Page 177 of The Stolen Throne
On a laugh that is outright joy I can’t contain, I throw my arms around his neck. “Yes, Reven Shadowraith. If I lose you in this life—heavens forbid, but let’s be honest, the odds are against us—I want to know that I will find you in the next, wherever and whenever that may be.”
He squeezes me so tightly I can’t breathe, but I don’t care.
Only then he’s pushing me back, hands at my shoulders, face a study of concern. “Are you sure? What if—” He can’t say it, but I know what he’s thinking. There are so many reasons to not do this.
But this is more than simple lust or the way he makes me flutter. Reven sees me.
Me.
Meren, not the princess, not the waif, not Tabra’s sister or Eidolon’s puppet or Omma’s niece or the stand-in queen.
Me.
And it’s so empowering.
Cain, even in loving me, tries to hold me back. Omma tries to hold me back. But Reven—everything I’ve asked for, he’s tried to give me. Pissed others off to give me. Even in the moments when it made it hard for him—like when I faced Bene, when I wanted to go to the Shadowood, when I went to the Whirlpool—he backed me. Even going to the burning lands, he never said no.
His belief in me is like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s the only thing making me keep going some days.
And I trust him completely. Utterly. Not the Shadows…Reven.
I would follow him into the hells and back.
We are stronger together. Because we both need each other for the kind of faith in ourselves that we can’t find anywhere else.
I’m sure.
The amulet around my neck warms suddenly. Just a spark—there, then gone. But it’s like Aryd is telling me to follow my heart in this moment.
“This is what I want.”
He must see in my eyes that nothing will change my mind. The same steadiness, behind a lot of worry, looks back at me through eyes I’ll dream about for all my lives to come.
“Okay,” he says.
Okay? I laugh again, my relief-edged excitement an effervescent force running through me that has everything to do with this man. I could build mountains right now, I think.
Is this really happening? Is it possible to die from happiness?
Sure, there’s a nugget of apprehension poking at me, saying that this can’t last. That any happiness the world gives me is an illusion that will be stolen away before I can even grasp it. But maybe that ache of worry underlying the bliss is the bitter that comes with the sweet.
If we’re soulbound, Reven can’t be stolen from me. Not ever.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that if I don’t reach out for the good life blesses me with, just because I fear the bad or the loss, then I’ll only end up with a pile of bad in the end. And let’s face it—this may still end badly…but what if it doesn’t?
“I don’t want to wait,” I whisper. There’s too much that could go wrong.
He doesn’t hesitate even a beat. “The priestesses might be busy tonight.”
Because of the Rites?
It has to be tonight. We have the amulets and no longer need to see King Panqui. The only reason we’re still here is for Tabra. For the Rites of Xathena. Where we go next…we may not happen across a priestess for some time. This is our chance, and I won’t lose it.
“I’ll make it happen tonight,” he promises.
I am tossed back to the night he kidnapped me—the unshakable confidence he acted with then is how he is right now. “No kidnapping or holding priestesses at shadow-point.”
He smirks. “It worked to get me you.”
