Page 88 of Crowned By Roses

There are no words, just the movement of our bodies. Our heavy breaths mingling. The soft sighs as he plunges in and out. The whisper of skin against skin. We move as one body, one entity.

My steel is your steel.

With the next stroke, Ezryn leans down and kisses me. And in that kiss, release finds us. Ezryn cries out my name against my mouth, and I feel his climax like a spring gale. My body splinters, breath catching on a sob. There’s nothing but his hands, his lips. I arch into the wave, into him. And he feels as all-encompassing as the armor he forged for me: adoring and protecting all the parts of me I thought unlovable.

When the storm has passed through us, Ezryn rolls off and gathers me in his arms, kissing the tip of my ear, my cheek.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “I’ll have you wear only the helmet.”

I laugh and flick his chin.

Next time. Next time. How I wish there will be so many more next times, thousands of them, endless next times.

But we’re going to war.

So I curl against Ezryn and count every rise of his chest, treasuring each one.

35

Keldarion

The chamber is quiet, save for the flickering wisp of candlelight and the soft creak of ancient stone. We stand around a long obsidian table etched with old star maps, the edges chipped by time. Pillars of silver-veined marble rise to a broken vaulted ceiling high above us where constellations blink awake with the falling sun.

How many battles were planned here? How many voices once filled this room, arguing, hoping, trying to outwit fate? Did they stand here, the fae of the Above, thinking they could stop what was coming?

Sira’s war began in this palace. And though she failed to conquer the Above, she scorched its beauty from the sky. She ran the fae out of their home.

Is it foolish to stand in the ruins of their failure and try again?

But then I find my wife’s eyes across the table, and the doubt in my chest stills.

Rosalina sits with quiet purpose, the soft glow of candlelight dancing along her features. A braid falls over one shoulder, bound with a bright pink band.

No, it’s not foolish. She is proof of everything we need.

And with her, I believe we have a chance.

Aurelia didn’t fail. She forged something new. She carved a realm out of ruin. And now, with her heirs at our side, we’ll do the same.

I rest my hand on the table, fingers splayed over the star-etched surface. Beside me, Ezryn caresses his newly forged hammer. Farron’s almost hidden behind a stack of books he can’t read, flipping to find diagrams and pictures. Dayton’s chewing sugar leaves. Wrenley and Cas talk in hushed whispers, and Jack hangs—upside down, of course—from one of the tree branches that’s broken its way through the rubble.

“It is time,” I say, addressing them all. “We have weapons. We have our magic. And Rosalina has her wings.”

“Now,” Dayton interrupts me with a wild grin, “we need our armies.”

Ezryn gives a long sigh. “Which would be a lot easier to gather if Summer hadn’t fled to the sea, Autumn wasn’t forced into labor camps, and Winter wasn’t taken over by Faustrius’s underfae. Spring is holding together. And there’s the Queen’s Army who fled the monastery to consider.”

“My sister told me where they are. They’ve formed a camp in the mountain range between Spring and Summer,” Dayton adds. “Though they’ll only follow the queen. Or her blood, I suppose.”

“Each realm is salvageable,” Rosalina says. “Like Keldarion said, we’re stronger now. We go to the realms, one by one, freeing the armies and gathering our strength. Faustrius let us go. He must see what Sira is doing to the Enchanted Vale. I think there’s a chance we could bring him to our side.”

Farron lets out a peculiar sound and casts an anxious gaze skyward, then pulls out a notebook I know he’s been using to track dates. “You may be right in theory, Rosalina, but Sira’s ritual will be complete by the next full moon. There’s no way we can make it to all the realms in time. We only have…” His throat bobs. “Seven more days.”

Rosalina narrows her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“We’re going to have to split up.” Farron’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry, Rosie.”

Rosalina’s face is impassive, but I see it in the shimmer of her eyes, the quiver of her lips. She doesn’t like the idea of us being apart.