Page 46 of The Bound Mage
“I can only spare you for two days,” Eloria said. “People will expect to see you at Bloomtide, so I’d appreciate it if you were back for that.”
Relief crashed over Loren so suddenly he nearly sagged against the table. But underneath it, shame twisted its sharp claws into him. He was supposed to be a prince, the savior they all looked to—but instead he was falling apart because he couldn’t bear being apart from one female.
Not trusting his voice, Loren inclined his head stiffly. Shoving back his chair, he stood and strode from the room, the shadows snapping at his heels.
“You’re notthe first one to make a mess of your mate bond, you know.”
“I don’t recall asking for your advice.” Loren scowled as Galen fell into step beside him, their footfalls echoing through the deserted corridor.
“You didn’t.” The golden-haired male shrugged, the pleasant, affable expression he always wore serious for once. “But Eloria cares deeply for you. I’d be a poor mate if I saw a way to help and held my tongue. Did you know she was only twenty-three when our bond drew us together?”
Loren faltered mid-step, his head whipping toward Galen. “Twenty-three?” His shadows hissed, spreading out around his feet as his chest tightened. “She was a child.”
“That’s what I told her.” Galen shrugged. “She was still grieving your father and struggling to run a kingdom she never expected to rule. I told her she needed more time to figure out who she was before throwing a mate bond into the mix—I’m sure you can imagine how that went over.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Loren snapped. Fae didn’t even come of age until twenty-five—it was unheard of a mate bond to manifest before then. Most fae waited until long into their forties and fifties.
“Maybe not, but my reasons were.” Galen snorted, shaking his head. “The whole truth is, I was terrified of the responsibility of keeping her safe when our people were on the verge of being wiped out. So I pushed her away.”
Loren’s lip curled. “You obviously got over it.”
“We did.” A thin smile tugged at Galen’s lips, gone as quickly as it came. “But not before she tried to claim the shadows.”
“Shewhat?” The words punched the air from Loren’s lungs. Even the shadows stilled, cringing against his legs.
“After your father died, she thought she had to be everything you would have been—that the shadows would answer to her if she just… proved herself worthy.” Galen sighed, his golden gaze distant. “Iranwhen I felt her terror—but they nearly tore her apart before I managed to drag her out.”
Loren stared at Galen, his throat working as he searched for the words to respond. Even the shadows were strangely silent,hovering around his legs like they were afraid to get too close but loathe to melt away. They had lashed out at Eloria once under his control—when they thought she was a threat to Araya. But to learn they had attacked her unprovoked, nearly killed her…it was a wonder she could stand in the same room with him at all.
“She never told me,” he said finally.
“She wouldn’t,” Galen said. “She doesn’t talk about it Loren. She’s never even told me what they said to her. All I’m saying is that when I tried to put space between us—even though I told myself and everyone around me that I was doing it for her—it nearly got her killed.”
Not us,the shadows protested, their myriad of voices overlapping in soft echoes as they pressed tightly against his legs, curling up his calves in restless patterns.Not us. Not that time?—
“All I’m trying to say is make sure whatever choice you make is actually forherand not just a product of your fear.” Galen clapped a hand on Loren’s shoulder, flashing a weary smile. “There’s no prize for suffering, Loren.”
Loren could only watch as Galen strode back down the hall. Returning to the warmth of the mate who waited for him—loved him. The shadows murmured, their restless mumblings as chaotic and unsettled as their shifting coils. But for once, Loren didn’t try to silence them.
Chapter
Twenty
Araya workedthe bread on the counter, turning and folding with more force than necessary. Gods damn Thorne and hisadvice—her chest ached worse than ever, a yawning hole that cried out for warm hands and soft lips. She scowled down at the sticky dough, trying desperately not to think about how right and safe it had felt with Loren wrapped around her.
“And what did that bread ever do to you?”
Araya startled, heat rushing to her cheeks. Veria stood in the doorway, her silver brows arched as she looked around. Araya followed her gaze and winced. Without Veria’s quiet magic tidying behind her, she’d managed to cover every surface in flour.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, surreptitiously scrubbing her hands against her flour-covered apron. “I thought I’d try and—” she winced as Veria picked up her first attempt at bread—a dense, flat disc that would have cracked your teeth if you tried to bite into it “—help.”
But Veria only smiled. She flicked her fingers, magic humming to life in the air around them. The scattered bowls rose into the air, dropping neatly into the sink as the brushes scudded through the soap, working themselves into a lather.
“I think you’ve worked that poor loaf enough for now,” she said kindly. “Get it into the pan and cover it up to rest, and you’ve earned yourself a cup of tea.”
By the time the kettle whistled, Araya was seated at the table, watching as Veria bustled around the hearth. The older fae moved with practiced ease, humming under her breath as she poured the steaming water over a blend of herbs and flowers. The fragrant steam curled through the air, filling the kitchen with notes of lavender and honey.
“You said you couldn’t sleep,” Vera said, setting the steaming cup in front of her before taking her own seat. “Was it dreams?”
