Page 50 of The Bound Mage
“You’re the mate of the crown prince.” Loren couldn’t help but smile at the dumbfounded expression on her face. “Eloria gave you a title the moment you stepped off the boat,Lady Starwind.”
For a heartbeat, he thought she’d still argue, but then her gaze flicked past him to the crowd that filled the bustling square, the stubbornness draining from her expression.
“Very well.” She sniffed, taking his arm. “But only if you introduce me properly,Your Highness. I’ve never had a title before—I’d hate to get it wrong.”
Loren choked on a laugh. “I think you’ll manage,” he said, his heart flipping over in his chest as the hint of a smile that curled at the corner of her mouth bloomed into a grin.
He guided her up the stairs and through the tall doors, exchanging nods with the guards as they crossed into the wing Eloria had claimed for personal residences. She’d have to find Araya a set of rooms and have them prepared too. Maybe he should have sent word that Araya was coming with him—but he hadn’t actually believed it would happen.
Araya’s grip tightened on his arm as laughter spilled out from Eloria’s apartments. The sound of clinking glass and muffled voices bled into the corridor, warm and unguarded.
“It’s alright,” he murmured, resting his other hand over hers. “Trust me, they’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“Just because you believe that doesn’t make it true,” Araya retorted, her grip on his arm tightening. But she kept pace with him as he pushed the door open without knocking, stepping into his sister’s apartments at his side.
“You brought her.” Eloria shot to her feet, both hands flying to her mouth to muffle her delighted laugh. “You actuallybroughther!”
“It’s about time.” Galen stood beside his mate, a wide grin splitting his face. “Welcome, Araya. Happy Bloomtide.”
“Happy Bloomtide,” she said softly, still clinging to his arm. “Sorry to interrupt your celebration, Your Majesties.” Her gaze flitted to where Thorne sat, his expression carefully neutral. “Thorne.”
“Please.” Eloria snorted, shaking her head. “You’re as welcome as he is. Here, let’s go find you something to wear?—”
The shadow surged before Loren even consciously thought to direct it, twining around Araya’s legs and rearing up with a warning hiss.
“Really?” Eloria dropped her hand, her smile flattening into a scowl. “You’ll be right here. She’s perfectly safe with me?—”
“You still have toaskher,” Loren snapped. “The last time you saw her, you tricked her. You might think it was harmless, but I don’t.”
Eloria’s mouth twisted. “Goddess spare me from mated males,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. But her expression softened as she turned back to Araya. “It doesn’t have to be right now. I have plenty of dresses you can borrow. The two of you are probably starving. At least join us for dinner.”
Araya nodded slowly, the shadows dissolving around her like smoke. Eloria didn’t try to touch her this time, instead simply ushering her over to the couches, chattering the entire time.
“And here I thought you’d rather wrestle azal’vorrthan admit you cared,” Thorne drawled, lifting his glass in a lazy salute before taking a sip.
“Goddess spare us from mated males,” Galen added, mimicking his mate’s exasperated tone with a smirk. He poured another drink, pressing it into Loren’s hand. “She’s going to have you wrapped around her little finger before Bloomtide is over.”
“You’re both insufferable.” Loren snorted, tossing back half the glass in one swallow.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
They atein what must have once been a beautiful solar, the ceiling paneled with glass and a wide balcony just beyond the doors. The mist was thinner here, streaked with oranges and violets from the setting sun instead of the dense shroud that blanketed Ithralis. She still couldn’t see the stars, but for the first time since she’d crossed the Veil it felt like she could breathe freely.
“Thank you,” Araya murmured, smiling as Loren sat her plate down in front of her.
He took the seat beside her, a shadow curling lazily around her ankle. Across the table, Galen and Thorne had already launched into some half-serious argument, their voices overlapping as forks clattered against plates.
“I’d bet you the last honey-cake he refuses to relax,” Galen said, pointing his fork at Loren.
“I relax,” Loren snapped, straightening in his chair. “Sometimes.”
“That’s a bad bet.” Thorne arched a brow, shaking his head. “Your definition of relax, or his?”
“Mine, obviously.” Galen scoffed. “Loren thinks pouring over dusty old books is relaxing.
Loren’s mouth twitched, and to Araya’s shock he didn’t retreat into silence. “You can’t win every fight with a sword, Galen.”
