Page 124 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I thought of the Assembly and their cages. Of Fae women taken and never seen again. Of power bound in iron and forced to serve hands that despised it.

I thought of Owain’s fury, not at me, but for me. This was not the life I’d chosen. But perhaps choice had been an illusion from the start.

Slowly, I lowered my head. The circlet was cool as it settled against my brow—as delicate as a promise but as weighty as fate.

Thirty minutes later, I was transformed. My hair was swept up, showcasing my jewel-encrusted ears and the circlet. A heavy gold necklace weighed down my shoulders. I wore the dark green dress Reina had chosen, cinched at the waist with a gold chain belt. The doors to the Great Hall loomed before me, taller than any tree I’d dared climb in the borderlands.

I stopped just short of crossing the threshold.

Reina came to stand next to me, a stable, reassuring presence. She paused, allowing me the rare indulgence of a moment’s quiet, drawing a slow, deep breath into lungs that seemed to tremble with the unknown possibilities behind those doors.

The murmur rolled outward in waves: the low rumble of men’s voices, the scrape of benches against stone, the occasional burst of laughter sharp as steel striking steel.

As the doors finally swung open, the sheer magnificence of the Great Hall overwhelmed me, shattering what little composure I’d managed to gather.

Centuries of hearth smoke and time had worn smooth the surfaces of the dark wooden beams that supported the ancient, heavy ceiling far above. The crisp white stone details that highlighted the arches and alcoves with an almost artistic precision dramatically offset the pale beige walls. Bronze work gleamed everywhere—along the banisters of the raised dais, around the bases of towering columns, etched into shields mounted in ceremonial display.

Candelabras hung overhead, each bearing dozens upon dozens of unlit candles, their wax pristine in the daylight. Torches lined the walls between tall arched windows, though they, too, were dark. It was the sun that claimed dominion now, pouring through the costly glass in broad swaths of gold that caught on swords and polished goblets.

So many men.

Men who’d never hesitate to kill or cage what they feared.

Warriors filled the long trestle tables that stretched the length of the hall. Broad shoulders. Scarred hands. Swords within reach even at a meal. The air was thick with sweat and leather and roasted meat.

For one unsteady moment, I felt terribly small again.

My fingers twitched, seeking the comfort of sweeping my hair forward—or even the scarf that was no longer there—to shield the points of my ears. But hiding had ended this morning.

And then I saw him. The sight struck me like cold water in the face.

Owain stood near the center of the dais, speaking with one of his men, Camrick by his side. He wore a black tunic that deepened the color of his eyes, a leather jerkin molded to the breadth of his chest, and matching trousers tucked into well-worn boots. His head bore no crown, yet authority radiated from him, a presence as effortless as the smile he’d once offered me.

It wasn’t merely that he looked every inch the regent of Larethia—he had last night, effortlessly and infuriatingly—it was the familiarity. This was the man who’d bled for me. Who’d let a small, ridiculously moody veska ride on his shoulder. Who’d looked at me like I was someone worth staying with.

That was the man I’d been fighting my emotions over.

As though some unseen thread had tugged tight between us, his gaze lifted. It found me instantly.

The shock on his face was completely undisguised, blazing with the incandescence of hope. But beneath it was a watchful wariness I’d never seen from him before. His eyes darted across the assembled faces, looking more like a predator searching for prey, ready to lash out at anyone who looked too closely.

The hall seemed to recede, its noise dimming beneath the weight of his stare. His eyes swept over me—over the deep green gown that clung and flowed in equal measure, over the gold at my wrists and throat, over the slender diadem now crowning my hair.

Reina’s hand brushed lightly against my back. Go.

The murmur shifted as I descended into the ranks. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. I felt their gazes trail over the pointed curve of my ears without the mercy of anything to soften them. Owain’s dark eyes followed my progress the entire length of the hall, and though his expression had settled into something composed, tension radiated from him like heat from a banked fire.

I passed Richart in the mass of men. He smiled and dipped into a low bow as I passed. Despite our difficult beginning, the sight of his familiar face offered me a comfortable rock to cling to in the ocean of strangers.

The steps to the dais rose before me. I climbed them with as much grace as I could muster under so much pressure. If this was what it felt like being paraded in front of peasants and gentry, facing the nobles again would feel like a mage’s battlefield.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled out the chair to his left, the one to his right, empty—Berian’s. His fingers brushed my waist as I passed him and not by accident.

“Lady Lunette,” Owain said, voice pitched low enough that it didn’t carry beyond us, though every warrior in the hall strained to hear it nonetheless.

My heart hammered as I inclined my head and allowed him to seat me.

The chair on my other side scraped softly as Camrick leaned closer, his smile warm and unabashed. “Fancy seeing you here.”