Page 87 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Then I allowed one tear of frustration to fall and promptly got to work. I didn’t have many clothes, so packing them along with a few sentimental items that I absolutely couldn’t bear to lose was quick. The people of Selmont wouldn’t hesitate to steal from me while I was gone.

Each folded garment felt like a concession I hadn’t agreed to make, each relic of my family’s past tucked away, a defeat.

Muffin scampered into the cage with an ease that felt a bit too convenient. Suspiciously so. The odds of him breaking out of it mid-journey were so high, I wouldn’t have wagered a copper coin against him not terrorizing someone or their horse. He looked entirely comfortable nestled into the plush, woolen blanket that padded his cage.

Little traitor settled into a life of luxury too easily. Give him velvet cushions, and he’d sell me to the monarchy personally.

Fifteen minutes later, I was handing his cage and my small trunk to one of the younger green-clad soldiers. Pausing I said, “I’ll be right back, just need to grab the veska some food for the journey.”

“There’s no need, my lady,” he said, cheeks turning red, eyes not quite meeting mine. “I have been ordered to…hunt for it.”

I covered a laugh with a cough. Somewhere in the Tir, a dark-eyed prince had sat down at his desk and written the words “arrange hunting provisions for the veska.”

The fate of a kingdom, indeed.

All Larethia’s men, even Richart after his subtle reprimand, had been pleasant so far. I wouldn’t aim my ire at innocent men.

Not when the guilty one is sitting comfortably at home on his damned throne.

“The veska’s name is Muffin. Thank you for…hunting for him, I guess.”

“Yes, m’lady. Master Muffin,” he replied, voice half an octave higher. Somehow the young man turned even redder.

Master Muffin. The terror already possessed the ego of minor nobility, now this.

Inside, I was howling with laughter. Yet another sign I was losing my mind. If Muffin could understand what was being said about him, he’d parade around until the end of time. I said, “Please don’t call me lady.”

He shook his head and bowed, actually bowed, to me. “Orders are otherwise, Lady Lunette.”

Too afraid to ask whose orders, I just shook my head.

When I saw one of the soldiers pulling supplies into my cabin, I asked Nisien, “What is that man doing?” I could tell he was a mage, just like the rest, but his magic felt eerily similar to my mother’s. That single fact was the one thing that kept me from exploding in anger at the presumption.

Nisien offered a dismissive shrug, his demeanor more guarded about this than anything else so far. “He’s been ordered to stay behind.”

Maybe Owain knew the village would steal everything I had if I left, and he was protecting it. He’d also suggested that they set up a garrison in my cabin. Maybe this man would be able to send word to the nearest fortress in time to save Selmont. “Is he skilled in epistulamancy?”

A flicker of confusion crossed Nisien’s features, but he recovered so fast I wasn’t certain I’d seen it there. “A correspondence mage? …Something like that.”

An answer so evasive it practically wore a mask.

Even while I was furious, I didn’t think Owain was callous enough to leave his people completely unguarded. So I threw my hands in the air and decided to save this scrap of my sanity. Because—I hated to admit it—Owain and Nisien were right. Losing our king would put far more than one tiny mountain village at risk. The political instability that followed would only embolden the raiders. Temporarily trading my freedom for the village’s long-term security would be worth it.

Plus, it was go along with this or scream, or worse, cry. But I refused to shed another tear.

We rode out beneath a gray sky heavy with the threat of snow. The road curved through Selmont’s lower areas, past the cabins and homesteads I’d protected stone by stone for years. Doors didn’t slam shut as we passed, but they didn’t open either.

Those outside openly stared—counting the number of guards flanking me, inspecting the green and red cloaks, the gleam of gold melded into Nisien’s armor. They watched me astride a horse I didn’t own, at the center of a royal escort like a prize already claimed.

Lana paused with a pot under one arm and Celine under the other. She didn’t wave. Just pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away, frightened more than disdainful. But Louie waved, a broad smile on his face. I gave him one back before his mother tugged his hand down, murmuring something I couldn’t hear but knew by heart.

Dangerous. Now, tainted.

They probably thought this escort was to put me in shackles. I kept my chin high and held onto my horse’s reins. The leather bit into my palms through my gloves, but at least it was something to hold onto that wasn’t grief or shame.

I’d promised them protection. And now I was riding away beneath royal colors while the village watched, calculating how long my magic would linger after I was gone.

The wards hummed faintly as we passed. The urge to reinforce them one last time was almost painful. As my borrowed horse clomped on, I gave into my grief to hang my head for one long moment.