lady-marion

young Lady Marion and Lord Lochan-Throne of glass by Sarah J Maas




(Thanks to all for like and comments<3 you are so sweet guys <3) 

The Prologue

‘What if Arobynn Hamel had never saved Aelin,what if she never fell into the Florine river’

Its past midnight here and im tired so I’ll just apologize in advance because i got this idea two days ago and now we are here ​} … So without further ado:

Aelin ran through the darkness, her heart thundering in her ears drowned out the sounds of the hooves behind her. Her breath burned in her throat but she did not stop as the man gained on her. She faintly heard the gushing river far below her as she hurtled onto the rope bridge, her footing was unsteady over the planks and the bridge swayed as another, heavier weight bounded over it far behind her. She managed to stay upright even as the posts at each end began to creak and the sound of planks snapping filled the air. Her focus narrowed on the two posts as she made a running leap onto rock. Crying out as she collapsed onto the hard ground. As the posts at the far end gave way, twisting just in time to see the bloodthirsty face of her attacker a mere meter away before he plunged down into the ruthless waters of the Florine river.

She didn’t wait,  walking into the depth less forest ahead of her, into the unknown. It was so dark. So dark and so, so cold as the little girl navigated her way through the maze of trees shivering and alone. At some point she began to cry, tears of anguish and helplessness, screaming at the stars and the gods and the world until her throat turned raw and she ran out of tears. She clutched her amulet against her chest throughout the night, as if it would somehow guide her in the right direction and lead her home. Lead her to whatever was left of her home. She whispered their names into the darkness, mother, father, Orlon, Lady Marion…

She had never felt so alone, wandering through the forest with darkness and cold, empty air surrounding her. Aedion had been her constant, her rock while she learnt to navigate the court despite her young age. Aedion. Gods, she hadn’t heard any news of him. She was prepared to get on her knees and pray to whatever Deity would listen to keep him safe, protect him. A bitter part of her doubted they would pay any heed to her prayers now, after robbing her of so much.

Her tiredness had been tugging at her incessantly for a long while when she eventually found the abandoned barn, Its roof was in tatters and the wooden walls were splintering, its paint peeling off. The moon had reached its peak in the sky casting a white glow that broke through the roof’s holes, stacks upon stacks of old hay and straw towered above her and she climbed to the top and settled down underneath the blanket of stars, staring at the stag of the north until her eyelids drooped and her breathing steadied.

So Princess Aelin Galathynius closed her eyes and followed her body into oblivion.


‘Terrasen has fallen.’

A heavy silence fell among the group as they absorbed the information. The dread that had been building in his chest since the news came of an attack on terrasen finally cracked. There wouldn’t be any coming back from this, his fellow warriors had tried to sail and aid them, but Maeve had refused. Refused for some petty grudge as she was denied the right to see her niece in the short eight years she had lived.

Eight years old. Aelin Galathynius is eight years old, her family dead and she might be dead, was as good as dead. For the first time in centuries he felt hot anger ignite in his chest like the princess’ legendary wildfire, an emotion. The girl was being hunted by assassins and soldiers, she was likely terrified, alone and cold during winter. Saving Terrasen, a country he had no ties to yet still felt it was his duty to protect, protect Aelin of the wildfire.

He looked across the table the six of them had gathered around and saw what seemed to be devastation written on Fenrys’ face as they digested the news. A deafening silence had filled the room since the messenger spoke then abruptly left after scenting the anger that poured of Rowan and the rest of the legendary warriors. Even Salvetterre seemed to take his time digesting the news although his eyes were calculating, perhaps trying to figure the odds that the young princess had survived the attack. Vaughan and Conall were unmoving, sitting next to each other across the round table. It was shock, Rowan realised, that they were experiencing. Terrasen was a strong land that had flourished and rivalled Maeve’s land in that sense. Gavriel was sat to his right and his fight reflected Rowan felt in that moment. Disgust. Horror.

Amidst the sea of anger in Rowan’s gut, there arose a beacon of hope, the princess was not yet confirmed dead. A small part of him knew that she would fight until the last breath, she would not let go and for reasons unknown, he knew that she was alive. He could feel it in the very core of his being although he couldn’t explain it. From the rumours of the young princess across the sea, he knew she had unfathomable power that was still growing, she was strong. And some unearthly presence told him she would fight until her very bones gave up on her so that one day she would grow up remake this world, raise it up from ashes of tyranny and greed. Rowan thought it time for a new world to rise.

So, he looked to Fenrys, the wild one he knew would fight for the girl who in turn looked to Conall. He then shifted his gaze to Gavriel, letting the small, hopeful flame ignite his eyes, who was loyal to the very bone but as honourable as he was loyal, Rowan knew he would fight also. Lorcan’s face was cold, his mouth set in a hard line as the commander’s brain determined whether it was worth it. The warriors communicating silently in a way that had been practised over many years, they all turned to Lorcan who nodded once which was the only confirmation they needed.

They had no idea where the young princess was, what state she was in, but they knew that she was one on them and their fellow brothers and sisters across the sea had been attacked in cold blood, so they would help in whatever form they could.  She was so young. Too young to lose so much. She may already be so broken that she was beyond saving. He knew the others were contemplating the same thing, yet when Lorcan voiced it aloud Fenrys let loose a snarl vicous enough to earn him a challenging glare from him.

The messenger had only given the barest of details, an assassin had killed the king of Terrasen along with the parents to the Heir of the throne, all in their sleep and the princess had not yet been confirmed dead. The attack was confirmed to be from Ardalan when their forces began marching on Terrasen, the king was already in Orynth on a visit that would’ve been planned to every last detail in order to disable it’s monarchy and seize the throne for himself. There was no news of officials in Orynth, nor the young Ashryver prince that was a cousin to the princess. Rowan felt inclined to hunt the messenger down and squeeze more information out of him, but they worked with what they were given until a plan began to form that would develop over their trip.


Maeve considered their proposal silently, in her usual cunning way of hers and Rowan feared for a split second that the girl would not be safe here. But the princess was Terrasen’s last hope and it was necessary. It wasn’t pity or empathy that fueled this mission, but white hot rage the burned in his gut. Rage at Ardalan for attacking his brothers and sisters who were defenseless and weakened without their monarch.

Her majesty agreed easily, to rowan’s surprise, allowing Rowan to go along with Gavriel and Fenrys, they were under a strict order to retrieve the princess then leave without wasting any time and three warriors were more than enough for the mission.

As they began the journey, Rowan felt a dormant part of himself wake up after many centuries, a part of him he thought was long gone. The spark of hope for the young princess turned into a flame that ignited his burning rage that he allowed to swallow him and fuel his determination.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn rallied his fellow warriors and set out to find Terrasen’s lost princess, to find Aelin of the wildfire.

Braids & War Paint (Part 9)

Notes On:
Part 1: / Part 2: / Part 3: / Part 4: / Part 5: / Part 6: / Part 7: / Part 8: 

Italics is bond talking. 


“Be seen but not heard.” Said Evalin Ashryver, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. Aelin was dressed in various shades of brown for her travels, the track to Ellywe was long and her baby girl was going alone. But if her Fireheart had to leave, if Aelin had a reason for leaving like this, Evalin would support her trek, even if that meant Aelin had to be alone. 

Evalin wasn’t naive, she knew just like the next person what Aelin’s power was like. Evalin knew firsthand how skilled she was with metal and weapons. She could almost feel the presence of the little folk from where they stood. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Aelin smiled. Evalin could see so much of Rhoe in her. “Would you like me to bring you anything?” 

“I think my finger is calling for a new embellishment.” Evalin said, her sad, worried smile didn’t reach her eyes as she made the joke. Aelin will highly likely bring her home a ring. 

“I’ll see you soon.” Aelin said before riding off on Kasida. 

Rhoe’s hand rested on Evalin’s shoulder, it was comforting in the time when Evalin needed it. Like now, when the only thought running around Evalin’s head was that she was a bad mother, letting Aelin leave like that without anyone. 

“Lady Marion said she’ll take Fleetfoot back with her and Elide to Perranth.” Rhoe said, neither of them wanted to move until Aelin was out of sight. 

“What of Aedion and Lyansdra? When do they take leave for Illium?” Evalin asked. She hated when the castle was quiet, hated when her family was gone.

“Tonight.” That meant it would just be Evalin, Rhoe and Orlon. Evalin loved the Galathynius brother’s with all her heart, but Evalin lived for her daughter. 


Aelin hated dust and her arse hurt so much she wanted to scream. She had made it to Rifthold by nightfall. She thanked the gods for her animal form, a human was a good disguise, a buzzard was not. 

Dorian had advised her to stay clear of the Glass Castle. So she had done just that and found an inn. She laid on the stiff matress and thought of her buzzard. If she had planned correctly he would’ve received her hawk by now. She had tried not to think about Dorian’s letter, he had wrote her a frantic message about Wendlyn closing their borders, Doranelle closing all intercontinental shipments. 

She wondered if her dreams weren’t dreams at all but visions or memories from a long time ago. She thought of how her grandmother always blesses her at Yulemas, she thought of Brannon and Elena and Gavin. What did Mala Fire-Bringer think of her? What did Mora think of her and Rowan? 

Aelin hoped Aedion would pay his respects in Brannon’s temple while he was in Illium, only the Gods know the answer to all the bodies popping up in Illium and surrounds. All of them drained of blood. 

If Rowan was here she could ask him more about Doranelle’s history. She had heard of Brannon being born a bastard there before he and Mala sailed across to Erilea. She had heard of the First War, when Valg had poured in through portals, many were killed or exiled back to their home dimension using powerful wyrdmarks. Very few of them remained in Erilea but the king remained, Erawan killed and slaughtered many members of the Bane centuries later. What happened next is muddy, some say Elena killed him, some say Elena sent him back to the pit he crawled from and others theorise that he had been suppressed somehow and that he would return again. 

The demons of her dreams would have to be the Valg, there was no other explanation for it. Especially if they were memories or visions. Aelin had experienced visions before because of Brannon’s mark, but they hand never been this dark. 

The Wyrd had been forged with keys, two of which Aelin knew of. She had one, The Amulet of Orynth and Dorian had the other, The Eye of Elena. Aelin was damned if she knew where the third one rested, or even what the third one was.

All of this speculating without fact hurt her brain, the two strings in her chest felt different, one laid loose- as if nothing was connected on the other end and the other felt taught. The latter was the carranam bond. When she was a child Aedion used to tell her bedtime stories of carranam that remade the world, the dreamers bought forth a better world for everyone. 

Aelin sent his name barreling through the bond, deep down she knew it probably wouldn’t do anything. But she was a dreamer. 

Rowan?

Nothing. For the first time Aelin felt alone and it was all Rowan’s fault, how dare he storm into her life all cannons blazing and then leave? She would see him soon enough but just the thought of him made her happy. But the idea of him leaving again made her want to hit him. 

Aelin?  Rowan’s accented voice slammed into her head loud and clear, her whole chest warmed, both strings felt a tug before she answered.

I didn’t expect this to work. Aelin laughed into the cold empty room. 

Are you okay? 

I’m fine as anyone could be in this shitty inn.

Inn? Are you travelling or just sneaking out?

I’m seeing Nehemia, I’ve been having…strange dreams recently.

It was quiet for a long time and Aelin had thought the connection had faded until he spoke up again. 

Dreams? What of? 

Lots of things- evil bastards usually.  Aelin tried to joke about it but the screams still rang in her ears from last time she slept, she prayed Rowan couldn’t hear them. 

We won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.  He said, understanding her seriousness, with his own sense of wary Aelin could feel it from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes that Rowan knew what she spoke of. 

But if we stop talking I’ll have to sleep and I’m not too keen to do that. 

What if I read to you, Fireheart.

Okay. Aelin said as Rowan started to read the gods awfully good romance book she had slipped into his saddle bag. 

That night Aelin fell asleep to Rowan’s voice and across the sea Rowan fell asleep with a romance novel in his lap. 


A curt knock at Rowan’s door caused him to jump, the shitty romance novel he had been reading to Aelin fell out of his lap and slid under his bed. 

Rowan quickly got to his feet, fixing his tunic as he opened the door. 

Gavriel smiled at him.

“Let me guess,” Rowan said, his morning voice fleeting as he cleared his throat. “I’m wanted at breakfast.” 

“How did you guess? You must have gotten smarter in Terrasen.” Gavriel said, rolling his eyes. Gavriel was the kindest of them but when he gets sarcastic he takes no prisoners. 

The two of them walked through the light corridors of the Palace of Rivers. A maid quickly darted past them, carrying a vase of geraniums.   

Aelin hated geraniums.   

“Had a big night?” Gavriel quirked, gesturing to Rowan’s messy hair.   

“New book.” Gavriel laughed at him before nudging him in the ribs.   

“Since when do you read for fun?”   

“I don’t.” Rowan grumbled as they passed a group of Wendlyn Nobles.

He was almost relieved to see Lorcan as he strode away from Gavriel’s teasing. Rowan had never been a morning person, neither is Lorcan. 

The table had been set for sixteen, Rowan spied the place cards and calculated: there were seven of them, including Maeve. Three Ashryvers, Rowan’s uncle, Endymion, Sellene, Lady Remmele (Which Rowan couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of), Lord Benson and Lady Essar. 

The breakfast had been going well, Rowan had been placed far away from Remmele and across from Enda, Sellene and His uncle. No one was really talking, quiet chit-chat in between close guests. 

Until Remmele opened her godsdamned mouth. 

“Prince Galan, her Majesty was telling me that you have been in Terrasen of late.” Remmele said, causing the room to fall into a cone of silence, everyone was listening now.

“Yes, Prince Rowan and I sailed over.” Galan said. Rowan was going to stab him in the thigh with his butterknife if he kept talking. He felt a kick under the table and was met with Endymion’s narrowed eyes. 

“Oh really? And how was your…kin across the sea?” Rowan knew that Remmele only meant Aelin. His temper flared. Tales of Aelin’s war against the witches had reached Doranelle before the war was won. How Aelin had no need to dismount her horse, with one look she had burned through legions. 

“One cousin I favoured more than the other Lady Remmele, if you want to know more about the Crown Princess I’m not the one you should be asking.” Galan said staring straight at Rowan, his mouth pressed into a straight line. 

For the first time all morning, Maeve spoke:

“What did you think of my niece, Rowan?” Her voice stern and cold.

“Princess Aelin was everything the rumours suggested, my queen.” It was true. She was a fierce fighter, she was heavily trained, she was an expert with every form of weapon, she had the deepest power Rowan had ever encountered, she was the most beautiful life form to ever walk the earth, she had an inner circle to rival all of the spy rings in Wendlyn. She was too intelligent for her own good, she was reckless and wild. She was his, though that wasn’t a rumour nor was it well known. 

“A threat to me, then?” Maeve said leaning back in her ornate dining chair, her finger with her nail shaped into a sharp point circled the rim of her drinking goblet. Her even voice caused the whole table to stiffen. 

“Terrasen is just as big of a threat as any other, your Majesty.” Rowan said cryptically. He felt Lorcan’s gaze burning him. As well as Sellen’s worried eyes. 

“I did not ask you, Prince Rowan, about Terrasen. I asked you about my niece.” 

Rowan stayed silent.

That was the only answer Maeve needed. 

She stood so quickly glasses and tableware shook. She left the dining hall, a plethora of Queen’s Guardsmen trailing after her, their purple capes fluttering in the ethereal breeze.   

Rowan stabbed a piece of meat when everyone at the table started talking to him at once, save for the Ashryvers who quickly took their leave.   

He couldn’t believe Maeve had the nerve to ask him about the threat of Aelin instead of asking him if Aelin would help them in a potential war against the Valg.


Darkness was the best time for it to crawl through.   

It was made of smoke and was cut from the cloth of blackness that will cleave the world apart.   

It jumped from room to room in the castle.   

Until it could taste their breaths.   

It held her in it’s claw, her blonde hair hung off her limply when she was in this rag doll state. With it’s sharpest claw on the opposite hand it cut her throat as it drank the scarlet life blood from her golden body.   

It moved on to the other sleeping body, it was a male. Their blood never tasted as sweet. When his head hit the pillow seperate from it’s body It moved onto the next one.

It was an older looking version of the last one it fed from. There was only one body in this bed. 

It was a crimson lake when the darkness left. It crawled back to his master.
Royal Blood was always better, especially in the name of revenge.


AN: OMG GUYS! You’ve all been so supportive and cool! The follower count is nearly at 230 already! 

I can’t thank you all enough!

This piece was written for: @2-bookmaster-2 @aelin-and-feyre @rowanismybae @sparkleywonderful @cassiancalore @igniscorde7112 @illyrian-high-lord @daughterxofxnight @bigsis227 @crazybookladythings @gcarroll @sugarcoated44 @wolffrising @notjustanyoldfangirl @bluephoenix222  @fck-tamlin and @readinglikewildfire

If you have any questions, ideas, prompts, requests, asks or just want a lil chat jump into my inbox, leave a comment or ask me something! I love getting to know everyone. 

Much love and many thanks!

-El. 

anonymous asked:

Hello, I know you said you don't like receiving praises, but your art is truly fantastic! You really make the Obitine pairing "come to life". All the history-inspired art is great, too. Could you draw a Robin Hood/Lady Marion themed Satine & Obi-Wan?

Oh dear, I guess I do sound ungrateful, don’t I? Very sorry, sweet anon, thank you for your kind words, and please know that I am always happy that you like my art.

Also I am a big nerd about Robin Hood myth (Paul Creswick’s novel from 1917 with the Wyeth illustrations is my favorite version), so this was a pleasure:

Elorcan Fan-fic; angst and slight smut

Elide stood quietly in the ballroom, the stained glass windows bathed the room in hues of green. Victory was bittersweet, the war against Erawan and Mave was hard won and the road to normalcy would be difficult, the court had much to reconstruct for Terrasan and for themselves. She sucked in a sharp breath to steady herself. Would things be easier if she had the guiding hand of her mother? Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, what would her mother say today; the day of her daughter’s coronation? The wooden double doors of the ballroom swung open wildly, the Queen of Terrasan marched hastily towards Elide. She nearly jumped out of her skin, the grin on the Queen’s face was as wicked and beautiful as she was. It had taken weeks for the court to fully recover, King Rowan insisted that Aelin remain in bed resting. At first, it very clearly did not befit Aelin, but after much yelling from both parties she consigned. “Majesty! Be careful with your woun- “. Aelin took Elide into her arms, “Cut the ‘Majesty’ bull. Today is your special day! There is just simply, no way I am going to stay in bed.” The Queen beamed, the light that glowed from her Queen nearly made Elide want to cry, the sacrifice her mother made all too much sense.  Aelin’s face fell, “Elide, why are you crying? “Elide stepped out of her arms shaking her head and giggling, “You are absolutely right Aelin, this would not be a true celebration without your extraordinary taste.” The Queen grinned and took Elide by the arm, “Come I’ve made arrangements for the maids to draw you a bath and primp you for the ceremony. Everything else consider it done. The only thing you need to worry about is having fun.”

A sick panic welled up in Elide’s abdomen, suddenly everything was too fast. She was whisked away from her Queen’s side by the maids. They made quick work of undressing her and unbounding her hair from the tight knot it had sat upon her head. Steam swallowed the bathing room, a sweet smell of vanilla and elderberries peppered the air. Elide sunk into the bath with a groan, the muscles on her shoulders slumped as the knots melted off. These weeks had consumed her mind with worry so thoroughly she could not recall the last time she had a restful night of sleep. A night where nightmares were not there to shake her from her slumber. One of the misses combed Elide’s long black hair with cinnamon and elderberry oils, lathering it into her roots and massaging her scalp. The maids washed the oils from her dark locks and left the warm water running as they exited the room allowing Elide a moment to herself.

Silence was not always the best company for a racing mind. She brought her knees towards her chest and rested her cheek a top her knees. For a moment she closed her eyes and submerged her face in the warmth of the water. Dark eyes stared at her nakedness, unforgiving and calculating. But when they turned to her face they softened, his words caressed her ribs, beneath her breast, and her hips. Goosebumps speckled her skin as he moved towards her a sadness churned in his eyes, “I am sorry Elide. Please forgive me.” The roughness in his hands was tender as he stroked her shoulders making lazy circles, the heat of his breath on the crook of her neck made her knees wobble. Lorcan kissed a gently path down her collarbone as Elide tipped her chin higher lust filled hunger and heat flickered her stomach a small sigh escaped her lips. Pulling away from her neck Lorcan ravaged her with his onyx eyes as he drank in her peaked breast and shallow breath; until he gripped her wrist, tears welled in his eyes; “Please, Elide.” Pain seared her arms as he twisted harder the angular face melted into a familiar face older and sinister, a voice like venom dripped from thin lips and Vernon screamed with laughter.

Elide shot up from the bath heaving, nausea filled her. She looked around hastily; no Vernon was dead; he would never escape Hellas. At the thought of the God a certain demi-fae also crossed her mind. She shook her head furiously, Absolutely not. Lorcan was a traitor regardless of the help he provided in the war, if she never saw him again it would be too soon.

Elide sat still has the maids brushed her face with cosmetics and braided her hair into a crown on top of her head. Kohl was swept above her lashes forming a cat eye, her lashes curled and darkened, and her lips painted ruby red. Surprise danced in her eyes as she looked at the woman in the mirror. The olive of her skin was polished bringing out the light of her onyx eyes, she appeared older perhaps this façade was better fit to be Lady of Perranth then she felt. “My lady, you have a visitor.” She arched a groomed brow when the maid stepped away from the frame of the open door to reveal a different body. Elide bristled like a cat as Lorcan stood at the door with a dozen white roses in his arms. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”, she gritted through her teeth her eyes narrowing. Lorcan cleared his throat, “Today is your corona-”” I gods damn know what day it is. I want to know what made you think you were invited.”, Elide spat. She uncoiled to her feet and approached Lorcan, taking the flowers from his arms, “You can shove these right up yo-” The chambermaid cleared her throat and made a hasty exit, Elide pressed her lips into a hard line and turned towards her bed lying the bouquet sloppily on the bed. Lorcan concealed a grin behind a hand. She turned back to the chair facing the mirrored vanity and mumbled, “Insufferable bastard.”

He was towering in the, suddenly, small room and roguishly handsome in the elegant white tunic, his black hair pulled into a low pony tail. But she could not deny herself a chance to exam the thunderous rolls of muscles on his body in the mirror; she gulped. Lorcan prowled closer to Elide, she tipped her chin up in disgust, “You look lovely. Perranth will have a beautiful lady.” Her lower spine tingled as he stood behind her, so close but yet she hated the space that still separated them. Hated herself for ever admitting she wanted him closer. No, instead she rose from the chair and turned to the male with an icy smile a crude remark on her lips until, “My lady, it is time.” Mika announced. Elide allowed herself to exam his body openly, convincing herself it was to belittle him, but the predatory smile on the male’s lips told her Lorcan was not convinced with her act, something on his face was different, not quite right perhaps gaunt from whatever nightmares haunted him; she stepped around him to reach Mika.  

The gown was made with heavy silk, draped taffeta on the skirt, the bodice tight charmeuse like a second skin with a bateau neckline; oh but it was the color of the gown a deep shade of jade.  Elide wore slippers instead of the traditional heeled shoe to ease the pain in her ruined ankle. The orchestra played a playful twinkling piece as she walked with ease towards the temple grounds of the Three-Faced Goddess. A woman in an abysmal red dress stood off to the side her long silver hair whipping in the wind her yellow sharp eyes lined with silver alight with pride; Manon; Elide’s eyes watered but she held her head high. Beside the wing leader was the King of Adarlan both dressed in red although the King bore his crown. The priestess in the temple quietly sang hymns to Elide, hymns of powerful futures for Terrasan, for Aelin’s court, the hymns told of the magic that simmered quietly in Elide’s veins, and finally; the last hymn spoke of being the blessed of Anneith and ever favored object of Hellas. Her face warmed at the mention of the Goddesses’ consort but the resumption of the orchestra told Elide it would be time to for her crowning.

Elide held her breath as a silvered box marched toward her, the bearer was Chaol Westfall, the King of Adarlan’s right hand man. His brown eyes shown with pride as well, the war had brought about an unlikely friendship between the two. A silvered parure with green opals was revealed and Elide bowed as deeply as her ankle would allow her. The parure heavy with jewels and responsibility; she felt the weight of her people on her heart. When Elide coiled to her feet in front of her stood Queen Aelin and King Rowan in meek finery. “Rise, Lady of Perranth and welcome home.” Tears shone in the Queen’s eyes and both of the monarch’s bowed as she straightened to her feet. Turning to face the crowd the entire procession erupted into thunderous applause. Elide smiled a warm gentle hand squeezed her exposed shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Lady Marion would be so proud.” She swallowed the want to explode into tears and instead straightened her back; she will be strong for Perranth, like her mother was strong for her.

After the ceremony Elide strolled into the garden for a moment alone with her thoughts. She hadn’t spotted Lorcan with the other cadre during the ceremony, perhaps the weight of her words did cause the demi-fae to disappear like some genteel warrior. A knot formed on her chest, and Elide shook her head against that feeling as her eyes stung from the emotions building behind them, No, it didn’t matter she didn’t want him there to begin with not after what he had done to her queen. “I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide.” “I will always find you,” he swore to her. A sob built in her throat, naive and stupid that’s what those thoughts placed her in the shoes of a little girl.

“Elide?”, a female voice sounded from behind her and Elide straightened her spin at the cool command of the voice. Impulsively, she wiped the tears flowing down her cheeks but too late Manon turned her around and concern wrinkled her beautiful features, “What’s the matter, witchling?” Elide quivered, “Nothing, Lorcan, he … I did not…” She halted her sentence at the sight of Manon’s expression of anguish, “Oh, Elide. Lorcan he didn’t… Remember in the war he.” Elide’s world tilted,

oh yes

, a hole punched through her chest. Pain, the likes of which she had never endured, gaped below her like a sinkhole. Her soul guttered, her frame shuddered viciously.

The court had lost so many, Mave, she did not die without someone to take with her into the darkness.

Lorcan couldn’t be dead he had been in her room; by the Gods he had delivered roses!

Unrelenting screams rattled from Elide’s throat at the sight of Lorcan burning from his powers. Magic sucking the life from him, but strong hands held her fast; Choal shuddered against her thrashing.

Elide stared beyond Manon to see her court there, lips pursed, eye avoidant, and faces sullen.

“Please no, Lorcan!”

, she had screamed until she was hoarse. She had held him as the healers attempt to save him from that darkness. Tears stained her dirty face. Her nails broken and bleeding as she held him. His frame too big for her to completely engulf him with her warmth.

They had heard her conversation with Lorcan, no, the conversation she thought was Lorcan in her chamber but it had been Manon. The tears lining her eyes was not only for pride, no it was also from the pain.

Her body rattled from holding him against her, she had kissed his cold lips over and over. Not again, not another person to rip away from her. “I think… I think I loved you.” She whispered to him but he was impossibly cold, she would not release him.

No one moved for a long moment and Elide strained to still her feverish fluttering heart. She was going to combust, her bones melted as she sank to her knees. The beautiful skirt of the emerald dress puffed around her. Rowan approached her slowly, as if she were some prey but she could not find the strength to fight against the horror that washed her world.

“I wanted to go to Perranth with you.”,

they had been close to death once and he had whispered that to her. “I wanted you to come with me, to Perranth.”, Elide whispered as she bowed her head, a pray on her lips as she sent that message to Hellas himself.