Page 21 of Crownless Heirs

Standing at the edge of the grove were Callan and Titan. Titan crossed his arms, and Callan looked moments away from strangling someone.

“There you two are!” Callan exclaimed. “Korat has had half the realm searching for you.”

Maelan blinked groggily as he groaned. Sorcha rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.

Titan’s gaze moved between them.

Then to Maelan’s arm.

Then back to both of them.

A slow grin spread across his face.

“Oh.”

“Oh? Sorcha said, confused, and then it struck her. “Oh.”

Titan’s grin widened.

8

Cold feet

The castle was alive with activity when Sorcha arrived, instantly caught in the hurried pace of the attendants. They bustled past, carrying silks and golden threads, their voices a blend of last-minute preparations. The air was rich with the scents of incense and honeyed wine, mixed with the faint, welcoming sounds of stringed instruments tuning up for the evening’s celebrations. The Cait Sidhe had certainly been efficient. Sorcha pressed onward, making her way through the crowd. Her steps resounded in the castle’s hallways as she hurried toward the great hall, where Maelan had already been brought.

The doors, slightly open, flooded sunlight into the hall. Maelan was reclining against the large chair at the room’s head, not quite sitting in it. One leg was casually draped over an armrest, the other bent, his boot touching the floor. A wine goblet hung from his fingers. Callan stood nearby, murmuring. Several elders and high-ranking warriors were gathered, engrossed in a discussion about seating arrangements, ceremonial rituals, and other formalities Maelan appeared to have little interest in. However, despite the surrounding commotion, his entire focus shifted to her the moment she entered. His gaze slowly, intentionally, moved over her.

“Thank the gods you’ve arrived,” he said lazily. “I simply can’t make all these decisions by myself.”

“The entire kingdom is in an uproar,” Callan interjected. “And not entirely thanks to the two of you.”

Maelan paid him no mind. “I’ve already dealt with the council, the ceremony is set, and the feast will be ready by dusk. Honestly, it wasn’t such a monumental task.”

Three elders immediately began talking over one another.

“Clearly,” Callan grumbled.

“All that remains is Sorcha’s gown,” Maelan added.

“You’ll have to wait longer. I haven’t decided on one yet,” Sorcha responded.

“Will I?” he wondered, tilting his head. “Firelight, I would wait an eternity for you.”

The goblet turned slowly between his fingers as he watched her. The room teemed with elders, warriors, and attendants rushing in every direction, yet she felt as though they were the only two people in it. Heat crept into her cheeks, a blush that made her wonder when this had started happening.

Callan then loudly cleared his throat, shattering the moment instantly. “Gods above,” he muttered, “they’re already unbearable.”

Callan ushered Sorcha out the door to find Korat, the seamstress for the royal family, somewhere in the castle. Maelan dismissed the others and the doors clicked shut behind them, leaving Maelan alone in the throne room. He exhaled, wineglass in hand, and began pacing before the throne. He was sweating now, a stark contrast to Sorcha’s departure to prepare for the wedding. All he could do was stand there, pacing like a fool.

A low chuckle broke the silence. The throne room doors had clicked shut minutes ago, but Maelan had been too lost in his thoughts to notice Callan return, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed. Callan’s head tilted with that infuriating smile, the smirk of a friend who knew too much already.

“What’s got you so worked up, Maelan?” Callan teased, stepping forward. “Is it Little Miss Sunshine?”

Maelan turned and drained the rest of his wine in one go, barely tasting it. The glass met the throne’s cushion with a soft thunk, hardly regal, but who cared? “What am I doing, Callan?” The words escaped him before he could stop them. He ran a hand through his hair. “My mother must be flipping tables in Mag Mell, cursing my name.”

Callan barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Your mother? Please. I think it’s your father who’d be doing the table flipping. Your mother’s probably just... confused.” He raised a brow. “Which, to be fair, so am I. Maelan, why?”

Maelan stilled, his hands flexing at his sides. For the first time, he let the question sink in. “My kingdom must be confused too,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know if I can do this, Callan.”