Page 89 of Blood and Thorns

We share whispers between kisses, murmuring half-formed endearments. There’s no rush. Our parted lips meet again and again in an unhurried dance, a communion of breath and heartbeat. The tension that used to drive us to frantic couplings is replaced by a deep, almost reverent wonder.

His hand slips lower, exploring the curve of my hip, the line of my thigh. My wound twinges, but I adjust, letting him cradle me so the pain is minimized. The kindness in that gesture nearly undoes me; he’s so careful, so cognizant of my injuries. I press a shaky kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. A pang of desire rises, swirling with gratitude. This is not about survival or proving anything. It’s aboutus, forging a moment that belongs to no one else.

He meets my gaze, a question shining in his eyes:Is this all right?My answer comes in the form of a trembling sigh and a gentle push that brings him down over me. The night air is cool, but each brush of our bodies ignites heat that flushes my skin. Our illusions swirl faintly, not out of need for hiding, but as an unconscious expression of our magic responding to heightened emotion. Sparks of violet and silver flicker around us, merging in the moonlight.

He lowers his mouth to my shoulder, kissing a line up to my neck. I yield, letting him explore, the tension inside me unraveling. An ache of love, raw and powerful, surges in my chest. We shift closer, clothes falling away in a gradual unveiling of each other’s scars and stories. My partial wings arch, and I’m not embarrassed by them anymore. He brushes them with a soft touch that makes me shiver, and the sincerity in his smile grounds me.

When we finally join fully, it’s slow, almost tentative, as though we’re learning a new language with each other’s bodies. I cling to him, nails scoring his shoulders. He exhales sharply, pressing his brow to mine, eyes fluttering shut. A sigh escapes me, filled with relief and wonder. Each shared breath, each gentle motion, weaves a closeness I never thought I’d find in this brutal world.

The forest hushes in unison with our soft cries and murmured names. The pleasure builds steadily, not frenzied, but profound. Tears prick my eyes—I never knew intimacy could be this gentle. In the catacombs, our coupling was a raw, desperate storm. Tonight, it’s an oasis, a testament that hope still exists. I grip him tighter, letting the waves of sensation roll through me, culminating in a sweet, trembling crescendo that leaves me breathless in his arms.

In the aftermath, we lie entwined on the bedroll, hearts pounding, illusions flickering with the last vestiges of heightened emotion. I can’t stop tears from streaming silently down my cheeks. Not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming tenderness that saturates my entire being. Vaelorian cradles my face, brushing the tears away with his thumb, his own eyes suspiciously bright.

We share small laughs, self-conscious but happy. I bury my face against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. The taste of salt lingers on my lips, a reminder that tears and joy can coexist. He runs his fingers gently through my hair. The night covers us, protective in its darkness. Fireflies still drift among the reeds, as if giving us a silent blessing.

After some time, I shift, propping myself up on one elbow to study him. He lies half on his side, wings angled to not crush the bedroll. The bruises along his ribs have faded, though faint lines remain. I let my palm rest over his heart, feeling each beat.

“How do we move forward from here?” I ask, voice hushed. “We can’t live in hiding forever.”

His gaze flicks to the starlit sky. “We keep building alliances. We’ve done more damage to Xathien than the Council ever managed. But eventually, others will notice we’re neither loyal to the dark elves nor the Council. The outcasts might gather under our banner.” A faint smile touches his lips. “Perhaps we can find a corner of the world so remote that no one cares about a half-blood and a traitor prince living out their days.”

My heart squeezes. “You’d be content with that?”

He lifts his hand, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “As long as you’re with me, yes,” he murmurs. “We can shape our own destiny. Maybe we help unify exiles into a free clan, or maybe we vanish to a quiet farm. As long as you choose it with me.”

Emotion thickens my throat. I press a soft kiss to his shoulder, inhaling the faint smell of pine and sweat that clings to his skin. A warm swirl pools in my belly—a reflection of the earlier passion. Even after the wave of release, a gentle hum remains, connecting us. “I want to see what life can be,” I say quietly, “beyond war. Maybe it’s naive to dream we can be safe, but I’m done letting fear cage me.”

He nods, wings shifting so he can envelop me a bit in their span. I nestle into the space, letting the closeness protect me from the chill. “If war finds us again,” he says, “we’ll face it. Together. But tonight, at least, we rest. We live.”

I manage a small laugh. “How many nights have we said ‘not tonight, we’re not safe yet’?” My eyes brim with gratitude. “It feels almost unreal to have an actual reprieve.”

He kisses my forehead, a tender press that ignites warmth in my chest. “I know. Let’s savor it.”

We lapse into silence, letting our shared heartbeat fill the quiet. The forest around us hums with nocturnal life, a lullabymore soothing than any illusions I’ve conjured. My mind drifts, recalling the moment he declared his love in the fortress’s burning courtyard. I treasure it, holding it close.

Eventually, a breeze rustles the reeds, reminding me of the slight chill. Vaelorian gently shifts us, pulling a worn blanket over our entwined bodies. I lie against his side, leg half-draped over his, mindful of the healing wound. He tucks stray hair behind my ear, capturing my gaze with unwavering focus.

“Valeria,” he murmurs, voice low. “Do you regret anything?”

I blink, sifting through the memories: the heartbreak, the manipulations, the revelations of my half-blood nature, the raw couplings, the betrayal, the war… “No,” I whisper, surprising even myself. “I regret the pain we caused each other, the lost illusions, but not the journey that brought us here.” I let my palm flatten over his chest. “We found something real, beyond House Draeven, beyond the dark elves. That’s worth everything.”

He closes his eyes, relief etched across his face. “I feel the same,” he says, softly. “I’ve never believed in happiness without war overshadowing me, but with you, I… I see a horizon I never dared to dream of.”

Tears prick my lids again. This time, they’re tears of quiet joy. Leaning up, I press my lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss that conveys more gratitude than words could. We tangle in each other’s arms once more, bodies gently shifting to accommodate my wound, but the fear that once drove our passion is gone. This is about trust, tenderness, and forging a new life from the ashes.

Time blurs as we exchange whispered confessions, naming the burdens we carried alone. He confides how the Council’s expectations suffocated him, how his mother’s political games never let him breathe. I share how I endured nights of terror under the dark elves, how discovering my half-blood lineage felt like a curse until it became my strength. We listen, we hold eachother, and the intimacy deepens, carved from honesty instead of desperation.

At some point, I slip into a half-doze, lulled by the warmth of him and the grove. I dream of a small cottage near a stream, of him tending a modest garden while I teach illusions to orphaned half-blood children—a fanciful dream, perhaps, but sweet. I sense him shift, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple, as though encouraging me to hold onto that image.

When I stir again, the moon has risen high, casting pale light across the glade. Our illusions are dormant, no threat to repel. The blanket covers us, his arm draped around my waist. The closeness draws a lazy, satisfied smile from me. We exchange soft glances, and I realize how fully he’s become my anchor.

He strokes my hair, voice a murmur in the hush. “I should let you sleep. You need the rest.”

I shift, gently hooking a leg over his hip. The pain in my thigh flares mildly, but I manage a light huff of laughter. “I’m not that tired,” I say, half-teasing, half-serious. The earlier lovemaking, for all its tenderness, leaves me with a lingering desire to feel that closeness again—no urgency or fear, just the security of each other’s presence.

His eyes widen a fraction, dark with renewed heat. “Valeria,” he breathes, a playful note in his tone. “Your leg…”

I smirk, brushing a thumb across his lower lip. “We’ll be gentle,” I whisper, letting the tip of my finger linger. “I just… want to be close to you.”

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