Page 114 of Fallen Nocturne

Out of the forge, into the evening light.

I walk quickly at first, pretending I am not fleeing. By the time I reach the end of the street, my steps have become a run. I race through the narrow roads of Völundr, past startled merchants.

I do not slow until the forge is far behind me and the palace rises ahead. Only then do I stop, breathless and shaking beneath the fading sky.

I enter the gates and press my back against the stone wall. It scares me, the sense of familiarity that comes alive inside my chest whenever I look at him.

I press my fingers against my mouth.

We did not kiss. I stopped it before anything happened.

So I do not understand why my lips still tingle with the phantom memory of a kiss that never came.

Part III

The Things We Cannot Keep

Chapter 15 Landon

Dorcha’s wings beat steadily beneath me as we cross the final ridge toward Völundr. We have been flying since before dawn, following narrow mountain passes and keeping below the clouds whenever the Hunt’s scouts appeared in the distance.

The mission ran three days longer than it should have.

Nine days of sleeping beneath trees, tracking troop movements and watching entire companies gather along the northern roads. Nine days without Rhianelle.

My body aches from days in the saddle and my hands are stiff from the cold. Dorcha is tired too. I can feel her exhaustion through the rider’s bond, though she won’t admit it. But what we discovered could change the fate of every warrior who followed me out of Avalon.

We should go now, Dorcha urges through the bond. Her exhaustion cannot conceal her excitement.

“We must tell Rhianelle first,” I say. “I owe her that.”

If the message is true, this changes everything. We could all go home.

“Yes,” I answer. “If it is true.”

Now the city rises ahead, slate roofs and silver canals catching the afternoon light. Dorcha gives an excited rumble as she begins her descent toward the palace.

I see her from the air before I land.

Rhianelle stands in the palace gardens, her silver hair billowing behind her in the wind from Dorcha’s wings. She has one hand raised to shade her eyes and she’s looking up.

Looking at me.

Even with the distance between us from this height, the mate bond hums with awareness. Something about her posture tells me she’s been waiting.

Dorcha circles once before descending, her wings creating gusts that send flower petals scattering across the stone paths.

My mate is already walking toward me and by the devil, she’s beautiful.

I’ve thought it before and every day since the bond snapped into place between us. But it hits me anew each time I see her. The way the sun illuminates her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips.

She’s breathtaking and magnificent. A queen in truth, even if she doesn’t fully embrace that power yet.

And she’s mine.

Fate chose her for me and wove our strings together. The Un declared that of all the beings in this world, she is my match.

So why does she look like she’s about to shatter?