Page 55 of The Bound Mage
“You don’t need to.” Loren’s hand reached for hers, his fingers grazing her skin in a touch that stirred the magic in her blood, sending a rush of warmth racing across her skin. “Just follow me.”
She let him guide her down the stairs, the joy of the night swelling around them—bright with music and laughter and light. The crowd parted for them, smiling faces spinning by in a blur as Loren drew her into the dance. Her steps were hesitant at first, clumsy and unsure. But Loren’s hand at her waist was steady. And slowly, fear loosened its grip.
Until it felt like flying.
She spun in his arms, laughter bubbling up before she could stop it, surprising her with its lightness. Loren’s face lit up at thesound, the shadow of his years in a cell falling away to show her the prince he must have once been.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said when they finally paused to rest.
Loren arched a brow, though amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Do you?”
She gestured toward the celebration—the vibrant colors, the music, the warmth, the pulse of joy thrumming in the air. “This,” she said. “Showing me what it can be like here. Hoping I’ll fall in love.”
The words left her mouth too easily—and the second they did, Araya felt her stomach drop.
She hadn’t meant him. She’d meant the fae. Their world. The freedom, the magic, the chance to be something other than a tool. But as soon as she said it, she felt the shift in the air between them. The way Loren’s gaze caught on hers, no longer amused but very still—like the words had meant something else entirely, or like hehopedthey had.
“And is it working?”
She should have laughed. Should have looked away and said obviously not, because of course she wasn’t in love. Not with him. Not with this place. Not with anything. She couldn’t afford to be.
But instead…she hesitated. Because gods help her, she didn’t know.
Loren looked away. His hand brushed lightly across her back as he stepped back, his touch so gentle it made her heart clench.
“I’ll get us something to drink,” he said. His voice was even, but his shadows brushed against her ankles, betraying him. “Don’t vanish.”
Araya stared after him, the words she hadn’t been able to speak still caught in her throat. She didn’t want to leave. Not the festival. Not this world—not him. But no matter how manyflower crowns Loren placed on her head, there was no real future where she got to have any of this. Not when her name, her future, and her freedom still belonged to Jaxon.
“Araya?” A familiar voice reached her over the music and laughter. “Is that really you?”
Araya turned, inhaling sharply as she met a pair of wide, violet eyes and the past collided with the present.
“Eilwen?”
The terrified, cowed female Araya had last seen at Serafina’s maternity clinic glowed with health now, her violet eyes bright with magic and her black hair shining under the golden light of the aetherlamps. But it was the child sleeping in her arms that Araya couldn’t stop staring at, even though all she could see over his blanket was a shock of midnight hair and a delicately pointed ear.
“His name is Selan,” Eilwen said. “We owe you and Serafina everything.”
Before Araya could find her voice, Eilwen pulled her into a tight embrace, pressing the precious bundle of blankets into her arms. Araya froze, afraid the rapid beat of her heart might wake him, but the child only stirred and snuggled into her with a little grunt as his mother stroked his cheek.
“He’s beautiful,” Araya whispered, her voice choked.
“He’s all I have left of his father,” Eilwen said with a watery smile. “He’s my joy. My hope.”
Araya rocked the baby gently, her gaze fixed on his tiny, peaceful face. Serafina had done this—helped Eilwen escape, given this little boy a future. How many others had she saved?
A brush of cool air against her ankle made Araya catch her breath. She glanced down at the little shadow, twining its way up her body toward its favored place across her shoulders. But this time, it moved with unusual care, as if it could sense the preciousness of the life cradled in her arms.
“Gentle,” Araya murmured. She didn’t want to scare Eilwen or her child—but the shadow slipped even closer, curious.
“Is that shadow magic?” Eilwen didn’t flinch or pull away, her voice laced with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it yours.”
“Not mine.” Araya shifted, letting the shadow curl around her wrist. “The shadows belong to Loren. This one just…likes me.”
Eilwen’s eyes widened. “Prince Loren?” She glanced toward where he lingered by the tables with Galen. “That’s amazing. I’m happy for you.”
Araya blinked, uncertain how to respond. “It’s complicated,” she said at last.
