Page 60 of Shattered Crown

Elena cleared her throat from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but the others are gathering for debriefing.”

Silas nodded without looking away from Thorne. “We'll be there shortly.”

When Elena's footsteps faded, Silas returned to treating Thorne's wounds. He found a basin of water and clean cloths, adding herbs from his pack that would ease magical burns. As he worked, their bond hummed with renewed strength, carrying emotions too complex for words.

“You've grown stronger,” Thorne observed, watching golden light flow from Silas's hands to soothe angry flesh.

“Had to.” Silas managed a weak smile. “Someone needed to rescue your stubborn ass.”

The main room of the lodge had become a makeshift war council. Kai burst through the door, breathing hard and covered in travel dust.

“Fucking finally found you!” he exclaimed, then stopped short at the sight of Thorne. “Holy shit, you actually got him out?”

“Kai?” Silas stared at his friend in shock. “How did you even find us?”

“Diana's network,” Kai explained, collapsing into a chair. “She's got informants everywhere. When word spread about a massive magical battle at the Eldergrove, she sent me to track you down.” He pulled out a flask and took a long drink. “Brought medical supplies too. Figured you'd need them.”

He tossed his pack on the table, revealing bottles of healing potions and magical salves. “Diana's secured the palace archives. She found something about the original binding rituals that Sebastian's been using. Apparently they're incomplete—he's missing key components that limit their power.”

“Thank the gods for small favors,” Elena muttered.

“There's more,” Kai continued, his expression darkening. “Diana intercepted communications about a 'grand convergence.' She thinks Sebastian’s trying to permanently merge with the Shadowblight.”

“That would explain the accelerated timeline,” Thorne said, wincing as he shifted position.

Kai immediately moved to Thorne's side, his hands glowing with soft green light. “Let me help with those wounds. I'm no master healer, but I picked up a few tricks from my grandmother.”

As Kai worked, Silas hesitated, then asked the question that had been weighing on him since the battle ended. “My father... how is he?”

Kai glanced up, his expression softening. “Still alive. Holding on. Diana says the healers are optimistic, but it’s going to be a long road. She’s keeping him under tight guard, just in case.”

Silas let out a slow breath, some knot inside him loosening without truly unraveling. He gave a small nod, accepting the answer even if it did little to quiet the storm inside him.

Kai returned to his task, his voice steady. “The resistance is growing. Diana's got half the city guard ready to turn when you give the signal. Your grandmother's been magnificent—she's convinced most of the noble houses that Sebastian's possessed rather than just power-hungry.”

“Which is technically true,” Silas noted grimly.

“Exactly. Oh, and Diana said to tell you, and I quote: 'If that forest-loving idiot gets himself killed before fixing this mess, I'll find a way to resurrect him just to kill him again myself.'”

Despite everything, Silas laughed. “That sounds like her.”

As reports continued around the war table, Silas couldn’t ignore the way eyes kept drifting to him and Thorne. Whispers paused mid-sentence. Glances were stolen. It wasn’t just that they stood side by side. It was their hands, clasped like lifelines, and the way Silas leaned into Thorne’s shoulder when the ache of leadership caught up to him. Their bond had become a living symbol. Human noble and forest guardian. The impossible union. The kind of hope that made broken people believe healing was still possible.

Even rebels who had never trusted nobles looked at Silas differently now. Not because of speeches or orders, but because Thorne, ancient, untamed, and feared, looked at him like he was the only god that mattered.

Later, the candlelight in their borrowed room flickered across creaking floorboards and timeworn beams. The moment the door clicked shut, they crashed into each other. Not with gentleness. Not with restraint. But with hunger sharpened by loss. Months of separation, of aching in the dark, of battles fought without knowing if the other still breathed, broke through them like floodwaters through rotted wood.

Thorne’s mouth was rough on his, lips parted and teeth grazing skin. Silas’s back hit the wall. He moaned into Thorne’s mouth as fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise. They kissed like drowning men, like the air between them wasn’t enough unless it came from each other.

Clothes were a nuisance. Silas fumbled with buckles and buttons, yanking free his tunic and pulling Thorne’s over his head. Thorne’s hands were already down his trousers, palming his cock like it was something sacred, something he’d mourned. Silas gasped, his knees buckling as Thorne pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat.

They stumbled across the room, leaving a trail of clothing behind like breadcrumbs to their madness. Thorne shoved him onto the creaking bed, climbing over him with the force of a storm. Their bodies collided again, skin to skin now, sweat slick and shivering where air touched. Thorne kissed him deep, biting Silas’s lower lip until he whimpered.

Silas wrapped a leg around his waist and ground up, needy and unashamed. “Never again,” he gasped between kisses. “Never letting you go again.”

Thorne growled and rolled them, pinning Silas beneath his greater weight, cock hard and heavy against his thigh. “Mine,” he snarled into Silas’s mouth. Not gentle. Not sweet. A claim spoken in ancient magic. Possessive, reverent, animal.

Silas shuddered, cock twitching where it rubbed against Thorne’s stomach. He spread his legs instinctively, hands clutching Thorne’s shoulders like he might float away otherwise. “Then take me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Make it real.”

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