Page 189 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I kept my breathing slow. My eyes locked with his, and I willed him to understand all that I couldn’t say, through the look itself. I’m okay, I love you.

His answer was the rage and terror writhing in black swirls across his skin. The only thing holding them in check was the restraint making his body tremble faintly.

Vaustin and Coryanthus’s eyes strayed to the door as a heavier blow rattled it on its hinges. That had to be Camrick and the soldiers trying to break in. But Owain remained stock-still, his eyes not straying from me.

Despite the thunder at the door, Vaustin drifted to the edge of Owain’s periphery. His polished boots moved across the stone in unhurried, contemplative circles. Owain had been right about him enjoying suffering. He was taking his time. Relishing this moment of triumph.

Even so, the muscles along his jaw twitched now and then, as though he were fighting some private impulse. Once, his expression flickered altogether—as though another reaction had tried to wear his face before he forced it back into steadiness.

“Smart man,” Vaustin drawled as he got closer to Owain. “I worried your Nocthel rage would have you acting rashly…”

So they’d known about that too and never told him.

“All that power,” Coryanthus said behind me, voice too bright and conversational for a moment like this. “And he flinched at the sight of a drop of her blood. I always wondered what would break the tainted prince.”

I wanted to sink my teeth into him until he screamed.

But Vaustin had stopped paying attention. He tilted his head, his attention caught as if another conversation were happening below ours.

A nagging suspicion began to grow in my mind.

Coryanthus opened his mouth to repeat himself, but then Vaustin’s disconnect melted away all at once. A focused, more unsettling delight took its place.

“All that cozying up during the luncheon. Now shared pain,” he said, glancing at Owain with something as close to appreciation as a monster could get. “My father warned me about mate bonds. Said they were…” His eyes unfocused for a breath as he searched for the word. Then he smiled. “Inefficiencies. But I think I see the opportunity in them.”

His attention moved to me, appraising. “He will be a constant source of power—and we will acquire an Arcanist’s womb.”

“You slowly murdered a queen for eight years and called it healing.” My voice shook, but I no longer cared. “How many others?”

Vaustin only tilted his head and smiled faintly.

“Quiet,” Coryanthus snapped, “the men are talking.”

Hateful swine. I breathed in. Breathed out. Owain did enough glaring for the both of us.

I wanted to drive my heel into the top of Coryanthus’s foot. Wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of men who said things like that. To hold him at the tip of my rending magic like he was holding me with the dagger, but Vaustin still had my magic in a chokehold, and Owain was held back by the blade at my throat.

My pulse stumbled. Owain’s Nocthel magic still bled through his skin, dark tendrils curling out from his palms. Vaustin hadn’t smothered his magic. That meant he could only suppress one person's magic at a time.

I needed to get away from this blade so he could act.

Pausing his circles, Vaustin set the device down on the mantel too slowly, as if he’d suddenly become unsure of his own hands. For a long moment, he said nothing. Just breathed unsteadily and stared at the fire.

Owain kept his sharp gaze trained on him, waiting for the first opening. I didn’t dare meet Owain’s eyes for long. Every time I had, I saw how close he was to the edge. I couldn’t be the thing that pushed him over it too soon.

Vaustin turned and opened his mouth as if to answer someone. Then cut himself off. His eyes narrowed as though he’d nearly said something aloud he hadn’t meant to.

He spun on his heel to face Coryanthus and pointed at nothing at all. “Order your man to stop fidgeting like an imbecile,” he said with perfect sincerity, “or I shall make him.”

There was no one near Coryanthus. There hadn’t been for some time.

Now Owain was staring at him like he was looking for the first place to cut. I’d already identified five.

An inhuman blankness passed over Vaustin’s face as we stared. Then his carefully constructed mask snapped back into place. I could dismiss one strange lapse. But his eyes were too intense now, like a lamp burning brighter than its wick was meant to allow. He smiled at nothing for just a half-second too long and said, “Caervorn will reward your loyalty.”

I didn’t know what the magic of a dying king felt like from the inside, but I suspected it wasn’t something that belonged within a living human mind.

Coryanthus stiffened. “Yes…of course,” he murmured. His voice was laced with the quiet contemplation of every selfish choice that had led him into this room.