Page 66 of Taloned Heart

Let the deepmongers be angry with what had happened. They deserved a few nights of frustration wondering how the mortal had managed to beat their centuries of experience.

Grinning, he wandered through the halls back to where he’d been setting up camp. Every day he waited for her to come out of the Matriarch’s personal quarters. Every day, she looked troubled and shook her head when he asked her what was going on. She never told him. Never let him in. But at least she knew she wasn’t alone.

Sliding down the wall, he opened the bag in his hands and grinned down at the contents. Now, he definitely knew what to do with this. And considering that Lore needed a break as much as he did? It was far pastime that he give her a little gift.

Abraxas leaned his head back against the wall and waited until the door opened. Lore stepped out, quiet and calm. She gently closed it behind herself, as though she didn’t want to disturb his rest.

“Are you well?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse as he pulled himself out of the waiting stasis he’d been in.

“Well enough.” But she turned toward him with shadowed eyes. “It is simply a lot to take in. There is more at play here than I ever thought and I am... overwhelmed.”

“Anything you can tell me?”

She touched her lips and pointed to the door. And he had to wonder just how much the Matriarch was listening to. If they were not safe even in the hallway to talk as they should be able to.

He was her mate. She was supposed to tell him everything without fear or judgment. That was how it worked.

Or at least, how he’d always assumed it would work.

Abraxas stood, his back cracking and his knees aching as he stretched out his long body before her. He followed her gaze, watching as she lingered in staring at his form. And he knew she wanted him. Of course she did. It had been too long for them, and their lives had turned toward duty and honor and a kingdom to save rather than simply loving each other as they were made to do.

“Come with me,” he said, stretching a hand out toward her. “Let’s have the night to ourselves.”

“It’s not safe to go above.” Lore scratched the back of her neck rather than take his hand. “The Matriarch has told me that Margaret has her ravens, even in the forest.”

“Then we will not let them see us.” He wiggled his fingers. “Where’s your sense of adventure, elf? The woman I knew would never have turned up a moment to shake off her chains and get outside.”

“That woman is currently weighed down by the responsibility of a kingdom and a people who need her help.”

“Then perhaps I might convince you to come and see the moon.” He had her with that. He saw the desire in her eyes and the wispy expression of hope that crossed her face. “You are not meant to linger in the darkness, Silverfell. The Ashen Deep have their caves, but you have always had your moon.”

Lore sighed and rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling neither of them could see. “Ah, Abraxas. You have always known how to get me to do what you want.”

Indeed, he did.

But the feeling of her fingers slipping between his, the warm squeeze she gave him in thanks even though she was overwhelmed by her own sense of duty? That was worth any risk that he might have to suffer.

He pulled her through the dark halls, past a group of Ashen Deep who were already plotting their next person to take on Zephyr. Past the room where he stayed with Lore, while Beauty and Zephyr stayed in the other. Beyond the whispering grimdags who remembered her and knew exactly what to say to tempt her.

He brought her to the same exit they had left out of all that time ago. The same exit where they had fled the Ashen Deep for the first time, after traveling away from the castle and toward an unknown that would thrust them onto this path.

“Do you remember where we are?” he asked.

“How could I forget?” Lore shook her head ruefully. “All of you charged in here to save me, certain that I had met some horrible doom at the hands of more elves who hated me.”

“You almost did end up dead. You’re lucky Draven took a liking to you or the Matriarch would never have given you a chance to live.”

“Perhaps.” Lore shrugged. “Or maybe she would have seen the power in me, even then. She didn’t want to change the prophecy, apparently. She just didn’t want the prophecy to ever come to life. At least not while she was still breathing.”

“Has she changed her mind yet?” He started them off at a steady clip, already certain where he was bringing her in this forest of green, growing moss and glittering dewdrops.

“Not really. She doesn’t agree with my methods or my plans. But she agrees Margaret has gone too far, so I believe that is progress.” Lore stepped over a fallen log and then turned her face into a beam of moonlight.

And she looked so beautiful standing there, with all the stressors easing from her features as she let the moon bathe her fears away. Her hair had grown so long now that she could braid it, but she let it fall loose around her face more often than naught. Those features had aged since he’d first seen her in the forest. Not much, as elves rarely aged at all, but he could see the way she’d changed. Only he would ever notice the featherlight wrinkles around her eyes or the way her jaw had sharpened.

But, ah, she was beautiful. She was his and his alone, and he was the luckiest man in the kingdom for it.

“I brought you a gift,” he said, tugging her away from her beam of moonlight to a small mossy patch that he’d remembered. The canopy above it had once been breached, perhaps by a falling dragon who had been desperately searching for his mate. And so the moon illuminated the entire glade.

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