Page 90 of Blood and Thorns

A spark ignites in his gaze. His wings twitch, half-opening. “You sure?” he murmurs, concern still warring with longing.

“Shut up,” I say softly, leaning in for a languid kiss. My heart thrums, not with the frantic pulse of war, but with the knowledge that we’ve earned this. We’re alive, the immediate threats behind us. For once, the future stretches open.

He groans softly, returning the kiss in kind. Our lips mold in a slow, unhurried dance. He gathers me against him, mindful of my bruises, and I melt into his warmth. The hush around us deepens, as though the entire night bows out to give us privacy. My breath catches when he peppers tender kisses down my neck, each press telling me we have all the time in the world now. No more savage or desperate couplings. This is about connection.

“Tell me,” he whispers, between kisses, “if anything hurts.”

“Only if you stop,” I tease, laughter bubbling up. He flashes a grin that banishes the shadows from his face. His hands roam, exploring my body with reverence, rediscovering each scar, each curve. I do the same, fingers tracing the shape of his shoulders, his ribs, the ridges of his wings. Every touch sparks a fresh wave of wonder at how we survived, how we stand here entwined despite everything.

Slowly, intimately, we come together again. This time, the world outside ceases to exist, and I lose myself in his tender warmth. Our foreheads press, breath mingling in sweet gasps, each motion deliberate, each sigh drawn from a well of shared emotion. I cradle the back of his neck, nails lightly grazing. He shivers, meeting my eyes, and in that moment, I feel the raw sincerity of his love.

The pleasure swells in lazy waves, each crest a soft moan or whispered name, each trough an exhale of relief. There’s no rush to reach a frantic peak—it’s about savoring the journey, memorizing the taste of his lips, the press of his body. We’re free of the constraints of fear or an impending assault. If the night is infinite, we let each heartbeat linger.

When we finally unravel in each other’s arms, it’s not a shattering explosion but a gentle flood of warmth that suffuses every cell. I cling to him, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. He brushes them away with trembling fingertips, breathing my name like a lullaby. My wounded leg aches, but I ignoreit, letting the wave of closeness ripple through me.This is everything I never thought I’d have.

We remain entwined, hearts pounding, illusions flickering in the faint starlight. Eventually, we share a few whispered laughs—exiles from two worlds, forging something neither side can destroy. He draws the blanket up around us, wrapping me in the circle of his arms. I nestle my head under his chin, feeling the steady thud of his heart.

Time drifts. Above, the stars intensify, winking in patterns I’ve never bothered to learn. For the first time, I wonder if we might stay in this valley for a season, enough to truly heal. We can’t keep wandering, half-blood outlaws forever. But maybe we can carve a haven, at least for a while. The Council’s condemnation and the dark elves’ hatred feel distant tonight, though I know they still lurk beyond these mountains.

Eventually, I speak, voice soft. “You think we can build a real life, Vaelorian? Something… stable? With these outcasts, or maybe alone?”

He strokes my hair, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I do,” he says simply. “It won’t be easy. We’ll have to remain cautious. But I choose you over any House, any fortress. If that means living among outcasts, forging a new clan, or wandering until we find an oasis, I’ll do it.” A pause, then more quietly, “I love you, Valeria. That’s worth fighting for.”

Emotion tightens my throat. “I love you too,” I whisper, burying my face against his collarbone. “Whatever comes next, we face it together. No illusions, no half-truths.”

He nods, a soft exhalation of relief. Then he settles beside me fully, letting our shared warmth banish the night’s chill. The forest hush remains, a cocoon of star-dappled darkness. My body hums with a languid contentment, my heart swelling with a cautious but undeniable optimism.

We are exiles—thrown out by the Council, despised by the dark elves. Our old homes are ash and memory. Yet in that emptiness, we’ve found each other, forging new possibilities from the ruin. I rest my cheek on his chest, letting my eyelids flutter shut. The lull of his heartbeat lulls me toward sleep, each beat a promise that we can shape our destiny into something better than fear.

Before dreams take me, I think of the day we’ll build a small hut or cottage in some secret glade, maybe near a stream like this. We’ll watch the sun rise without scanning the horizon for enemies. We’ll greet each dawn holding each other, illusions swirling only for comfort rather than defense. Perhaps we’ll adopt stray half-blood children cast out by fearful clans, teaching them to harness their gifts. We’ll cultivate a garden, trade with travelers, show them we exist beyond the war.

And if an army marches against us again—dark elves or Council enforcers—we’ll stand side by side, illusions and half-blood power blazing, to protect what we’ve built. But that fight is not tonight’s worry. Tonight, I let my body sink into Vaelorian’s embrace. The memory of gentle passion echoes through my limbs, a vow we sealed with tenderness rather than desperation.

His arms tighten slightly, as though sensing my drifting thoughts. The soothing brush of his fingertips along my back lures me to deeper rest. The crickets serenade us. I surrender to the hush, a final lingering sigh escaping my lips.Hope is real,my heart insists. For the first time, I genuinely believe it.

In the darkest hours, as sleep claims me, I imagine our future unspooling under starlight—two wanderers who shaped each other by betrayal and war, now reborn into a union of love and freedom. We might be exiles from every faction, but in each other’s arms, we’ve discovered a belonging no fortress or council can ever replace.

20

VAELORIAN

Istand on a rugged cliffside strewn with the charred remains of a once-proud outpost, the wind tugging at my hair and teasing the edges of my wings. A pale sunrise struggles through low-hanging clouds, painting the horizon in muted gold and gray. Smoke from our overnight fire still clings to the air, curling around my ankles before vanishing into the crisp morning chill. I breathe deeply, letting the scent of damp ash and wild pine fill my lungs—an odd mix that reminds me of the life I’ve left behind and the fragile promise of what might lie ahead.

Once, I wouldn’t have been content merely standing here, with no fortress at my back, no banners bearing my crest, no retinue of loyal soldiers awaiting my command. But that was before. Before I cast aside everything I thought I stood for. Before I discovered that the proud inheritance of House Draeven meant nothing if it demanded the sacrifice of my own heart. Now I’m a rogue. An exile. A traitor, the Council would say—if they bothered to speak my name anymore. But I am alive, free of their yoke, and I am no longer alone.

Behind me, the makeshift camp stirs. A handful of tents, salvaged from countless escapes and stolen supply lines, dot agentle slope leading to a trickling stream. The outcasts—some exiled from the Council, others fugitives from dark elf bondage—wake to the hush of this dawn, their illusions and wards at rest in the safe knowledge that for once, no immediate threat lurks nearby. We’ve purchased this rare peace with blood and flame, burning the last fortress that stood between us and freedom.

A soft footstep crunches the gravel behind me. I turn my head slightly, wings shifting to accommodate the presence I sense: Valeria. She emerges from a narrow path lined with mountain brambles, hair unbound and shimmering faintly in the new light. My heart kicks at the sight of her, the pang of wonder still fresh. She carries herself differently now, no longer weighed down by the terror or scorn the world once inflicted. She’s half Vrakken, half human, and fully the most formidable woman I’ve known. If once I thought her a mere pawn, I’ve since learned how wrong I was. She’s my partner, my equal, my future.

She stops next to me, gazing at the burnt timbers below. Our camp is perched at the edge of a deep gorge—a natural barrier from any wandering patrols—so the swirling remains of our old life lie scattered in the distance, nothing but an ashen memory. We have traveled far from that ruin, seeking a sanctuary where neither the dark elves nor the Council can reach us. For now, this valley seems like it could be that place. The stinging wind that used to chill me to my core now feels invigorating, as though it, too, rejoices in our stolen freedom.

Valeria brushes a strand of hair from her face. “You’re up early,” she says quietly, her voice carrying only a few feet before the breeze devours it. “You’ve barely slept.”

I glance at her, studying the faint circle of bruises fading around her eyes, the slow-healing gash on her thigh. Even battered, she radiates strength. “I don’t need much rest when I’m at ease,” I say, trying to smile. “And I wanted to watch the sun rise over this place. To see if it felt real.” My voice crackson that last word.Real.Not an illusion, not a borrowed dream of power handed down by the Council or stolen from dark elves. But ours, forged by choice and blood.

She sets a gentle hand on my wrist, her half-blood senses picking up the flicker of illusions that linger around me. I used to cloak myself in illusions constantly, armor for the proud prince who believed in House Draeven’s legacy. Now, the illusions that swirl around me are a reflex, a comfort more than a shield. “It’s real,” she confirms softly, stepping closer so our shoulders brush. “We’ve earned this breath of peace.”

I release a tight exhale, letting the illusions dim. Together, we look out at the rugged terrain. This vantage point reminds me of the first time I stood on a fortress parapet, convinced my path was to inherit the monarchy—or at least a seat of influence within the Council. All I wanted then was to be recognized as the rightful heir, to avenge House Draeven’s humiliations, to show the dark elves they could never surpass our might. Now, the ambition that once drove me has burned away, replaced by a simpler, fiercer desire—to protect the people I love, to protect Valeria, and to shape a future on our own terms.

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