Page 14 of The Crown’s Temptation

Sevrin lay motionless upon the bed, his skin unnaturally pale. Healers surrounded him, speaking in hushed voices as they worked. Upon a silver tray beside the bed rested a bloodstained knife, clearly the weapon they had only recently removed.

Axar stepped closer.

His eyes landed on Sevrin’s neck. The veins beneath the translucent skin had blackened. He did not need anyone to tell him what he was looking at.

Yorali. He was not surprised.

Ivernet joined him. “Like it or not,” she said quietly, “he is our king.”

Axar inclined his head. “He is our king. And Morrath, for now, is our country.”

His eyes remained fixed upon Sevrin. “If word reaches the people, there will be disorder. If it reaches the neighboring kingdoms…” He exhaled slowly. “Even worse. We cannot allow Orsin to believe he has won.”

He finally looked toward Ivernet. “Even with Sevrin incapacitated, you’re still able to fly in and out?”

“For now.”

The uncertainty beneath her answer did not escape him. Much of Morrath itself answered to Sevrin’s magic. Everyone knew it.

“Spread word that the king has fallen ill and taken residence in Briavar.”

Ivernet hesitated.

“There are rumors Ivanoxa intends to strengthen there. A Yorali⁠—”

“If she stood with her father,” Axar interrupted, “she would not be here.”

He considered the room.

“Send Sevrin to Briavar under heavy guard.”

“And the Darkway?”

“The Darkway remains under Rathmor control.”

“A vacant seat means another could⁠—”

“There is no vacancy.”

His voice was calm.

“No one but a Rathmor may sit on that throne. The magic will not permit it. Ivanoxa is not Rathmor. There is no challenger. The throne will remain protected while I am away.”

Ivernet frowned.

“Away?”

“I ride for the Witchward.”

“Why?”

“They will show me what happened so that we may prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

Axar looked once more toward the unconscious king.

“Whatever is coming.”