Page 22 of The Crowned Queen

Loren opened his mouth—then closed it again. He had no answer. No justification that wouldn’t be just another excuse. The shadows wavered behind him, drawing in close to his legs.

“I’m not looking for sympathy or apologies,” Maerin continued. “But my story is not unique. The fae here aren’t going to follow you because some ancient magic they’ve never heard of chose you to lead. If you want them to fight for you, you’ll have to fight for them.”

Loren’s heart sank. She wasn’t wrong—he owed them something. Dara’el had chosen him to protect the fae, and he had failed. But he couldn’t put them first right now—not like she wanted him to. Not with Araya in Jaxon Shaw’s clutches.

Finn was the one to break the silence.

“Come on, Maerin,” he said, his voice clipped. “You didn’t make me drag him all the way across Farhallow just to tell us no.”

“Finn—” Loren started, horrified. After everything she’d just laid bare—how could he be so callous?

“No.” His friend shook his head sharply. “She’s wanted to strike a blow against the Shaws for a very long time. She just wanted to watch you squirm first.” He turned back to Maerin, glaring at her. “Tell us what you want.”

“Control of the operation,” she said immediately. “My fighters, my rules. You can provide input, but I make the plan and I call the shots.”

Loren stared at Maerin, the old guilt she’d stirred up a raw wound in his pride. “Absolutely not,” he said. “After what you just did? I’m not handing her rescue over to someone who doesn’t know her—doesn’t care about her⁠—”

“That’s exactly why you should hand it over,” Maerin said. “This is too important to you. You’re going to get people killed.” Her smile turned brittle. “Trust me. I would know.”

The shadows hissed, Maerin’s words grating on his already fragile control. They lashed his legs, muttering and fuming at the disrespect. Loren clenched his jaw, holding them back through sheer force of will. Maerin might not realize it, but she was about to get people killed here. If he lost control of the shadows⁠—

“We can coordinate with you,” Finn offered. “But final call on decisions involving his mate goes to Loren. That’s more than fair.”

Maerin shook her head.

“I’ve been running operations in this city for eleven years.” Her violet gaze landed on Loren. “I promise, my people hate the Shaws as much as you do. We can get you in. You just need to let us do it our way.”

Loren closed his eyes, willing dara’el to understand. There was no other way. They needed those fighters.

“Fine,” he said, cutting off Finn’s argument. “Your people. Your plan.”

“Good.” Maerin stood, extending her hand across the desk. “Shake on it, Shadowbane?”

Loren stared at her hand. “Most people call me Loren. Or Your Majesty.”

Maerin threw back her head, a real laugh spilling from her lips. “Don’t hold your breath, Shadowbane.”

Chapter

Seven

“We don’t know how injured she’ll be.” Serafina chewed on her lip, her brow furrowed. “We have to be prepared for the idea that we may not be able to get her out of the city right away⁠—”

“The loss of the Shadowed Veil has made getting anyone out right now a problem,” Nyra said. She’d traded her oilcloth coat for a simple dark cloak, her face haggard from lack of sun and her silvery hair dulled with soot to better blend in among the humans. “If she goes missing, the Arcanum will put even more ships on their blockade. We’ll never get her through this time.”

Loren clenched his teeth, biting back the sharp retort that wanted to break free. Nyra wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. He just wanted his mate safe. Far away from the Shaws and any other humans that would try and use her for their own gain. She’d suffered enough at their hands already.

“We’ll figure it out, Loren,” Serafina said gently. Finn stood at her shoulder, ready to catch her if she so much as swayed on her bad leg. “The most important thing is getting her out.”

Loren closed his eyes, turning his mind inward.

He’d started feeling her again three days ago—faint and strangely muffled, like he was listening to her through a closed door. Finn had taken them as close to the Shaw house as he dared using the flood tunnels, guessing correctly that proximity would help strengthen Loren’s sense of her—but for some reason she still hadn’t answered him. He brushed his mind against hers again anyway, praying that this would be the time she responded. That she knew they were coming for her.

But only silence answered him.

The shadows curled over his shoulders and down his arms, shifting restlessly across his skin. They didn’t speak, their voices falling strangely silent just when Loren would have welcomed them most. None of his friends understood—not really. Finn might love Serafina—Loren would have to be blind to miss the way his friend’s eyes softened when he looked at the healer—but they weren’t mates. None of them would ever experience the nightmare of knowing that the other half of his soul was in danger and having to leave her there.

“Loren?” Finn asked.