Jade Fern Grove chafa

She breathed her words—leaving. She was leaving. Innately, he could feel the sense of a smirk barely press to the corner of his lips—bitterness, perhaps, but something with understanding: “Wren is asking you to leave. She will always run, Silvertongue,” he murmured—his words not unkind, and yet not hopeful for either woman’s future. Wren had wasted away within the creek only because of her inability to see her worth. If she was still running now?

She would only bring the Sharpfang down in her spiral.

But she had chosen. And while his lips hovered near, a final entreaty to her, because he knew… once she was gone this time, it would have to truly be the end. “So don’t go. Stay. With me.” His eyes, beseeching—a promise in them if she would only trust him. “I will raise them as my own, Silvertongue. I know you feel this, too. I know you know it was meant to be…”