The moment her magic successfully intertwined with the beast was jarring—like she had leashed it, but she wasn’t strong enough to keep her feet when it lunged forward. She thought she might be ripped apart from trying. But she held on, stumbling several steps before finally managing to dig her heels in and keep still.
Stop, she ordered the beast.Stop!
And the beast finally stopped. It curled back to her before bursting, scattering into smoky wisps of black that seeped into the cracks along the stone floor.
The prince lowered his sword.
Sephia dropped to one knee, exhausted by the effort the magic had taken. Her entire body ached.
“You…controlled it,” said Tarron.
“Yes,” she whispered.
But the cost of doing so was immediately evident in the wide-eyed and furious expressions on the guards’ faces.
Tarron’s expression was far worse—not fury, but confusion. And then…hurt.
“I was going to tell you the truth,” Sephia said, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I swear I was, I just needed to…to…”
His guards converged, stepping between him and Sephia.
He didn’t stop them.
They roughly grabbed Sephia’s arms and hauled her to her feet, slamming her back against the bars of the cell. When her ears stopped ringing from the pain, and she finally managed to lift her head, it was just in time to see Tarron turning away from her.
“Lock her in the eastern tower,” he said. “She can await her trial there.”
Chapter 13
There was nothing the prince could do.
Solturne Hall was in an uproar. Less than an hour had passed since the incident in the dungeon, but the true identity of his stolen bride had already gotten out. He hadn’t thought to tell his guards to be discreet about securing her in the eastern tower—he’d been too angry to think.
So they had dragged her across the palace, essentially in plain sight. Someone had seen, or perhaps that younger, inexperienced guard had spread the news himself. Who knew? Who cared?
All that mattered was that the news was out, and there was nothing Tarron could do to take it back.
Nor could he take back anything that had happened between himself and Leanora—or whatever her name was—over these past days.
He raced up the steps to his brother’s room, his heart beating a painfully furious rhythm in his chest. He nearly knocked over the guards stationed at the king’s door in his haste to push his way inside.
The king was in front of the freestanding mirror in the corner of the room. He saw the reflection of his younger brother, and he offered a nod as a greeting before walking over to the wardrobe, grabbing his crown from the cushion on top of it, and putting it on.
“So,” he said, turning back to study his reflection in the mirror, “we were tricked.”
“You already know?”
The king’s face tilted toward a servant gathering up linens and piling them into a basket against her hip.
She averted her eyes and hurried out of the room when Tarron narrowed his gaze on her—off to gossip some more, most likely.
“News travels fast,” Deven commented, dryly. “I don’t know how much of it is true, of course.”
“The princess controls shadows.”
“Yes, that was one of the things I heard.”
“And that muchistrue. I saw it for myself, as did two of the dungeon guards. She obviously isn’t who she claimed to be.”
