Page 141 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

By the time I finished reading, Anne had completed my transformation. I folded both letters and tucked them away in the small trunk where I’d secreted Owain’s first note like a squirrel hoarding acorns for the starving winter. My fear made me do it as insurance against the day when he’d see that I wasn’t anything special and toss me aside for a proper lady.

I was still trying to talk myself out of that particular thought spiral. It wasn’t fair to him.

The summons arrived as I was writing out my response to Princess Anwen. Except this time, it wasn’t Reina who darkened my doorway but Camrick, grinning like a fool. Today, he wore a plain blue doublet with silver stitching atop a black shirt and matching breeches. The leather belt and scabbard that held his ever-present sword and daggers were also black.

He immediately dropped into a low bow “My lady.”

I grinned back. “Come to take me to the pyre, General Allard?”

“Gallows humor. I approve.” He raised one dark eyebrow. “No, my lady Lunette. I come to guide you to a luncheon with villains!”

“All people do here is eat,” I grumbled.

He leaned over and whispered, “And sneak out of each other’s rooms. Smart play, princess.”

Great. A new nickname.

“He told you.” It wasn’t a question.

Camrick’s grin became insufferable. “He tells me everything.”

“That is…deeply concerning.” I set down my quill and stood, smoothing my skirts. “And don’t call me princess.”

“As you wish.” He offered his arm with a courtly flourish that belonged on a much more serious man. “Shall we, my lady healer of dubious borderland origin?”

A surprised laugh escaped me before I could stop it, and some of the nervous tightness in my chest loosened by a fraction. “That is…definitely not better.”

“Sorry,” he said, patting my hand where it now rested in the crook of his elbow. The distance he held my arm away from himself was so great it had to be deliberate. “Owain has never shown an interest in a lady before, so I’m working against the urge to vent years of pent-up teasing.”

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with that information. My excitable stomach did a little flip at the thought of being the only one, even in this minor way.

“Good to know he doesn’t abduct women often,” I mused, glancing back at our trailing contingent of guards.

Camrick kept pace with my slower stride easily. “Your…seizure is only one of a thousand reasons you’re special, Lunette.”

We finally descended the last staircase. The low rumble of men at table, the clatter of serving ware, and beneath those, the quiet, organized hum of strong magic auras reached my senses.

Camrick pushed open the great doors, and the first thing I saw was that the dais had been rearranged. Where there had been one long table facing the hall, there were now two—angled toward each other to allow for easier conversation. On the far side sat a group of robed men.

My gaze moved across them as fear settled into my bones. Most wore black. Thibault was in white at the end, hands folded, eyes already on me. At the center was a man with plain features in striking purple trimmed with gold. His posture suggested he’d been born expecting to be watched, even if nothing about his appearance made him look like he deserved the attention.

This had to be Vaustin.

Reina was there, seated with a stiff demeanor that suggested she already wished she hadn’t come. Richart stood behind her left shoulder, looking as tense as I’d ever seen him. There was an empty seat where Berian should’ve been, conspicuous as a missing front tooth.

Owain sat at the center opposite the man in purple robes. One look at his face told me everything about the temperature of the table. His jaw was clenched tight, spine too rigid to be comfortable. Wound tight enough to snap.

Just get it over with and finally admit to yourself that you want him.

I had to cover a scowl.

Fine. I want to hold his hand and sit far too close to him for propriety. Happy, heart?

Except my senses became all too aware of the mood of the hall as we moved through it. The relaxed atmosphere I recalled from our shared luncheon was now one of wariness. I wondered if I was imagining it until I observed the warriors’ frequent glances toward Owain. They were reading him like the weather—one flash of lightning and the storm of steel would rage.

My palms began to sweat. The rending magic I’d been quietly suppressing since the doors opened prickled along my forearms like fire looking for something to consume.

Unhelpful, I told it firmly.