stood there looking lost in the clothes Jaren had given her to wear, the garments hanging from her too thin frame.
Aryn mounted and Jaren made a few quick adjustments to the saddle and stirrups, grumbling about shoddy human leatherwork before approaching Tyriel. She stiffened at first, then nodded and let him carry her to Aryn, her bare feet exposed to the cool morning air, toes curled in.
The sight struck Aryn as heartbreakingly vulnerable and he wanted to hold her close, swear that she’d never know another moment’s harm or pain.
Instead, he forced a smile as he took her up onto the elvish steed and helped her settle into place in front of him.
Jaren fetched a pair of thick woolen socks for her bare feet and tugged them into place, apparently as bothered by the sight of her vulnerable, bare feet as Aryn.
She sat still through it all, not relaxing until Jaren turned away and headed for Lieva, his own steed.
As Tyriel relaxed against him the faintest bit, Aryn realized he had a problem, one he hadn’t considered.
Her soft, frail form would sway against his the entire journey. Her body was cupped in the cradle of his thighs, the scent of her hair flooding his head. Need twisted inside him and he mentally grasped for anything disgusting and revolting as he willed his body under control.
She didn’t need this from his body right now. And even as he was thinking it, she felt his body’s reaction, and stiffened.
Resting his hand on her hip, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Shhh. You’re safe—you know I would never hurt you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said weakly.
Jaren mounted his own steed and brought the mare around, coming up even with Tyriel and Aryn. “Are you ready, my Princess?”
She still sat rigidly but gave a short not.
“To Averne, then, where you will heal, become strong and healthy.” Jaren bowed his head to his Princess. Then, with a soft command, had his elvish mount turning once more to take the lead. Jaren’s steed was a tall, willowy mare, golden, with a white mane, and blue eyes, a sharp contrast to the fae male’s dark hair and dark clothes.
Tyriel still sat so stiffly.
Aryn feared she’d break. Forcing himself to relax, he shifted in his saddle then took hold of the reins. “Are you comfortable?”
“I’m fine.”
He closed his eyes at the stiff formality of her voice. The bright, laughing woman might be forever lost.
“Thank you.”
The words were so soft, he almost didn’t hear them.
He leaned closer, vaguely aware that Jaren had called for them to move and Kilidare had settled into a smooth, quick trot with no guidance from Aryn.
“Why are you thanking me?” he asked.
“Onward, Kilidare!” Jaren called out abruptly and whatever answer she might have offered was lost as the mount beneath Aryn lunged, taking off at a ground-eating pace.
Tyriel’s hand shot out, clamping down onto Aryn’s right thigh.
He clenched his jaw and told himself he’d burn in the fires of hell. Then he dipped his head so he could breathe in the soft scent of her hair.
Long moments passed with neither of them speaking.
But then Tyriel murmured his name, voice so quiet, he barely heard.
“You came for me.”
Convulsively tightening the arm he’d wrapped around her waist, he turned his face into her hair. “Of course, I came for you.”
There was nothing else said for a very long while.
She relaxed by minute degrees and he thought she might have fallen asleep.
But then she shifted and he had the impression she wanted to look at him. He tugged on the reins and Kilidare obligingly slowed. “Are you getting tired?” he asked.
She didn’t answer for what felt like an age but finally, she gave a stiff nod. He lifted her and repositioned her, grabbing the blanket he’d secured for just this purpose, keeping it folded up and using it as an extra cushion. Then he pulled her snugly against him and wrapped his cloak around her.
Now she sat practically in his lap. “Alright, Kilidare. Go.”
The steed lunged forward again. Jaren hadn’t slowed, but it only took the stallion a handful of moments to catch the other man.
Tyriel was looking at him.
Aryn was acutely aware of it, but didn’t react until she said his name.
“Yes?”
“How long?” she whispered, voice rough.
“How long have we searched for you?” he asked. Blowing out a rough breath, he said, “Consciously? For more than a month. But…in truth? I haven’t stopped looking for you since you walked away. I retraced the routes we’d take,