He reached out, resting a heavy hand on Skyre’s shoulder. “Dinnae forget what it felt like towantto prove yourself. Witches and gods be damned, in the end, it’sourblood spilling out there on the fields. I willnae swear my allegiance to a ghost or some vision. Butfleshand bones that break.”
Skyre nodded, the words settling in his ears. He’d let his mind get clouded, but now more than ever, he needed to see clearly.
His kingdom demanded it.
Skyre returned to the castle. His eyes were slow to adjust to the shadow, used to life beneath the sun and sky. Nigh three weeks it had been since his crowning, since his coming to Rhyd-hal, and still, it was no home of his. And there were others that knew it better.Foolish. He’d gotten so tangled in matters of prophecy, he hadn’t stopped to think of the dangers of his own earthen world.
Rask was right—he couldn’t afford to get distracted.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Even before he’d seen him, Skyre's heart was rattling in its cage. He was a hunter, hearing a twig snap in the darkness.
He fixed his eyes upon the figure as it came to a stop before him.
The druid.
They seemed to come to the same conclusion, and immediately those pale orbs darkened. Skyre felt every inch of his flesh ignite, squaring his shoulders towards him. He was dressed in a white gown, an apple held loose in his hand. His hair, a tangled mess of flax, fell over his shoulder in a long, unkempt braid. Everything about him, from the slightness of his frame to the prideful gait of his gaze, was a burning insult. The druid was small; not one inch of muscle on him, his ears too big for his face. His face…
Aside them, the afternoon poured in through the colonnade, wreathing the druid in sunlight. Yet, to Skyre, he was nothing short of abomination.
“Who gave you sanction to walk here alone?” he barked.
The druid remained still, the words breaking against his stone like storms. “I was under the impression I was not prisoner, though… I may not come nor go as I please.”
Skyre grit his teeth. “One might think it more respectable for you to simply stay in your room.”
The druid’s gaze drifted towards the hall from which he’d come. “Then, youdomean to hold me captive. At least, if it was your decision. But it isn’t… is it?”
Skyre growled, grabbing the front of his gown. He swung the druid against the stone, his bony shoulders colliding with the wall. A quiet fell, blanketing them in stillness but for the sound of the apple rolling across the floor.
“Do not give me reason to defy the gods,” Skyre whispered darkly. “You will not enjoy what comes of it.”
“It will be you who burns in the flames of my pyre—not I. Whether I live or die, my suffering is not within your power to give.”
Skyre released him with a snarl. “You woodwalkers and your arrogance. These are my walls, and you are within them. Suffering or not, you remain at my pleasure. I could make this so much worse for you.”
But the threats made their home not within the druid’s eyes, and that only served to ignite Skyre further. Those careless words. That recklesstongue. All of it unbound by any command. Skyre hated him. Hated the defiance in those fragile bones.
He forced himself away with a frustrated scowl. “Stay out of my sight.”
“Is it an order,my laird?”
The challenge hung in the heated air between them. The Vaich did not rise to it.
He turned, making his way down the hall.
Chapter ten
The Yoke
The next morning saw the return of Halla, the bustling chambermaid. “A note for ye, íridh!” She brought a folded parchment to the druid’s bedside, hovering as he unfolded it.
His eyes scanned the brief scrawl of words:
Meet me at the postern. - Hirí
Included was a hastily drawn map and a single black stamp—the priestess’ seal of passage that would allow him beyond the inner walls. A simple piece of paper determined whether he should walk freely beneath the sun. The blood stirred in his veins. This was all wrong.
The druid folded the paper once more, glancing at Halla to find her shuffling with excitement.
