The Forgotten Crown

Chapter Three

Morana sipped from a cup of tea from her seat on a wicker chair just outside of a boutique. Lydia had sent her with the herbal blend, promising it would boost her energy while she waited for Sien. She rested her lips on the cup, allowing the steam to waft over her face. Perhaps she needed another glass. She slept for only three hours the night before, Lucien escaping into the moonlight in the time she was out. She'd awakened to find him missing, his scent still fresh on her pillows, and then promptly cried. Though a rare thing, he'd always hated it when she cried.

Her eyes drooped as she watched the Phoenix's front porch, the evening sky purple. Snow, now stained black along the roads and paths, blanketed the city. It sparkled in the setting sun, lighting up the roofs and evergreen branches that were left untouched.

Even if Lucien hadn't shared her bed, Morana still wouldn't have slept. She anticipated the surprises that awaited her—what valuables were begging for her to swipe and then sell? It was the excitement that kept children awake upon Yule's eve. It also distracted her longing heart.

That cutlass would look great on her bedroom wall if she could make space for it. She hadn't fully decided what she was going to do with it, actually. Hell, she'd been thinking about it all morning. It was unlike any other blade she'd ever seen. If she didn't sell it, she could keep it and learn how to wield it. Morana preferred to train with stealthy weapons and had never taken the time to practice with cumbersome blades like a sword or battleaxe. The rich bastard likely purchased it for decoration, but Morana knew the blade's potential. If she sold it, maybe Lydia wouldn't need to send her on another job for a while.

Maybe she'd have time to play the lute again.

Out of everything Lydia had given her, her favorite was the music. Morana enjoyed the flute and the drums. But, oh, how she loved the lute. She used to play all the time for the Sleeping Wyvern patrons when she was a teenager. Morana began humming along with the lively tune wafting through the Phoenix's front doors. She used to play for Lucien.

Something sharp pinged inside her chest. It could be weeks before she would see him again, taste his lips. Lucien was human, but he wasn't like other mortals. No, he was fearless and cunning and confident, like Sien and Lydia. They were so unlike the vast majority of Molwreeth's denizens who survived off of scraps and shit water.

Lucien and Morana met as children after Lydia welcomed her into her home. A young boy lived with the woman, whose parents had abandoned him at just six years old. Even back then, Lucien had never treated her any differently, like they were equals, and not like she could snap his limbs if he ever upset her enough.

She'd hurt him once, a long time ago. He'd broken one of her favorite toys, a small dragon hewn from oak. Lucien snapped its head clean off—on purpose. Morana still couldn't recall what happened next. Lydia had separated them, though, and brought Morana back to reality after whatever dark hole she'd fallen into. She had blackened Lucien's eyes, left puncture wounds on his neck and shoulder with her canines, and fractured his wrist. Wild and aggressive was the fae blood, even at such a young age.

Morana sighed, running her tongue across the point of her canines.

"Sorry, I'm late!"

Morana glanced over her shoulder, frowning as Sien, swathed in leathers and a maroon fur-lined cloak, jumped onto the porch where she lounged. Morana arched a brow when she pulled out the chair next to her. "Did you put on makeup?"

Sien smiled, fluttering her kohl-lined eyes. Blush dusted over her high cheekbones. "Do you like it?"

"I do," Morana admitted with a chuckle. "Is that what took you so long?"