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February 19 - March 3, 2025
They once said something to us about how certain magic is tied to our emotions. To our very core. When that is compromised, it affects our magic. This is why you may have felt your magic fluctuate in power based on how you were feeling in the past.”
“Pain manifests in strange ways, Deya,” he said. “We may be out of Ironbalt, but you and I are both far from being free of what imprisons us.”
“If you fight, you will become stronger. From your ashes, you will become steel.”
“Why have you not revealed yourself, yet?” Saros continued curiously. “You could turn the tide of this war. Could avenge all you have lost. So why have you remained hidden all this time?”
An angry, deep growl rumbled from the back of his throat. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and then his lips were slamming into hers.
“Why,” he snarled with a tone of tortured frustration that made the words die in her throat, “does it have to be you?” His hands seized her by the jaw, pinching her chin in its grip, holding her steady.
He pulled her hands away from her body, shaking his head. “Don’t you fucking dare. Have you not learned yet that you don’t have to hide from me?”
Gods, he had never been more conflicted in his life. Here they were, on the cusp of starting a war on a whole kingdom, and all he wanted was to fuck this girl silly until he couldn’t think anymore.
“I would sooner eat my own sword,” Caelum grit out, and Deya rolled her eyes.
Glaring at her, he turned away before he did what he wanted to do, which was seize her by the throat, push her back into that cave, and teach her a lesson for constantly trying to goad him. But they didn’t have time for that.
he was pretty sure he had the softest, doughiest, most pathetic expression on his face when looking at her.
The stars in Nodaria were always crisp and clear. Always breathtaking. They claimed that Nodaria was the closest to Heaven you could get in all the realm.
“Ah,” she murmured. “The lost Prince of Nodaria. Welcome home. We’ve been expecting you.”
“You were always a sharp-tongued little devil. Some may even say a right pain in the behind.”
“For what is written in snow, thus revealed in the thaw, born with a crown of ash and star, so he shall be the one to save them all.”
“You have mated,” she said. Both she and Caelum looked up sharply. Deya could feel her cheeks reddening, and Caelum spluttered unintelligently. “M-mated?” he stuttered, but Io did not seem the least bit fazed by their embarrassment. “Yes, your auras are different. Fused. It is a sign that you have mated, bonded by something more than just physical.”
“The balance of one, the downfall of all, only the Queen of Ash can bring about the fall.”
Fae mating was a rare, mysterious thing. It was a bond that was often never realized, a pull towards another that was so faint it was often easy to miss. Yet, acted on, it was said to be almost impossible to undo.
“Deya, dammit,” he rasped, reaching up to rest a hand on top of hers. “I was wrong.”
sobbed for that bit of her that had been taken by the pain she had endured,
“Your love for each other and the consummation of that love made the prophecy, not the other way around. Your fear of this has absolutely nothing to do with these prophecies, and everything to do with you.”
“You are the only son of my youngest sister, Asti,” she said. “You are the grandson of High King Ulf.”
