Page 3 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

By the time I reached the inner halls, the mud had dried stiff against my boots, flaking onto the flagstone. I tried to guess which version of him I would find waiting—the bored autocrat, the inebriated peacemaker, or the man who looked at me like something half-rotted.

I was rarely lucky.

Berian’s study smelled of incense, beeswax, and far too much wine. Outside his window, a gargoyle’s open mouth spewed a torrential downpour. The king sprawled on his gilded divan, the crown of Larethia placed casually at his feet as if it were just another ornament. I’d waited while he’d changed into dry clothes, but I was still soaked, burning magic to keep my body warm, with an innocent’s blood an invisible stain on my hands.

“Little brother,” Berian greeted cordially, even though his words always seemed to hold a hint of steel. While our dark brown hair and neatly cropped beards matched, he was shorter and had the bright green eyes of his mother. “Flawless execution after the delay. The crowd may whisper, but they fear you more than they scorn you.”

Some traitorous part of me still straightened at his praise even as I clenched my jaw. He spoke about fear as if it were the same thing as respect. Exactly how I felt about my flawless execution was teetering on my tongue, but I swallowed it.

Honesty had only ever brought me pain.

Berian fixed his gaze on me, his mouth set in a firm line. He wore the look that always came before a decision he knew I’d disagree with but wouldn’t dare challenge. “But fear alone will not keep our borders whole. Gelida constantly circles our borderlands like wolves. We need peace.”

Cursed gods, this is what Vaustin was here for.

Meddling in politics again—exactly what the Assembly claimed they never did.

My stomach plummeted through the floor beneath my feet as it churned with dread. I knew where this was leading, even if I hadn’t yet opened that correspondence from Gelida. My friends in Darreth had told me as much.

“You will ride north to Tir Gelida,” Berian said. The practiced smoothness of his voice was meant to persuade, while not giving an inch of allowance for denial. “Make a good impression on their princess. If peace can be bought with vows and rings, you will be the one to strike the bargain for our kingdom.”

Our kingdom. Hardly.

I crossed my arms, a knot tightening in my chest. His audacity was truly breathtaking.

Of course I wanted a wife, but not like this. I’d once dared to fantasize about the sort of person who would choose me for me…but I’d stopped indulging in that fantasy years ago, because it was better to expect nothing than to reach for someone duty might never let me hold for more than a single night.

I was unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice. “You would send me, and yet you still haven’t sired an heir for our kingdom?”

Berian’s own queen spent more time with her parents in distant Freuxcourt than at the Tir because they hated each other. It was his duty to the kingdom to sire a legitimate successor, regardless of his feelings on the matter. Yet he made little effort.

A part of me had hoped that the prince of Darreth, our closest ally, would travel to Gelida and win Princess Anwen over with his famous charm before I even had to pack my first trunk. Let peace cost someone else their freedom for once. But it seemed that was not to be.

“I send you as our kingdom’s hope,” Berian said, rising from the divan. “The people of Gelida don’t care about your Fae blood. All they will see is your martial prowess. You will impress their warriors.”

My face remained impassive as he recited all the qualities that made me good breeding stock and a perfect fit for the martial culture of the northern kingdom. I pressed down my anger, and my magic, with all the strength left in my mind.

Berian came closer, his smile kind but his eyes ice. “Tell me, would you rather kill another trembling boy in chains…or give your people peace?”

Had the execution been about bringing me to heel? Impotent fury made shadows rise to the surface of my skin, settling into pools of black that sharpened my vision. The phantom weight of the sword handle pressed into my palm, the memory of the boy’s pleading eyes burning behind my lids.

For a heartbeat, I considered telling Berian no. But the boy’s blood was still a stain on my hands. How many more would die before peace allowed me to stop?

I looked away to hide my temper as my half-brother’s hand settled on my shoulder—its presence a physical claim rather than a comfort. “Be the deterrent sharp enough to make the Gelidian rebels hesitate before drawing steel on our people again. Be the prince who buys peace for our people.”

If my misery was the price, it was the cheapest one on offer. And he was the king. My king. What choice did I truly have?

With my head bowed and bile coating my tongue, I whispered the only words duty would allow, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

And with that single sentence, I surrendered the last sliver of my life not owned by Berian.

Chapter 2

Lunette

I’d seen this often enough that it should’ve meant nothing, but my stomach still climbed into my throat. I stopped in the center of the tiny village square to breathe through my body’s revolt. The silence was worse than screams. Those sounds of agony might’ve meant I could do something to preserve life amidst the carnage.

I stepped carefully around the splatters of darkening crimson marring the fallen leaves blanketing everything that hadn’t burned or wasn’t covered in the remnants of destruction. Without rain to wash the blood away, it had dried in patches everywhere, black where it had clotted. Apparently, even the weather had decided it had done enough.