Page 7 of Moonlit Guardians
“I’m glad Eilish was able to get closure with your death. Your image may fade from our minds as time passes, but if there’s just a bit of the man Maeline loved within your soul, I wish him well in the afterlife. May you rest peacefully, Gildlorthoine, the lost King of The Succubae and the father of the woman I’ve loved since I met her.”
I allow the body and head to fall and I watch as they’re encased in more crystal. My energy is waning, but these spells will ensure that even if Gildlorthoine lives, he can’t rise again.
I return to the surface, shivering as I extricate myself from the water and walk up the beach. I waste no time in pulling on my dry clothing, as I magic my body dry. The feeling in my fingers is slow to return, but I trek toward the portal nonetheless. Lydia eyes my disheveled appearance, but she doesn’t ask any questions. She lifts a necklace from around her neck.
“Are those... goblin toes?” I ask as my face screws up into a grimace.
Lydia laughs and walks through the portal. I follow. Night has fallen on the dales and Dragan soars overhead, casting his shadow on the moon. He drops beside me.
“We’re leaving. If you need to rest—”
“I’m fine,” I cut in. “It’s best we get Theren to the healers at the stronghold. We’ve outstayed our welcome with the tribe as it is.”
I walk over to the mercenaries I rode in with. They pack up the horses, and a wagon is gifted to us by Queen Ivana so we can transport Theren without injuring him further. Pyre and Eilish are too spent to heal him and my light magic won’t do anything for him—only time and the Mage’s Guild can help him now.
***
EILISH
Desolate Border
I ride in the wagon with Theren. The chill of the night desert is nothing compared to the frigid air of the Delendren Glade. I wish I knew what dreams plague him. I wish I had access to that place in his mind where I can’t go. Theren has been trapped in his own head for so long, I can’t imagine how he must feel now.
Is he thinking of me to keep his sanity? Or does he think of Aima? She’s loved him as deeply as I have and in ways I never will.
It pains me to think of Aima standing by his side for so long when I’d been denied even his friendship in our youth. But, even though so much time has passed and in ways Theren feels like a stranger to me, I still feel twinges of affection for him. I want answers, but I can wait. My fingers trace the flawless features of his face, admiring them with touch alone. I wonder what our lives would have been like if we’d run away when we planned to... if his father had never imprisoned him.
Now I understand why Dragan fears Theren could become like his father—a cold, lifeless man who used to haunt my dreams as a child. But is my own father any different?
Theren blinks his beautiful golden eyes and looks directly at me, but says nothing. My hair spills over my shoulder, shrouding us in a heavy curtain as he stares unblinkingly into my gaze. I trace the bow of his lip lightly before moving the tips of my fingers along his jaw.
“Sleep, Theren. You need your rest,” I whisper.
He grips my hand when I attempt to pull away and brings it back to his mouth. Holding my stare, he presses a feather-light kiss to my palm. I shudder with a breathy exhale that causes my cheeks to color.
“Eilish,” he whispers as a smile takes hold of his mouth. I return it and watch as he loses himself to the oblivion of sleep once again. Just then, a scout announces our arrival at the stronghold.
The rattle, clang, and bang of the rusty wagon wheels eventually comes to a stop outside the stables. While Cambion and Dragan take Theren to the mages, I stay behind to see to the horses with the stable boys. Our loyal mounts deserve as much respect as the other members of our rebellion.
***
THEREN
Mercenary Stronghold
I stand over a blood-soaked, trembling, naked girl. She’s not much younger than me, but the men laugh as my father spits at her. Eilish is her name. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. Much like the crystal blue gaze brimming with tears that stares at me as though trying to tell me something.
I don’t speak her language. She isn’t from our kingdom.
“A pitiful succubus,” my father sneers. “She’s just as useless as the rest of the whores at the brothel.”
But she doesn’t look like the succubae I’ve read about in books, not with her white hair and her bright blue eyes. She looks like… an angel.
I fear this is my fault. I was the one who tracked her to a small camp. A group of men had attempted to take advantage of her, so I fought to save her—but now, my father and his men seem no better a fate for the young girl. I swallow down the bile in my throat as she reaches a hand toward me only for my father’s boot to step on her fingers. She screams out in pain and fear.
That’s when I realize I know her... she’s the same girl I see in the forests when I sneak out of the palace. The same girl I’ve watched from among the foliage so many times. Even back then, I was enraptured of her as I am now.
Knowing her name somehow makes her seem more precious. And even though I’m responsible for her capture, she doesn’t look at me with hatred. She’s a fighter, this girl. When my father’s boot lifts from the ground a second time, she rolls onto her hands and knees, glaring up at him with a seething hatred, apparently careless to the fact that she’s as naked as the day she was born. And it’s only then that I realize the same.
