His words were an immense relief, but I pretended otherwise.
"I am. When do we start?"
"On the road, unfortunately. Galasvar won't be the last to be attacked—we'll be reinforcing another border fort."
"Right. That makes sense," I said, as icy fingers gripped my spine and froze my throat.
If Killian had not made a difference, why would we?
"Come," he said softly. "King Ailithir wants to see you."
I expected the Paragon to bring me to the governor's manor, where the lords of Aenir had been holed up, trying to make sense of the situation for the past few days.
Instead, we arrived at the main road, where a convoy of horses, carriages, and soldiers congested the street.
The king stood outside his royal carriage, an opulent ride drawn by two massive white elk. His silver circlet was askew on messy steel curls—he looked like he hadn't slept in days.
And he wasn't alone. A cluster of lords and ladies, a mere collage of brightly colored fabrics, gathered around his carriage.
Arguing.
Paragon Tiernan touched my shoulder. "Wait here. I don't want to drag you into . . .that."
Nodding, I retreated into the street and ducked under a shop's awning. Leaning against the cold wall, I watched the Paragon push through the crowd. Some of them didn't stop waving their arms and yelling even as he moved them aside.
I loved my country, but it was a miracle we ever got anything done.
Footsteps crunched on the snow behind me, and I turned. A hand wrapped around my throat and shoved, pinning me to the frigid wall.
Gasping, I grabbed at my captor and looked up into his face. Lord Fitheal—broad features twisted in anger, cheeks flushed from the cold and alcohol.
"This is a farce," he growled. "Forlaith's inquisitors stalk our streets looking for an excuse to terrorize our people. Their reins tighten each year, and this?"
His fingers constricted around my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't break his grip. He slammed me back against the wall.
"Do you know what they will do to us when we present you? When we defy their laws and god and offer them aninsult?"
Terror pounded through my chest—from the man I could not fight off, and from the truth in his words.
My vision blurred, and my hands fell limp. I endangered more than myself by accepting this blade. Would my king be punished for his defiance? Would my father suffer for my sins?
A flash of red and white appeared behind Fitheal, and air rushed back into my lungs.
Paragon Tiernan grabbed the lord and slammed him against a shop's door, golden sword pressed to his throat.
My knees gave out, and I dropped, grabbing at my throat, coughing.
Hands wrapped around my arms, steadying me. Laiserian.
The prince wore his armor today—a beautiful silver set with forest green accents. It matched his eyes. He donned it during jousting tournaments.
Back then, the armor seemed dashing. Now, it made me feel as though the world was ending.
"Are you alright?" Laiserian asked, voice edged with panic.
I nodded, coughing.
A crowd had gathered around us—lords, ladies, guards. My cheeks burned, humiliated.
