Page 68 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

First, a queen had spoken to me as though my thoughts and feelings mattered. She’d even provided me with costly paper for our correspondence. Now a prince was acting as though my continued presence in his life was simply a matter of when, not whether.

I stared at him blankly to cover the hysterical laughter raging inside my head. Did he not see the holes in my roof or the state of my clothing? This prince seemed truly convinced I’d cross paths with him again.

But he didn’t fidget or quail under my stare. No. Prince Nisien smirked. “Go easy on Owain. He’s…a bit of an idiot, but one who always means well.”

I already knew the latter…which was precisely the problem boiling inside me.

Nisien’s charming demeanor couldn’t hide the intense probing of his blue eyes. It felt like he could see past my skin, past the armor of confidence I wore. He gave a single nod before his face relaxed into a look of shared sorrow. “Be well, Lady Lunette.”

I looked away first. I’d thought it would be easier to bear pity from someone who didn’t know me, but his gentle way with me proved me wrong.

The prince of Darreth turned and left my ramshackle cabin without another word.

I shut the door after him and rested my forehead against the wood. The new door smelled of raw wood and wagon tar. It didn’t squeak like the old one.

Outside, a horse gave a low, impatient snort. Leather creaked. Someone laughed, quickly hushed. I pressed my forehead harder to the door until the grain bit into my skin, as if pain might make me sensible.

I told myself not to listen—to busy my thoughts, to count my breaths, to do anything but strain for the sound of familiar footfalls. But I only heard the retreating sounds of men talking to one another, horses snorting and stamping—sounds that had nothing to do with my life and everything to do with the man I’d just pushed out of it.

Go after him, some reckless part of me whispered.

My hand lifted to the latch. Then fell.

The hoofbeats began a few moments later. I counted those too, forehead still pressed to the door.

Eventually all went quiet in the clearing. Around me, the cabin was still and lifeless. The oppressive hush pressed in until there was nothing left but the sound of the wind rustling the roof. I turned to look at my cold, empty home.

He’s gone.

A soft scuttling broke the deafening silence.

Muffin crept out from wherever he’d hidden himself, claws scratching softly against the floor, green eyes wary. His chir was tentative as he scurried toward me. I dropped the coin sack and scooped him up before he could change his mind, burying my face in the warm, soft, and familiar fur at his neck. He still smelled faintly of oakmoss, cedar, and dark tea—of Owain, because Muffin had sidled up to him seeking his affection at every opportunity.

The scent gave him back to me.

Muffin wriggled at my squeeze. At first, he was indignant then he twisted his narrow head to lick at my face with devoted determination.

That was when I broke—quietly at first, as though there was any chance I might still stop myself. But then the sound that tore out of me was ugly and unrestrained—not something I’d ever want witnessed. With a squeak of disapproval, Muffin began licking with renewed vigor, his tiny claws scratching against my collarbone, trying to make the tears go away.

The pile of armor is gone.

Such a ridiculous thing to notice. And yet my knees gave out all the same. I stumbled back and collapsed onto the bed with a sob.

The space it had occupied yawned empty in the corner. Bare floorboards stared back at me where artisan steel had once been stacked. I didn’t look away until my chest hurt from heaving. I hated how much room there was when I lay down, hated how the mattress didn’t dip beside me.

I hadn’t even known I’d gotten used to the weight of him. Apparently, my body had made notes my mind hadn’t.

I spent the evening like that—still in my clothes, having cried myself empty with Muffin nestled against my throat.

Tomorrow, I would check the wards. That would be the first thing, and then there would be another thing after that. There was always another thing. A fever. A roof. A birth. A broken bone.

I would be useful again by morning. It had to be enough. Work, endurance—it was all I had now.

Tomorrow would be better.

It had to be.

Chapter 21