Behind those doors the king would claim me as his new pet. Kind as the prince tried to be, this moment felt a great deal like facing the darkness of my end.
The air grew hot, like falling sparks bit into my skin. Walls were too near, too tight, too confined. All at once the corridor became my haven. The moment I went through those doors, I would be in chains. Perhaps not literally, but King Damir would have me in his sights. I would be a prize of a century-old treaty. Nothing more.
Sweat beaded over my brow. The space around my lungs tightened and I drew in sharp, jagged pulls of air.
Roark paused, eyes taking me in, a groove of concern—no, likely annoyance—on his brow.
Fog clouded my thoughts until all I knew was I could not breathe. I needed air, needed to be free of this suffocating hallway.
A hand took hold of my arm, pulling me from the doors. I met the sharp gaze of the Sentry. He braced my back to the wall, caging me—or shielding me—away from the open corridor.
With one finger he tapped on my cheek until I lifted my eyes. He didn’t use his hand speak, didn’t mouth a word, but kept his palm on the side of my throat, his thumb stroking the side of my neck.
Gentle strokes, almost soothing.
After a moment, I realized his other hand had taken mine and he did the same, only down the center of my palm, across my wrist. He added a bit of pressure and the weight of his touch drew my focus.
It pulled me from the thrashing fear, the tangle of thoughts. I drew in a long breath through my nose.
Roark stopped stroking the side of my neck and lifted his hand so I could follow his command.Breathe.
Where the Sentry could’ve mocked me, he calmed me instead.
I didn’t understand it. How could he sit back with such indifference, watching families torn apart, but in this moment be a haven in a storm?
The door to the side of the hall opened. Baldur, dressed in his full Stav uniform, emerged. “The king is waiting, Ashwood.” He noticed our position. “What’s the matter with her?”
Roark waved the captain away.
“Tell her whimpering does nothing but prove her weakness. Dry your tears, woman, and meet your king.” Baldur folded his arms.
The Sentry spun on him. I knew more of his words than I expected—like they had been burned in my mind after his banter with Thane—and from the flush in Baldur’s face, the insults he leveled at the captain were not taken in jest as they’d been for the prince.
“Just get her inside,” Baldur spat, then returned the way he came.
I buried my face in my palms. Wretched as Baldur could be, the captain wasn’t entirely wrong. For now, I had little choice but to face the king. To remain here, spinning in fears, would do nothing.
Another tap to my cheek and I opened my eyes.
Roark held up a strip of parchment I never saw him take out.
When you are ready.
It was a kindness I didn’t expect. True to his word, the Sentry leaned against the wall, like he might be settling in to wait the whole of the day.
I swallowed, cracked one knuckle, then another. Once my pulse had slowed to a tolerable pace, I cleared my throat. “No sense in waiting.”
Roark took his place at my side once more.
“Don’t let me fall in there,” I whispered before I could think better of it. I wasn’t certain I even meant the words for Roark, but he came closer all the same, until our chests nearly touched.
For a tense, drawn-out pause Ashwood studied me, then slowly took hold of my hand, guiding me through the doors.
17
Lyra
Two guards opened the doorsto the savory scents and riotous company. My stomach churned when Roark took us inside.
