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This had to be it. Had to be.
Elide accepted the hand offered from outside the carriage door, stepping down onto the dusty dirt road. She stared ahead to the modest thatched-roof house beyond a narrow path of cobbles.
“My Lady?” her driver said, waiting for her command with his crooked arm toward her. Ah, the uneven stonework.
She was glad she had worn flying leathers and a simple white tunic. A choice, Elide realized, had made her task both easier and more challenging in some ways. No one expected a young royal to emerge from a closed carriage clad in skins, boots, and a sloppy braid. When she inquired about farming communities in and around the Oakwald Forest in markets and pubs, it made it easier for her to blend in. There were only so many flat expanses in the gullies and glens that fit, after all.
That’s where the Lady of Perranth started. In reality, that’s where her life had truly begun. Under the diffused lush canopy of the mystical woods. Where she had first sensed him . Saw his dark head and eyes that had reminded her of death, of Morath, at first. Everything about him was dark. He had been following her, watching her with a warrior’s assessment, crouched beside that stream with a knife balanced on his knee.
“Unless you want to be lunch, girl, I suggest you come with me.”
And yet, Anneith had not informed her to run from him. To be afraid.
She was never truly afraid of Lorcan Salvaterre.
Even when the demi-fae male moved like a predator with his magic and skill, his deadly intent had never been toward her—but for her. Every maneuver he had made, every costly mistake, he had believed for her benefit. For her survival.
Because he had loved her from the beginning.
And it was in these very woodlands, whether by fate or a god’s hand, that the seeds of their love had been planted. It was a thick bramble of tangles and sharp thorns. But out of the ashes of war, of betrayal and heartache and loss, like the single flower which had sprouted from the sacrifice of the Thirteen on the battlefields of Terrasen, so had their true feelings bloomed.
Their undying and unwavering love for one another.
In spite of Lorcan's answer, he hadn't given the matter much thought after Elide's proposal. A few short weeks after the Queen of Terrasen’s coronation, they had spoken their vows in front of their family, both blood and found.
Their first anniversary was now mere days away, and Elide was running out of time. Lord Lorcan Lochan had been called away by his queen. A ploy Aelin had helped concoct when Elide had divulged her plans to her friend.
“Elide! I am shocked—and highly amused. I would be positively delighted to not only help you in your quest and also piss off your husband. It would be my honor.”
The clock began ticking down the moment Lord Lorcan Lochan received the parchment with the royal seal at the breakfast table. Elide had kept her eyes bored, trained on her tea as her husband read the words on the page. Rolling his ebony eyes, he had crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it across the room into the fireplace with an annoyed scowl.
At first, Elide believed Lorcan would ruin everything. But lucky for her, the blood oath he had sworn to Aelin—sworn for Elide—prevented him from declining.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he’d said on a long-suffering sigh, planting a hard kiss on the top of her head, then her mouth, before he departed. “Hellas only knows what the fuck she wants, but I swear I’ll be back in time for our anniversary.” The corners of his usually straight mouth tipped up in a curl that promised wicked things. “I have plans for you, wife.”
Her breath had shuddered out, blood heating at the intent in the endearment. At what he would do to her once he indeed got a glimpse on his return. “As do I, husband.”
He swept an idling kiss against her mouth. Once. Twice. “I better go before Aelin lights a fire under my ass.” Knowing the queen they served, a definite possibility, indeed.
A week. Aelin had promised Elide to keep the broody male occupied for a week.
“How will you keep him busy?” Elide had asked during their private meeting.
Aelin had peered at her nails as she said, “Rowan has agreed to do training with my blood sworn and with the Bane. A little cadre bonding trip to the Staghorns. I told him to get Lorcan drunk. Keep him that way if possible. He is always more fun when he’s shitfaced.”
Elida smiled a little at that. “And if they return early?”
The young queen sighed thoughtfully, shrugging. “He’s blood sworn to protect Terresan. So protecting Terresan, he has to protect me. ” Aelin’s mouth twitched. “Besides, Lord Lorcan Lochan could use some obedience training. Let’s see…” She tapped her chin with an elegant finger. “I could send him to market when I have a craving for quail eggs. Have him muck the stalls. Oh, put him on scullery maid duty in the kitchen. Apron and all. Shine my boots. Have him re-carpet the stairs in the palace. They are a tripping hazard.”
“No, it’s you who are the tripping hazard,” Rowan said as he strolled dressed in his regality, shutting the door behind him. “As in, you have tripped me by stepping on my heels. Which is why I always walk behind you instead of in front.”
Aelin snorted, “I’m sure that’s not the only reason, Buzzard.”
Rowan smiled, first at his wife, then at the Lady of Perranth. “Apologies, Elide, but it seems my wife has forgotten we have an important meeting with emissaries from both the Southern Continent and Wendlyn to attend. But don’t worry. We’ll keep Lorcan occupied while you’re away.”
As Aelin rose, taking Rowan’s offered hand, she whispered over her shoulder, “I’ll put Fenrys on Lorcan duty.”
May the gods help them all—especially Lorcan.
Elide limped her way to the front door of the Adarlandian farmhouse, her braid bouncing across her back. Her shoulders back. She told herself to remain confident but cheerful. Approachable.
For the tenth time now, she’d gone up a path and knocked on a stranger’s door, rehashing the same odd question.
“Pardon me. I’m sorry to bother and intrude. But I was wondering if you could help me.”
Twice she’d been laughed at by a homeowner directly. Once she’d had the door abruptly slammed in her face.
Six times, Elide had proceeded. “I know this is perhaps an odd question, but do you perhaps remember a traveling caravan of performers moving through here shortly after the attack on Rifthold?”
Four times, they had remembered. And she’d gone on to ask, “I know this is peculiar, but… did you perhaps buy a shirt off of a male for ten coppers? He was a sword thrower working with the carnival troupe.”
And when all four females asked for a description of the male, she said, “He’s quite hard to forget. Dark hair and eyes.” Like the darkest, starless night. “Tanned and well-muscled.” And every visible inch had been oiled up, glistening in the sun like some lost god. “He performed with a sword, knife, and ax.” And had performed so well with those deft, capable hands that he had earned them much coin for their journey.
Three times she’d had a polite sorry, dear, uttered at her request. Twice more she’d had people offer to help Elide, if only to track down said male, she bet. Only once had she found someone who remembered when that carnival had passed through. Remembered Elide’s husband vividly. Perhaps too vividly.
The older woman’s rheumy eyes twinkled with memory. “Ah, the handsome knife juggler who was as tall as a healthy dogwood tree? I often wondered what happened to him. Happy to hear he survived. The world is certainly better for it. But I regret I am not the one who owns that fine specimen’s shirt. Though I understand your pursuit of it. It would indeed be my most treasured possession.”
Resigned that her mission was surely a lost cause, Elide smiled politely and thanked the elderly woman for her time, intending to return home shirtless. Until knobby fingers wrapped around her arm.
“But,” the old woman drew the word out in suspense. “I recall hearing a story, a rumor, from a Mrs. Marren in the farmer’s market shortly after the attack on the caravan. While there were talks about the attack, there were many a woman and quite a few males wondering if the male who had fought so fiercely survived the war.”
“He did,” Elide had explained.
The elder woman’s smile became feline. “And you married him?” The heat spreading across Elide’s cheeks gave her away. Her lips tilted upward, remembering their stint with the troupe they played as a married couple. “Lucky woman, indeed. Or perhaps he is an even luckier male. For who else would venture for a shirt?” She jerked her chin toward the road beyond the stone fence. “And you’re in luck, my dear. The Marren farm is just up the road about five miles east of here.”
Hope bubbled up like a hot spring, and Elide couldn’t help but grin wildly. All those doors and laughs and questions on this journey led to this moment.
Knock! Knock!
Nothing.
Knock! Kno—
The door flew open so fast that Elide fell over the threshold.
“Oh! Are you all right?”
Wincing, Elide peered up. A pretty brunette, buxom woman with green eyes stood there. She wore a soot-covered dress and apron. A clinging female toddler on her hip. Another male child, perhaps a year or two older than the other, peeping behind her leg.
Elide stood, hiding the grimace of bearing weight on her battered ankle. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Very well. May I help you?”
So Elide recited the standard line of questions.
Yes, the woman remembered both the carnival and the powerful, charismatic male.
Setting the smallest child down to join the elder in play, the woman crossed her hands over her chest and leaned against the threshold. “Oh, I remember him. My word, he was…” She dragged her teeth over her lower lip.
Elide cleared her throat. “Yes, he is quite unforgettable. Did you perhaps buy a shirt off of a male?” The smug twist in the pretty woman’s growing smile was answer enough. “I’d like to buy it off of you. If it is still in your possession, I mean.” Madam Marren snorted at the request, nearly shutting the door in her face. Elide blocked the door open with her foot. “I’m serious.”
Eyes narrowed, the brunette woman said, “No.”
“I’ll pay you.”
And when Elide didn’t look away, merely shook the coin purse looped to her belt, the lady finally said. “I don’t know. It is rather priceless.”
“Please.”
“Ten gold marks.”
“Gold? You paid ten coppers!”
The farmer’s wife shrugged. “Money well spent, then. So, what will it be?”
She bristled, her lips pursing. “Let me see the damn thing first.” She would know if the shirt was a fake. Before he’d graced the world with the sight of his well-honed body, Lorcan had worn a black long-sleeved tunic with pewter buttons. When he’d tugged the damned thing over his head, two buttons over the chest had popped off. Not that Elide had been watching closely during his show…
The woman smirked and walked deeper into the house, emerging with the shirt moments later. Elide had imagined the woman might have it in a place of honor or a shrine dedicated. However, it was wrinkled and rolled up.
With a snap of fabric, the woman held it up with two hands.
There it was. The shirt—missing buttons and all.
“That’s it,” Elide said, reaching for it. The lady flapped it away, arching a brow.
“Money first.” The farmer’s wife’s fingers stroked the neckline with a familiarity that raised Elide’s hackles.
Snatching at the pouch of coins, Elide unwrapped the leather and poured the shimmering contents into her own palm. One… five… shit.
She did the calculations in her head. Elide had brought little money on her person. Enough to pay for lodging and food. And to pay for the shirt if it came to that. Or so she thought.
“Would you take six?”
The lady Marren scoffed, about to shove the door in her face again. “Ten or nothing.”
“I only have six.”
“Then you are wasting both our time.”
Elide braced the closing door with her body, the footman of the carriage making his way toward his charge.
Marren glanced over her shoulder, finally eyeing the carriage. “Only six gold marks? With that carriage? You might dress like a peasant, but you must be a lady of means. And apparently a liar.”
“Stay back,” Elide yelled over her shoulder to the approaching male, who halted at her words. She turned back to the irritated woman, looking her dead in the eye. “Yes, I am a Lady. The Lady of Perranth, in fact. But I only took enough on this journey that was worth losing.” Even with Lorcan’s training, encountering highway robbers was a real possibility. “I need this shirt. It’s hard to explain, but it means a lot to me. I am willing to part with these six gold pieces and when I return to—”
“I’ll take it— and that ring.”
Elide stared at the woman, and then followed her gaze to the ring on her left hand. The white gold band set with a single dark blue, oval sapphire. A round stone, representing the full-circle journey they had made together.
“I can give you all the gold I have,” Elide murmured, her fingers stroking the ring fondly, remembering the moment Lorcan’s large hand had slipped it on his fingers. Remembered the honored, watery smile on his ruggedly handsome face as he stared down at her in front of the altar. Nothing but love and devotion and hope. A future together—for as long as they both lived.
“But I will not part with the ring.” Eyes bleary, Elide yielded a step from the door. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.
And as Elide turned on her good heel to leave, she limped a foot before behind her. “How did you know I paid ten coppers?”
Halting, the Lady of Perranth answered over her shoulder. “The male you bought it from? He told me.”
Suddenly, there was a tug on her sleeve, spinning her around to face the woman. “You know him?” Elide nodded. “Truly.” Emerald eyes the color of foliage and moss darted to the ring Elide was absently spinning. Those eyes went wholly wide. “You snagged him yourself, didn’t you? He’s yours, then? You married that hunk?”
Elide barked a laugh at that. “I did. Our anniversary is in a few days. That’s why… gods, that’s why I was searching for the damned shirt.”
“Didn’t like that someone other than you owned it?”
Tucking hair behind her ear, Elide shrugged. The farmer’s wife just chuckled.
“I don’t blame you one bit. If I had that male, I wouldn’t want someone else to have a piece of him, either.”
“It was part of a surprise, you see. For our anniversary.” Elide explained how she met Lorcan in the woods, leaving out some of the more unseemly details during the start of their adventures. But she explained how they joined the troupe. The woman’s eyes kept growing wider with every detail.
“Wait, so you joined under the guise of a married couple? And now you’re married?”
Elide nodded, clasping her hands in front of her. The woman snorted.
The lady glanced down at the shirt in her hands, then back at her kids. Then her gaze swept to the field beyond, where a shirtless man stood wiping sweat from his brow.
With a small, fond smile on her lips, the farmer’s wife held out the balled shirt. “Here.”
When Elide went to hand her the gold in exchange, the lady of the house waved her off.
“Just take the damn thing.” A look back at the children again. “Besides, it obviously brought us both luck. But the fine male is yours. I have my own. Let’s call this an even exchange from one lucky woman to another.”
Hands shaking, Elide accepted the shirt, holding it to her chest. “Thank you. Thank you. You do not know…”
“Oh, I do. If someone owned something that was my husband’s? I’d fight them for it.” She winked, and Elide laughed. The lady turned back to walk back to her house but paused. “Wait, you said you worked at the carnival as well? As a fortune-teller?”
Her small, scarred hands wrung in front of her as she waited—and waited. She glanced out the window. He was late. All of her plans…
“Elide!”
Gods, he was home.
“I’m in the bedchamber, Lorcan!” she called out.
Breathe. Just breathe.
She gave the room and herself one more cursory look over. Enticing enough, she supposed. Candles set the room aglow. Though she doubted he would appreciate the romantic lighting, the simpering male deep inside his dark soul would appreciate her effort. Or so she’d hedged her bets.
Had hedged on this entire ridiculous scheme.
A note had greeted her when she returned home. One with the royal seal.
Dearest Elide,
I sent your insufferable male on one more mundane task at my leisure. Then his miserable, giant ass is yours once more. I say good riddance. You may repay my week-long torture by naming your first daughter after me in thanks.
Your, as your husband refers to so eloquently when he thinks I’m not paying attention, fire-breathing bitch queen,
Aelin
The bedroom door groaned almost as long as the male entered, and a familiar, welcome silhouette stepped over the threshold. Her handsome, imposing, wonderful husband was home. Exhaustion wore on him like a heavy cloak, slumping his shoulders.
“I’m so glad to be away from that fire-breathing bitch-queen and Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn. That cadre of idiots.”
Elide took a step into the light. “Oh? That bad?”
“Worse,” Lorcan grumbled, dragging a hand through his hair before unbuckling and shrugging out of his jacket. His clothes. “A week, Elide. A week of being called on to do the most asinine things. Running to the market for chocolate tortes—even though the queen has a pastry chef on staff. A week of her gleefully referring to me as Lord Lo Lo while Whitethorn smirked. Hellas take me.”
Without looking and with a casual flick of his wrist, he sent out darkness to brace her bad leg, warming her heart.
She followed his discarded shirt, then breeches, into the ambient flickering candlelight of the bathing chamber.
“And then I had to deal with Fenrys and his ridiculous… just Fenrys.” Lorcan slipped out of the rest of his clothes until he was standing completely bare.
“Oh,” Elide breathed, her eyes never veering from his perfect ass as he strode over to the copper basin.
“All I want is to take a hot bath to be free of Fenrys’s canine stench and then crawl into bed beside you and sleep. I haven’t slept more than a few minutes at a time the entire week. It seems that I have become reliant on my wife’s beautiful, warm scent and body beside me.”
Elide’s heart squeezed at her surly husband’s candid admission.
Lorcan finally pivoted around in all his perfectly muscled, naked glory. And glorious it was. It made her breath catch every single time.
And apparently, the Lady of Perranth wasn’t the only affected.
Slowly, so slowly, his coal-black eyes dragged over her body from foot to head, taking in every bit of her. Even in the shirt, she felt completely exposed to him.
Lord Lochan’s throat bobbed. Cocking his head, he eyed the shirt, eyed the top of her head. His mouth curled into a sensuous smile that had her toes doing the same onto the marble beneath.
“That’s why you sent me away?” he asked, striding ever closer. A confident, masculine prowl.
Hands tucked behind her back, she glanced up at him through her heavy lashes. Gods, she had forgotten how incredibly tall he was. “Perhaps.”
He snorted. “My cunning little liar. I can’t believe that farmer’s wife kept it.”
“I can,” Elide said, taking another step closer.
“Ah, so that’s it. You were jealous, then?” She didn’t deign a reply. With a grip on her chin, he tipped it up to face him, amusement flashing in his eyes like black flames. “Admit it.”
“As if you are any better. I doubt you were amused by the males who had been ogling me that day.”
“I should have gouged out their eyes.”
She shook her head, rolling her eyes, beads tinkling with her movement.
His fingers lifted two irritating beads away from her eyesight. “And the headdress?”
“The farmer’s wife had this as well. After the attack, people had gone back to salvage items. She chose this for whatever reason. She gave them to me. Apparently, it brought us both luck.” And the woman two adorable children, but Lorcan didn’t need to know that. Frankly, Elide didn’t want to think it herself.
Elide shook her head, the glass beads of the godsforsaken fortune teller headdress clinking in her wake. Lorcan's grin turned downright devilish as he languidly stroked the dangling red bead between two thick fingers.
“What do you have planned for me tonight, Elide?”
“You’re tired, Lorcan. If you just want to go to bed, this can wait until—”
“Oh, I’m very wide awake now.” His sinful gaze slid down her body. And when hers did the same to him, she noticed he was truly very awake. Broad hands clasped her waist. “So tell me.”
“I thought this would be appealing…”
With a piercing gaze that never wavered from hers, Lorcan shuffled her backward. Into their bedroom. Her pulse ratcheted with every step.
“This is more than appealing, Elide. You know what seeing you swamped in my shirts, in my scent, does to me.”
His lips bent to plant a kiss on the corner of her lips. Then the other. She swallowed her gasp.
“I-I,” She stammered as his fingers drifted up her inner thigh. “I thought it would be fun. To pretend again.”
“Hmmm… pretend what?”
“That—who we were back then.”
“Oh? But we don’t have to pretend that we’re married. I’ve already claimed you, over and over and over again. But if my beautiful Elide wants to play, I’ll play.”
On a squeal, Elide found herself plunked into an armchair by a small circular table. And with a casual smugness, her broad, bare husband sat on the other side. “So, tell me, Marion, what do you see in my future?”
Clearing her throat, Elide put her hands flat on the tabletop and dropped her head back, letting her eyelids flutter shut. “I see. I see.” Her lips twitched, and she watched Lorcan watching her. “I see you are about to get lucky in the near future. Very, very, lucky.”
“Mmm. Is that so, wife?” he ground out.
“Yes.”
Screeching once more, Elide found herself suddenly perched on his sturdy lap. Lorcan’s mouth brushed across her cheek. Her neck. Lips finding hers, lingering and tracing, a deep purr rolled from him.
He pulled back, his words caressing her breath. “You are quite the little prognosticator, for I am truly lucky to call you mine.”
She held his heated stare, his thumb running along the sensitive inside of her bare knee. “As am I to call you husband. Happy anniversary, Lorcan.”
“Happy anniversary, my Elide.” A soft kiss. “The first of many. I love you.” His fingers toyed with the hem of the tunic, a token of how the threads of fate had woven the tapestry of their lives—their destinies—together.