheets with white-knuckled intensity.

"That's it," I encouraged, adding a third finger while maintaining the same relentless pressure against his prostate. "Let me hear you."

Elindir was always vocal during sex, a trait I cherished. After weeks of wondering if I'd ever hear his voice again, the sounds he made now were more precious than any music. His moans and gasping pleas filled our chamber as I stretched him open, preparing him for what we both desperately needed.

"Enough," he growled finally, reaching for me with impatient hands. "I need you inside me. Now."

I withdrew my fingers, drawing a shudder from him at the sudden emptiness. Coating my length with the remaining oil, I settled between his thighs, positioning myself at his entrance. For a moment, I paused, taking in the sight of him spread beneath me—flushed skin gleaming with sweat, copper hair wild against the pillows, eyes dark with desire. Alive. Here. Mine.

"Ruith," he urged, hips shifting restlessly. "Please."

Holding his gaze, I pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until I was fully seated inside him. The sensation was overwhelming—tight heat gripping me, the flutter of his internal muscles as he adjusted to my size, the raw intimacy of our connection. I’d had him countless times before, but this felt different. Sacred, somehow. A reaffirmation of life after facing death.

"I love you," I whispered against his lips as I began to move, setting a rhythm that spoke of reverence rather than just desire.

"I know," he gasped, his hands traveling up my back to tangle in my hair. "I've always known."

Our bodies moved together with practiced synchronicity, finding the perfect rhythm that had always existed between us, even in the darkest times. I shifted slightly, changing the angle to hit just the right spot with each thrust, drawing curses and pleas from his lips in equal measure.

His legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper as his hands moved restlessly across my skin, mapping my body as if ensuring I was truly there, truly whole. I captured his mouth in a kiss that was more claim than tenderness, teeth and tongues battling for dominance while our bodies continued to move.

As heat built between us, I whispered against his ear, "I want to watch you finish."

His eyes met mine, understanding immediately. Without breaking our rhythm, his hand moved between our bodies. The sight of him lost in pleasure while I moved within him nearly undid me, but I held back, determined to witness his release first.

"You're beautiful," I breathed, my voice breaking with emotion. The words were inadequate but true—in this moment of complete vulnerability, he was magnificent.

His rhythm faltered as his climax approached, his strokes becoming erratic as his body tensed beneath me. I could feel him tightening around my length, his internal muscles clenching with increasing urgency.

"Ruith," he gasped, my name a prayer on his lips as his release overtook him.

I watched in awe as he came apart beneath me, his body arching, seed spilling over his fist and onto his stomach in hot pulses. The sight of his pleasure, the knowledge that I had brought him to this moment of perfect vulnerability, sent me tumbling after him. My own climax hit with shattering force, vision whiting out at the edges as I emptied myself deep inside him.

For several heartbeats, we remained locked together, both trembling with aftershocks, neither willing to break the connection. Then, slowly, I lowered myself to lie beside him, gathering him against my chest as our breathing gradually steadied.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured against my chest, his voice rough with emotion. "When I heard of your capture, and then the trial..."

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, inhaling the scent of him—sweat and sex and the underlying spice that was uniquely his. "I promised the boys I would return," I said softly. "I intend to keep that promise."

A smile touched his lips at the mention of Leif and Torsten. "I know you will. They've been so brave while waiting for us."

I took a breath, finding his eyes with mine. "Before they took me, I had made a decision." My fingers traced the line of his jaw. "I want to adopt them formally. Not just as wards, but as our sons. Princes of House Starfall. My heirs."

His eyes widened. "Ruith..."

"I had the documents prepared," I continued, certainty growing with each word. "They would be princes, not just in our hearts, but by law. My father would have had me renounce them along with you." My voice hardened. "I refused."

Elindir's eyes shimmered in the dim light. "The boys would be... our sons. Truly ours."

"If you'll have them with me," I said softly. "I want us to raise them together, as their fathers. Give them the childhoods neither of us had."

He reached up to cup my face, his touch reverent. "Nothing would make me prouder. They already feel like our own."

"Then it's decided," I said, feeling a weight lift from my chest.

His smile brightened. "The first human princes in elven history."

"The first of many changes to come," I promised. "D'thallanar will be their home—our home—as it should be. Though perhaps we'll keep Calibarra as a summer residence. The boys seem fond of it."

Pride swelled in my chest at this news. Those boys were thriving despite the uncertainty that surrounded them. They were becoming the people they were meant to be, free of the collars that had once defined their existence.

"We'll return to them," I promised. "Both of us. Together."

He nodded, belief in his eyes despite the challenges we still faced. After a comfortable silence, he spoke again, his voice hesitant. "Ruith... there's something you should know. About Michail's forces at Homeshore. It's worse than we thought."

I tensed, reluctantly allowing our brief respite to end as reality reasserted itself. "Tell me."

Elindir sat up slightly, his expression shifting into the focused soldier I'd first recognized in him months ago. "He's not just invading for territory or power. He's systematically exterminating elven populations. Men, women, children... doesn't matter." His voice tightened with controlled rage. "And he's harvesting their…their essence . Modir has developed some kind of ritual extraction. They're using blood magic to treat Michail's condition."

Cold dread settled in my stomach. "The Rot."

"Yes." Elindir's hand found mine, unconsciously seeking connection as he delivered this grim news. "It buys him time, but it's never enough. He needs more and more as the disease progresses. That's why the attacks are escalating."

I processed this information, fitting it alongside everything else we knew. "This changes things," I said finally. "If Michail's forces aren't just invading but committing genocide, the neutral clans can no longer afford their neutrality. Even those loyal to Tarathiel must see that our internal conflicts mean nothing if Michail succeeds."

"That was my original mission," Elindir confirmed. "To warn the Assembly. Then I learned of your capture, and..." He shrugged, a half-smile touching his lips despite the grim topic. "Priorities shifted."

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, gratitude overwhelming me once again. "It seems we have two wars to fight now," I observed. "One against my father for the soul of our people, and one against your brother for our very survival."

Elindir's expression hardened with resolve. "We'll fight them both. And win."

The determination in his voice kindled something in my chest—not quite hope, but something adjacent to it. A belief that perhaps, with this man beside me and the allies we had gathered, victory might yet be possible.

"Rest now," I told him, pulling the blankets over our cooling bodies. "We'll have time for strategy once we've recovered."

He settled against me with a sigh, his head finding its familiar place on my shoulder. Within moments, his breathing deepened as exhaustion claimed him. I remained awake a while longer, holding him close while my mind processed everything that had happened.

Beyond our chambers, D'thallanar trembled on the precipice of civil war. My armies gathered at the gates, the Yeutish forces approached from the north, and Tarathiel undoubtedly plotted retribution for my escape. Michail's genocidal campaign continued unchecked, a threat to everything we had built and everyone we protected.

Yet despite everything, I found myself centered in this moment. Grateful for the warm weight of Elindir against me, for the second chance we had been granted against all odds. Whatever challenges awaited us beyond these walls, we would face them together.

I pressed one final kiss to his copper hair before sleep claimed me as well, my last conscious thought a silent vow to the universe: we would return to the boys waiting for us, to the future we were building. No power in this realm would prevent that—not my father, not Michail, not even the gods themselves.