Page 92 of Blood and Thorns

A comfortable silence follows, the morning sun now climbing higher, bathing the stream’s surface in dappled light. The gentle stirring of illusions around us reflects our shared calm. The swirl of recent battles recedes in my mind, replaced by the sense of an open road leading forward. In that quiet, I revisit the vow I made: I won’t be the proud Vrakken prince of old, nor the empty-handed fugitive who cowers from the Council. I will be something new, a leader by choice, a partner to Valeria.

Thoughts drift to the ashes of House Draeven’s citadel, the final image of it crumbling as we fled. I recall the coldness in the Council’s eyes when they declared me a traitor for refusing to condemn half-bloods. That memory once filled me with shame, but now it only solidifies my conviction: I’d rather be exiled with Valeria than a crowned puppet lording over a realm built on oppression.

She squeezes my hand, drawing me back to the present. “Vaelorian,” she begins softly, “I think we should hold a gathering tonight. For the outcasts. Let them voice their hopes, their ideas for this place. We can talk about how we handle security, trading with neighboring regions—build a sense of community.”

I grin, heart lifting at the suggestion. “A meeting, then. Possibly a feast if we can scrounge enough supplies. We might even plan to explore the orchard you mentioned. If we’re going to found our own empire—small as it may be—a bit of unity can’t hurt.”

She nods, her expression determined. “Exactly. Unity without fear. That’s what I want to see.”

My chest swells with affection for her. I lean down, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, ignoring the twinge in my wings. She closes her eyes, exhaling a contented sigh that resonates with all we’ve been through. For a single heartbeat, we linger in that gentle touch, the stream’s melody and the hush of the valley weaving around us.

Pulling back, I cast one final glance at the horizon. The sunlight now fully embraces the hills, revealing a landscape that no longer frightens me. Once, I faced the dawn with dread, suspecting an attack or betrayal. Now, I face it with Valeria at my side, forging a place where half-bloods, exiles, and even disillusioned former knights can stand united, free from the Council’s iron fist or the dark elves’ cruelty.

I hold her hand as we turn away from the stream, heading back up the slope toward the camp. My illusions remain faint, a soft shimmer that reflects my mood. Valeria’s illusions mingle with mine, an unspoken dance of color that radiates hope rather than fear. We pass by small clusters of outcasts busy with morning tasks—gathering wood, patching tents, whispering about the orchard. They nod respectfully, but I offer them genuine smiles in return, letting them know we’re all equals here.

As we climb to the crest of the ridge, I pause, breathing in the crisp air. The memory of my first steps as a proud Vrakken prince flits across my mind—the pomp, the illusions of power, the hollow sense that something was missing. I look at Valeria, her half-blood aura strong and confident, and I realize that missing piece was never about controlling land or commanding armies. It was about forging real connections, free of lies, building a future where illusions serve to protect loved ones, not to enslave them.

We halt at a vantage point overlooking the valley, the same place where I watched the sunrise not long ago. From here, we can see the scattered tents of our people, the stream glinting, the orchard’s trees in the distance. Beyond that, rolling hills vanish into the hazy line of the horizon. It’s ours to shape, or so it feels. A small empire of exiles, half-bloods, rogue knights, and visionaries who refuse to bow to old oppression.

Valeria’s hand is warm in mine. I lace our fingers together, letting the wind ruffle my wings. “What do you see?” I ask quietly, gaze roaming the landscape.

She tilts her head, a ghost of a smile curving her lips. “I see a place of second chances,” she murmurs. “A place where half-blood children grow up without hiding their gifts, where illusions aren’t weapons but tools to craft beauty or guard loved ones. A place where you can stand with your wings spread wide and not worry about who’s there to claim you. A place where we can actually live.”

Her words spark a thrill of possibility. My illusions ripple involuntarily, a shimmer passing across the stones at my feet. I smile. “That’s exactly what I see, too.” My chest tightens, emotion swirling. “We might have come from fear—from a time when we stood on fortress battlements, each chasing power or just survival. But now we stand here, defiant, forging our own path.” I tilt my head, letting her see the sincerity in my eyes. “And we’ll do it together.”

She nods, eyes shining. The hush around us resonates with finality—the epilogue of what we once were, the prologue of what we choose to be. I close my eyes, letting the last vestiges of old illusions melt away, feeling the weight of crowns and burdens slip from my shoulders. In their place stands the comfort of Valeria’s grip, the promise of building an empire not with stone walls but with the resilience of people who’ve tasted both horror and hope.

I kiss her knuckles gently. Then we begin walking again, side by side, back toward the camp that is now our new beginning. Each step carries me further from the proud prince I used to be and closer to the man who stands arm in arm with Valeria, forging a future on our own terms. The ashes of our old lives swirl behind us, but we don’t look back. We’ve chosen freedom and defiance, a world shaped by our own hearts.

The sun climbs higher, bathing our little valley in warmth. I raise a hand to shield my eyes, smiling at the outcasts who wave from below. Valeria laughs softly under her breath, a sound full of promise. We have so much to do, from organizing the orchard expedition to planning how we’ll handle any new arrivals. But for once, the weight of destiny feels manageable—because I share it with her.

That night, after the gathering with the outcasts—an evening of shared stories, meager but spirited feasting, and cautious optimism—Valeria and I slip away from the makeshift fire circle. Lanterns sway among the tents, reflecting in the stream. The murmurs of conversation gradually fade, and I guide her toward a secluded alcove where the moonlight bathes the rocky ground in silver.

Here, the wind dies down, leaving only the soft rush of water. I take Valeria’s hand and notice the faint shimmer of her illusions flickering at her ankles—a sign of her heightened awareness. My own illusions respond in kind, swirling in a subtle dance around us, echoing the unspoken desire that’s been growing between us since the moment we first dared to trust each other.

She steps closer, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. “We have a lot of work ahead,” she murmurs, voice hushed against the night’s stillness.

“We do,” I agree softly, “but we also have this moment. And I don’t want to let it pass without telling you…” My words catch.I swallow, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Without telling you that I choose you, Valeria. Forever.”

She exhales, her expression fierce and tender all at once. “You already have me,” she says, and it’s more than an admission—it’s a vow. She lifts a hand to gently trace the curve of my wing, her touch lighting fire across my skin. “I’ve dreamed of freedom for so long, I never imagined it would come with someone who truly understands me. Someone I?—”

Her breath hitches, and I close the distance, capturing her lips in a kiss. It’s slow and reverent, our shared illusions gilding the space around us like a gentle aurora. Every brush of her lips, every slide of my hands against her waist, feels weighted by the promise of a life we’ve both fought too hard to claim.

She presses herself to me, and my wings fold around her in a protective cocoon. The cool night air only heightens the warmth between us, and when she tugs gently at the straps of my armor, I let it fall away. The tension of battles and the burden of old loyalties slip from my shoulders as she helps me shrug off the last vestiges of the proud prince I once was.

Our breaths quicken, hearts pounding in unison. I lead her down to a soft patch of moss near the stream, the moonlight catching the silver glint of her eyes. She arches beneath me, her tunic sliding free, baring the toned lines of her half-Vrakken body. Each scar on her skin is a testament to what she’s survived, and my heart clenches with a surge of gratitude that we’re both here—alive and unbroken.

Her fingers find the curve of my wing’s base, a sensitive spot I didn’t realize could make me gasp. I graze my lips down the column of her throat, earning a shiver that resonates with my own. The hush of the night envelops us, a witness to the quiet reverence in each touch.

The night air is cool against our heated skin as Valeria pulls me down onto the soft bed of moss beside the stream.Moonlight spills over her body, gilding the curves of her hips, the taut muscles of her stomach, the perfect swell of her breasts. Her half-Vrakken heritage makes her skin shimmer faintly, like silver under the stars, and my powers—golden and restless—curl around us both, as if unable to resist touching her too. Our clothes disappear, every bit of barrier that stops our body from touching each other.

I kiss her slowly, deeply, my hands tracing the scars on her ribs, her waist, each one a story of survival. She arches beneath me, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan.

"Tell me," she whispers, her breath warm against my lips. "Tell me what you want."

I drag my mouth down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin where her pulse thrums. "You. Only you. Every part of you."

Her legs part for me, and I slide my hand between them, finding her already wet, already aching. She gasps when my fingers stroke her, circling her clit, teasing her entrance. "Gods—" Her hips jerk, seeking more. "Don’t make me wait."

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