Eryshae

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Vael

The Cathedral

It began as a stir in her chest; like wind rustling through still leaves. When Sam spoke, the chamber vanished. The weight of the Cardinals' eyes, the solemnity of the vote; it all dimmed.

Only his voice remained, and the living thing that bloomed in his hand; veins of green, ringed in the soft light of growing things. No flame. No gold. Just life. Old magic. He had not come for power. He had come for her. She heard a whisper deep beneath the stone; beneath the dais itself. The roots approve.

Her breath caught, but she didn't move. Not yet. To move too quickly would make it a spectacle. To move without thought would make it politics. She would not cheapen it. So she stood. And then, slowly, deliberately; she stepped down from the dais. One step. Then another. Each one a soft defiance of expectation.

The Court murmured behind her, confused, expectant. She didn't care. Her eyes locked with his; challenging, searching, and something else. Something softer she wouldn't name out loud. "You just turned down power, insulted half the chamber, and made this a lot harder for both of us." A beat.

He didn't flinch.

Her hand lifted. Not toward the ring. Not yet. Toward his heart. "You would bind us together; before the Court, before the Eryshae, before you even know how this ends?" Her voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the high-vaulted silence.

Sam gave her a solemn nod and a warm smile. She rolled her eyes; but her lips curled slightly, traitorous and warm. "Good. Because I don't want someone who bows. I want someone who fights with me." She reached out, as Sam slid the ring onto her ring finger.

For a moment, there was no sound. No movement. Only the warmth of his hand, the cool weight of the ring, and the quiet thunder of her own heartbeat.

Then, without looking away, she stepped closer. One breath between them. Then none, as she kissed him.

A hush fell across the chamber like a sudden wind. Sam didn't hesitate. He kissed her back; fierce, reverent, real. The world blurred around him. The Court, the Cardinals, the ancient laws and layered glances; they all ceased to exist. There was only her mouth on his, the shape of her hand in his, the press of her against him like roots threading into earth.

When they finally parted, her eyes gleamed with unshed fire. The murmurs had become a storm. The Court didn't know what to make of it. Of her. Of them. Some stared in horror. Others in awe.

She didn't care. Her fingers still twined with his, Vael turned to face them. "My vote," she said clearly, her voice sharp and full as struck bronze, "stands."

The murmurs dimmed to silence. "I remain a voice of the Eryshae. But I do not stand alone." She raised her joined hand with Sam's for all to see. "Let the record show: I will speak, henceforth, not just as one; but as two."

A beat. Then a stir of movement from the tier of elders. One figure stepped forward; robed in moss-green and bone-white. Elder Cherry. Her eyes were the color of dusk, and her mouth a line carved by decades of watching others flinch. "You bind yourself to an ununproven Outsider," Cherry said. "One who has not taken the rites. There will be resistance." Vael met her gaze unflinching. "Then let them resist."

She glanced at the stone beneath her feet, the ancient dais, and then looked back to the gathered Court. "The Eryshae approve," she said firmly, her voice ringing with conviction. "Guardians of the Tribe."

A beat of silence.

Then, in a low, unified murmur that grew in strength as it circled the chamber, the Cardinals repeated: "Guardians of the Tribe." A soft rustling filled the chamber; barely audible, like wind through roots. Something old stirred beneath the stone. Sam felt it in his bones. Vael's voice lowered, but did not lose its strength. "The roots approve." Elder Cherry did not bow. But she inclined her head; a gesture rare and deliberate. "So noted." A scribe dropped a quill. Someone whispered, "It's done."

And something ancient; older than the Court, older than the chamber; shifted. Quietly. Powerfully. As if the forest itself had turned its gaze.

Vael turned back to the chamber, her tone shifting; no less warm, but unmistakably commanding. "This Court will take a sixty minute recess," she declared. "Stand if you must, whisper if you dare; but you will return with your focus sharpened." The Cardinals, murmuring, began to rise from their seats. Even those who bristled at her tone obeyed. She let the silence settle before continuing.

"Before this vote proceeds," she said, her voice carrying with crystalline precision, "let the record show: Durnan Eberflame, of the Fire Faction, is under house arrest; effective immediately; for attempted murder of a seated Eryshae representative." Gasps rippled across the chamber. Protests stirred but failed to ignite, strangled by the sheer authority in her voice.

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"Kinan," Vael said, without turning. "After the vote, bring Herbalist Myrtle to me with the results of the tea's ingredients. Every component, every reaction. I want her report personally."

"Yes, my lady," came the composed reply. Vael's gaze swept the chamber next, deliberate and cutting. "Serene Liri of the Water Faction, Kareth Voln of the Metal Faction, Moraen Stoneback of the Earth Faction; you will prepare for your vote." The named Cardinals nodded, their expressions unreadable. Her attention turned to the Fire faction.

"The Fire Faction will present a new candidate for consideration. One who does not mistake ambition for immunity." No one dared speak. Then she turned toward Elder Thornhollow, standing tall at the Wood's place of honor. "And you, Elder Thornhollow; reinstate Sam Faeloc the Outsider, my beloved fiancé, as the Wood's nomination."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Then Elder Thornhollow stood and offered a deep, respectful bow. "With honor, Lady Vael. The Wood listens to your command." Vael stepped down from the dais; and without warning, Sam stepped forward and swept her up into his arms. She gave a startled yelp; half indignation, half laugh; as her feet left the floor. "Sam!"

"You said sixty minutes," he murmured with a grin. "I'm taking fifty-nine of them." Her arms looped instinctively around his neck, her blush blooming like wild roses across her cheeks. "Put me down!"

"Never," he said, eyes dancing, and carried her toward a side passage behind the dais. As the chamber erupted into whispers behind them, Vael craned her head back over his shoulder, still flushed but composed enough to command: "Kinan; kindly and respectfully; request Elder Cherry's presence in the west antechamber. At her convenience."

"Yes, Lady Vael," came Kinan's smooth reply, barely concealing the amusement in his voice. The chamber doors shut behind them, sealing the room and the world away.

Sam moved with effortless strength, cradling Vael in his arms as though she weighed no more than a leaf. Her cheeks flushed hotter with every step, heart hammering like a war drum in her chest. "You'll want to take the left corridor," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. "Third door down. The one with the etched fox on the handle."

He followed her directions with precision, but his eyes never left her. And she; gods help her; couldn't stop looking at him either. The way his arms wrapped around her with a quiet protectiveness. The steady thrum of his pulse against her side. The scent of pine and sunlight clinging to his skin.

She felt safe.

Warm.

Held.

Is this… what love feels like?

The question curled inside her chest like a secret flame. The door creaked open to the antechamber—quiet, dimly lit by soft wall sconces and streaks of golden daylight spilling through a stained-glass window. Sam gently lowered her feet to the floor, letting her slide down the length of him with exquisite care. She lingered for a heartbeat longer against his chest, savoring the closeness before stepping back.

The antechamber greeted them in hushed reverence; quiet stone walls, soft golden light from stained glass, and the warm scent of old wood and velvet. It was a room built for secrets and solace, far from the clamor of the Court. Sam turned his gaze to the paintings lining the walls. "These are beautiful. The brushwork… It's like they're alive."

"They are," Vael said softly. "Each one was painted after a binding ritual. The ink is mixed with ceremonial ink. They remember." She moved beside him, her voice hushed, reverent. "My mother's is near the end. She would to sit here. Said the silence made her thoughts sharper."

But his eyes landed on a particular chair; ornate, curved like a throne carved from ancient mahogany, draped in deep crimson velvet. He stepped toward it, curious. "This chair. It looks…"

"Tempting?" Vael teased, her tone suddenly sultry. Sam chuckled, fingers trailing along the carved armrest. "Consider me tempted," as he sat on the ornate chair.

"You've got good taste," she said, sauntering forward. Her hips swayed with purpose, and the heat in her gaze smoldered. "It's my favorite." She let her fingers glide over the velvet, a slow caress that made the rich fabric shimmer. Then she let those same fingers trace their way up Sam's arm, a tingling warmth trailing in her wake. His skin began to glow; softly, unmistakably; bioluminescent green where her touch lingered.

Sam's breath caught. And then, with a graceful step, she swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. His hands instinctively rose to cradle her waist, grounding them both. Her expression was all warmth and mischief and something deeper; something true.

He looked up at her like she was the only star in the sky."Vael," he whispered, not as a question, but as an oath. She smiled, her lips inches from his. "Sam." She cupped his jaw, tracing the line of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Her smile was soft and open and entirely unguarded. "I've never done this before," she whispered. Sam tilted his head, brow gently furrowed. "Sat in someone's lap?"

"Felt like this," she replied. "Like the world's falling away, and I don't care if it does." His expression melted. "Vael…" She leaned in and kissed him.

Slow. Sure. Certain.

And he kissed her back with the passion of every word he didn't yet know how to say. The kind of kiss that made the walls dissolve, the world shrink to the space between them. His hand cradled the back of her neck, and her fingers curled into his shirt. Her heart thundered loud enough to shake her bones.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and shining, she rested her forehead against his. "This feels dangerous," she whispered. "But I want it anyway." Sam gave a quiet laugh, brushing a kiss to her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. "Then we're in agreement."

She was about to lean in again when he dipped his head lower, his lips grazing the edge of her jaw. "You are fire beneath the forest floor," he murmured into her skin, each word slow and reverent, "a heartbeat hidden in the roots, and I; gods help me; I would let myself burn."

Her breath caught. His lips continued their pilgrimage; along the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat; each kiss a confession wrapped in heat. Her head tilted back slightly, allowing him more of her, the glow from her fingers blooming across his shoulder where she clutched him. "You are the breath before the bloom," he whispered. "The moment the world decides to open."

Vael made a soft sound; half-sigh, half-whimper; lost somewhere between wonder and wanting. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones as he kissed her collarbone, her skin alight with more than magic. She whispered his name, and it came out like a prayer. "Sam…"

Then; a soft cough.

They both froze.

Elder Cherry stood in the doorway, her expression an exquisite portrait of patience… and just a hint of amusement.