Prologue
Gethin
My son’s screams fill the dining room, piercing my eardrums as the cold northern wind gusts through the windows. He sits red-faced across the table, his young mind lost in a tantrum, momentarily forgetting what his mother can do to him.
If I could, I’d take Taran and run, putting as much space between her and us as possible. But I can’t. I’m trapped in place—a prisoner in my own body.
Eating blueberries.
My wife had to willbend me. To force me, with the same magic that bends the people of Aedys to her rule. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t eat. As it is, I follow the order at the barest edge of its limits. One at a time, grinding each to a pulp. Silently counting the breaths until her next command.
“Stop it, Taran.”
Esyllt’s voice is sharp. Demanding. But not a bending. She needs to be careful when we’re together like this. If she bends him too many times, she’ll risk losing control of me.
I hate myself for wishing she’d make that mistake. He’s been through enough.
Taran shuts his mouth, his eyes wide and glistening. His lip quivers as realization flickers across his face—he’s still free.
“Leave him be,” I say, pushing the words out between chews.
She focuses her glare on me. “Such behavior is unacceptable for a prince.”
“He’s five.”
Her eyes narrow. When she speaks, her voice echoes through my mind. “Keep your opinions to yourself.”
My hand wavers against the smooth stone of my plate, no longer compelled to move on its own; she nullified her earlier command. I shove another blueberry in my mouth, praying she doesn’t realize her misstep. Not that it matters. Anything I try, she can stop with a single word.
I shift my gaze back to Taran. He looks so much like his mother, with his dark hair and green eyes.How is it that I can love a child with her face?
A quiet, claiming touch. My skin crawls as Esyllt runs her fingers along my arm. I pull away, sliding my hand beneath the wooden table while continuing to eat blueberries with the other.
She turns her attention back to our son. “Eat your meat.”
“I don’t want to.”
Her thin brows press together, sharp against her pale skin. “You will eat it on your own, or I will make you eat it.”
“No! You eat it!” Taran’s voice, shrill with the spark of another tantrum, echoes through the dining room. Through my bones.
A bending.
My stomach drops. Before it hits the floor, my hand collides with Esyllt’s as we snatch slices of steak from his plate, cramming them into our mouths. Servants rush to Taran’s side, fighting for the remains. He curls up, screaming. Terrified.
He’s never bent anyone before. And to compel the entire room… He’s stronger than his mother. Much stronger.
Esyllt’s eyes widen, nostrils flaring with fury that shudders through me as she frantically chews, unable to speak with her mouth packed with gnashed meat. She scans the table, landing on an obsidian knife, then her eyes flick back to Taran.
Dread fills me, outpaced by a surge of panic.
She seizes the blade, raising it toward my son, lunging for him.
I grab my plate and smash it against her skull.
Time stops as she crumples onto the soft fur rug. The knife falls, its tip splintering as it clatters against the table. The servants stare, unsure what to do next. Taran’s eyes tremble as he peeks up, silently meeting mine.
My gaze drops to Esyllt, sprawled on the floor. Her eyelids flutter, and time rushes back into motion. I swallow the rest of the meat, washing it down with a cup of wine.
