Page 146 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

“You want to take me on a tour…” I said, looking up at him, an incredulous smile on my face despite the lingering tension in my chest. “In the middle of an Assembly luncheon?”

He leaned forward until his breath brushed my ear in a way that had nothing to do with secrecy. “I needed an excuse to leave.”

To be alone with me.

“Lead on then.” My laughter was more a relief valve for tension than anything. The answering relaxation I sensed in him was profound.

He guided me down the corridor, the weak autumn light filtering through the arched windows, illuminating the glittering quartz flecks in the stone. Through the glass, the gardens lay in perfect order, frost tracing every leaf and blade of grass, the bright stones of the walkways flowing between them like paths of snow.

The space was ordered and precisely predictable, but nothing about the way my pulse had begun to climb felt like any of those things.

“It’s better in spring,” he said, following my gaze. “My mother favored purple and white flowers, so everything blooms in shades of my father’s devotion to her. Theresa never changed it.”

“I like it even now,” I murmured. “Can’t fault your mother’s preference.”

That brought a faint upward curve to the corners of his mouth. We moved on.

The kitchens announced themselves with heat, the low hum of voices, and the scent of fresh bread and herbs. He didn’t take me inside, only slowed enough to nod toward the wide doorway.

“You’ll never go hungry here,” he said.

“I’ve gathered as much,” I replied dryly, thinking of what I’d said to Camrick only hours before.

There was another flicker of amusement from Owain, and I swore the rear guard cut off a snort of laughter.

Owain’s arm shifted against mine as he turned to point toward a doorway that led to the lower bailey. He didn’t seem to notice that his hand caressed my fingers where they rested on his forearm.

But I did. I noticed it with my entire body. I noticed how little space there was between us, and how easily that space could disappear entirely.

Except we had an audience in steel trailing us.

The energy between us felt different as we moved to the library. He opened the door himself this time, motioning for me to step inside. It was vast—shelves climbing toward the ceiling, ladders on rails, the faint scent of paper and old ink. A grand fireplace dominated one wall, its mantelpiece adorned with a collection of ancient swords and shields. Sunlight streamed through more arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

“Visit whenever you like.” Something in his voice shifted on the last word.

I turned back to him. “That sounds perilously close to an invitation.”

His magic radiated toward me again as he drew closer. “It is. Coming far too late. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, I only looked at him, surrounded by more books than I’d ever dreamed existed. The anger I’d been carrying, the accounting of grievances, the low banked resentment I’d grown so accustomed to carrying that it had started to feel like part of me, every piece of it finally—brutally—gave completely away. I looked at him and felt nothing but contentment and the undeniable attraction that had been there from the start.

This apology was a small one, but the bigger ones that had come before were just as sincere. I was ready to accept them all now.

“You should know,” I said quietly into the still of the room. “I forgive you…for everything. I’ve always understood why you did it. But my fears got in the way.”

“I know,” he said quietly, eyes clouded with the heavy weight of regret. “That makes what I did worse, not better. I used the goodness in you as an excuse. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. I’m sor—”

“Don't,” I interrupted gently. “I mean it. I’m done letting this stand between us.”

He briefly shut his eyes. Breathed deeply. When he opened them again, they were softer than I’d ever seen them and lingered on my lips a moment too long to not be intentional.

Then he took a deliberate step back. Something had shifted in his expression. It was the same one he wore the moment before he kissed me in the cabin. Like he was slipping.

I wanted nothing more than to fall with him. I wanted him to step forward. For me to close the gap. It was as if a rope, fastened from my heart to his, was steadily drawing me in his direction.

“Thank you,” he said finally. But there was a roughness to his voice now. “Come.”

We left the library and turned down a quieter corridor, one I scarcely recognized. This one had no tapestries, narrower walls, and the torch sconces were spaced farther apart. This far from the main areas, the vibrant sounds of life in the castle had receded into a distant murmur.