Page 140 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I’d forgotten Prince Owain was no longer the broken man I’d taken care of. The moment the fur settled, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

My heart seized, not from fear of him, but from how quickly I reacted to his touch. His purple eyes flew open and fixed on mine with an intensity that made the rest of my breath leave my body.

For two terrible heartbeats, the wildness behind his eyes reminded me of a feral predator ready to fight back. Then something shifted. The grip on my wrist relaxed, and instead of being released, I was dragged down.

I landed against his chest with an undignified squeak, the robe now tangled between us, his arm a firm bar across my back. Too startled to move, I lay there, face pressed against his collarbone, my heart knocking recklessly against my ribs with something that was nearly the opposite of fear.

His reaction might’ve started with a dream, but then he deliberately burrowed his face into my hair. He drew in a long, slow breath through his nose. Calming himself? I had to know. “Are you smelling me…again?”

“Mhmm.” It was a rumbly, throaty sound that vibrated through my chest. His rapid pulse pounded against my own, a frantic drumbeat that I couldn’t seem to dismiss as nothing.

Yet neither of us spoke as the beginning of winter pressed against the castle’s eaves. One hand slung over his shoulder, the other tucked in a half hug around his chest, gripping him lightly to ground myself. I stayed on top of him, even though I could’ve moved—simply because I wanted to.

“It will be a challenge for me to remain composed with the Assembly present,” he finally admitted, his voice a sleepy, gravelly whisper against my temple.

The corner of my mouth turned upward against my will. My heart hadn’t slowed either. “You’re not the only one with a temper,” I murmured into the quiet, nuzzling in. “Reina will be right beside you.” I paused. “So will I.”

His arm tightened almost imperceptibly—he still hadn’t let go of me.

“I’m… I’m afraid I’ll go timid,” I admitted. “I nearly locked up entirely when I met Thibault. All those stories my parents used to tell about the Assembly—” I stopped. Something cold moved through me that had nothing to do with the winter. “I’ve been terrified of them since I was small. I suppose that doesn’t entirely go away.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Lunette. They won’t take you.”

He hadn’t meant it as reassurance or comfort in the way most people meant it. He’d said it the way he said everything he truly meant: without adornment, with the absolute surety of a man who intended to be held to his every word.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t say I know, but the flutter in my chest probably gave me away.

His jaw shifted slightly against my hair before he spoke again. “But if Vaustin Maeron is with them…” His voice had gone flatter somehow. “If he approaches you alone, you call for me, or Camrick, or anyone nearby. I don’t care what’s happening around you.”

A chill crawled slowly down my spine. “Owain—”

“I mean it.” His arm flexed tighter, like he was already afraid of losing me. “There are very few people alive I consider genuinely dangerous. Vaustin is one of them.”

I swallowed. “Because he’s a mage hunter?”

“No, there are dozens of mage hunters—just no one talks about them. That isn’t what makes him dangerous.” He leaned back so his eyes held mine. “Vaustin can silence magic—cut you off from it completely. And Lunette…none of his intentions are good, even when he seems reasonable. He will take joy in hurting you.”

Owain seemed more worried about this mage hunter than he did the volatile Cursed King, the most powerful mage alive.

I should’ve pushed the robe aside and sunk into his bare chest to shoo away the rising worry. I should’ve kissed him. But my foolish heart was still afraid of the direction we were moving in. So I said, “You’d better sneak out to make us look guilty.”

He smiled softly before slipping out of the room, still shirtless, looking every inch the sex-rumpled prince I should’ve made him in truth.

***

The morning went the same as the one before. I ate breakfast alone, with Muffin begging for scraps. Anne intimidated me into a silk dress and some of the jewelry Reina had purchased in the Tir. Then a guard knocked loudly on the door, making me jump, before announcing cryptically, “Royal correspondence.”

Hearing this, Anne dropped the ribbon she was lacing tight enough to squeeze the breath out of me and shuffled to the door.

She silently handed two sheets of crisp parchment to me and went back to her work on my bodice. I flipped over the letter to see a crimson seal, marked with the shape of something that was almost a flower.

Darreth.

My fingers were a blur as I ripped open the seal. It was from Queen Isca. My eyes flew over the words. She wrote of Tir Gelida, of Princess Anwen and Prince Nisien meeting for the first time in years, of her pregnancy and her grumpy husband. I smiled at parts and cringed at others.

Reading it felt like catching up with a friend. Was that even possible? Could I have some nascent friendship with a queen? It certainly seemed that way when I read the last line inviting me to visit or stay in Tir Darreth with honors at any time.

The next letter made me gasp in surprise as I cracked the blue seal, which was impressed with the fierce visage of a bear. It was from Princess Anwen of Gelida, offering a hand of friendship—to me, a complete stranger. This world I’d stepped into was clearly far more complex and interconnected than I’d initially imagined.