Page 13 of Crownless Heirs

“This is Sorcha,” he would say confidently, “my bride.”

The reactions varied: surprise, delight, wide-eyed shock, but no one questioned him. No one dared and despite herself, despite everything, Sorcha found herself liking them.

The Cait Sidhe were warm in a way she hadn’t expected. Not just cunning warriors and shadowed assassins, but people laughing, teasing, welcoming. They spoke to Maelan with familiarity, with fondness.

Maelan guided her toward a candlelit terrace where a group of warriors sat, drinking and exchanging stories. Among them, the calico-haired warrior from before, Maelan’s second in command stood, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, well,” he mused, raising his glass. “You work fast, my prince.”

Maelan only smirked, utterly unbothered. “Efficiency is key, Callan.”

The warrior’s gaze flicked to Sorcha, assessing. “And what of you?”

Sorcha met his stare evenly. “You’re looking at your new queen.”

Surprise crossed Maelan’s face.

The calico’s slow grin spread across his face. “Good. You’ll need that spine to handle him.”

Maelan sighed dramatically and threw up his hands. “Why does everyone speak as if I’m a handful?”

Sorcha and the warrior exchanged a look.

Then, they both said, “Because you are.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

The first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon by the time Sorcha and Maelan returned to the castle. The city was quieting, the Cait Sidhe retreating into their homes as the night gave way to morning. Despite the exhaustion pulling at her limbs, Sorcha felt alive and more certain now than she had hours ago. She had met the people, laughed with them, danced with them, and felt the warmth of their acceptance.

The morning light had begun to spill through her window when Kyron barged into her room, his expression thunderous.

“You can’t be serious.”

Sorcha groaned, rubbing at her temples. She had hardly slept, and now, she had to confront this.

Kyron paced restlessly in front of her bed, his barely restrained hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. “This is madness, Sorcha. Marrying Maelan? A Cait Sidhe prince? You don’t belong here.”

Sorcha’s patience thinned. “And where do I belong, Kyron? The mortal world? The Tuatha’s realm? My father always intended for me to follow him here, but now he’s gone, and there’s no place for me among the gods. This ” She gestured around the room, around the kingdom. “This gives me something. A home. A purpose.”

Kyron clenched his jaw. “And Maelan? You trust him that much?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “He’s proven himself time and again.”

Kyron throat bobbed, and for the first time, there was a rawness in his expression. “And what about us?”

Sorcha’s heart clenched. There had always been something between them, unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. But it had never been this.

She exhaled. “Kyron, you know this is what we need.”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “I know you don’t have to do this.”

Sorcha looked up at him, searching his gaze, but there was no swaying him. He would never like this, but he had to accept it.

“We need an army,” she said, voice steady. “Nothing is changing. The mission stays the same but I’ll have a place among the Otherworld.”

Kyron exhaled sharply, the sound rough in the quiet room, his eyes fixed on her with a heavy, reluctant weight.

After a long pause, he nodded once, curt and unwilling. “Fine. But I would have chosen you.”