Page 195 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I found the nearest officer. “Put the mages in separate cells. Bound. No contact between them. Only guards with family-wing clearance enter the dungeon.” I held the man’s gaze for a moment longer, a silent meaning passing beneath my words. “And find out which one is the most afraid. I want to have that conversation first.”

He saluted and set to work immediately, smiling in a way that told me he was enthusiastic about paying them back for every broken stone in this castle. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

I turned to Camrick. “Senior officers in General Allard’s office within the hour.”

My eyes moved to the messenger. “You’ll be fed, watered, and debriefed before you sleep. Not after.”

He straightened. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Now move!”

The room began to empty. Everyone had somewhere to be and now, something to fight for.

Outside these walls, Gelida was on the verge of breaking. The Assembly would demand answers for what had happened here. Maeron would come. And before anyone had placed a crown on my head, my reign had already started with war.

Chapter 52

Lunette

By the time Anne began lacing me into the gown Reina had selected for Owain’s coronation, the kingdom had been moving nonstop for more than a week. So had I

In the wake of the battle in my rooms, Larethia had scarcely found a moment to grieve. Reina had taken command of Berian’s funeral and the endless politics of court mourning. Owain and Camrick had disappeared into military councils, dispatches, and the grim arithmetic of the future we now faced.

The morning after finally spending the night in Owain’s arms had come too soon, pulling me back into the world before I was ready for it. By the time the workers permitted me back into my own rooms, the stonemason was mortaring over the place in the wall where I’d detonated a ward, and two servants wrestled a new armoire through the door.

I’d stood in the doorway for exactly three seconds before I told Anne I’d be staying in Owain’s rooms instead. It was the easiest decision I’d made all week.

Anne hadn’t argued. She only informed me that everything salvageable had already been sent there.

Muffin adjusted best of all. His new retreat on Owain’s balcony overlooked a tree inhabited by a squirrel he’d decided was a personal enemy. Now, both little creatures enjoyed arguments from a safe distance several times per day. A young servant named Faron had appointed himself Muffin’s keeper whenever I was occupied, walking him through the gardens on a leash in the hopeful pursuit of earning him enough trust to roam freely.

Muffin had responded to this service by allowing Faron to carry him on his shoulders. For Muffin, it was a formal declaration of alliance. I was glad someone in the castle was able to have uncomplicated feelings.

I still hadn’t cried since the battle that had changed our lives.At first, there hadn’t been time. Then there had been time, and the tears still hadn’t come. Now I suspected the tears were simply waiting to catch up with me.

Berian’s funeral had taken place a few days earlier. Formal and stately, it was the kind of ceremony that was less about grief and more about the proper execution of mourning. Most faces wore an expression of carefully constructed sorrow, a performance of grief that lacked any genuine emotion.

I thought I wouldn’t feel anything. Mostly, I'd been right. But there was one moment near the end, when the officiant said Berian’s full name—the one that included his house and his parents’ names—and Owain’s breath caught beside me. That single sound almost made me break down.

I’d spent most of the service with my hand tucked into the crook of his arm, which was the only thing I could offer him and the only thing, I thought, that he wanted. At some point during the rites, he covered my hand with his. He hadn’t moved it until after we’d greeted hundreds of guests and were safely back in his rooms.

The growing conflict had widened even as we buried one king and prepared to crown another. Every day, letters arrived from Gelida and Darreth. Queen Isca and Princess Anwen were the women standing at the other two points of the alliance Larethia would need to survive. They were also becoming friends, women who understood my struggles. Who I could open up to through words on a page.

I was learning that placid Isca had a fiery side, and that Anwen wasn’t quite as chilly as her reputation made her out to be. Though I couldn’t claim I didn’t fear for Nisien’s life or limb where she was concerned. He seemed to get under her skin in a way that made me wonder if his particular sort of charm was exactly what she needed.

Now it was officially winter, and Anne was pulling the final ribbon tight around my ribs.

The color was a rich green, like sunlight hitting the deep evergreens surrounding Selmont. Gold trim lined the hem, cuffs, and neckline. When I moved, the whole thing shimmered in the firelight. That would’ve been enough for me to feel overdressed.

But the entire gown was covered in hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny, precious gold beads. Mirelle had crafted these too. But unlike the ring she’d given me, there were no plans for my dress to blow up.

“Your M— Ladyship, if you say something self-deprecating,” Anne warned as she tugged the laces taut, leaving no room for argument or a full breath. “I’ll have to pretend I didn’t hear it, and then we’ll be even further behind schedule.”

She saw my pout in the hammered bronze mirror and responded with an eyeroll.

Anne had me walking the length of Owain’s room yesterday for an undignified amount of time. Muffin had watched from the bed with what I imagined was the veska version of covering a laugh. Anne had informed me, with all the warmth of a stone wall, that deportment could solve all my problems. Apparently, I was too petite to look as menacing as they thought I should during wartime.

So now I closed my mouth and gave Anne the regal smile I’d been practicing with Reina. That, at least, she seemed to approve of.