Page 145 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

The hall went so quiet I could hear the candles flicker. Though I was likely the only one fighting the sudden heat his words had sparked in every inch of my being.

“So let us be precise,” he continued. “Lady Lunette has signed no compact placing her person, magic, labor, or future beneath your aegis.”

My lungs forgot how to work and that stubborn heat only got worse.

Across from us, Thibault lowered his gaze to the table.

Coward.

“She is a guest of the Crown,” Owain said, “and a free woman under Larethian protection.”

Vaustin inclined his head. “A reasonable sentiment, Your Highness. But powerful magic does not become less dangerous because it is beloved by a court.”

The insinuation in his words was as sharp as a blade concealed under silk. He knew about our relationship.

Owain’s shadows stirred at his feet. Every warrior in the hall saw it. Every mage saw it too.

“If powerful magic were sufficient cause for custody, Keeper, half the noble bloodlines in this room would’ve been dragged to Caervorn generations ago.”

That single sentence would have the visiting nobility throwing their support behind him. But Camrick didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His face remained composed, almost bored, but the coldness in his eyes made my stomach twist at what horrors they’d done to make his sunshine dim. He looked like a man on the verge of attacking at the first provocation—just like Owain.

Vaustin’s smile vanished for half a heartbeat before he restored it. “The Assembly has provided invaluable training to many gifted individuals,” Vaustin argued.

“And Larethia has provided invaluable individuals to your training halls,” Owain replied. “That arrangement is now under review.”

Reina’s head turned slightly toward him. Surprise flashed across her face before she hid it.

She didn’t know he would say that.

“Under review?” Vaustin repeated, gobsmacked.

Owain nodded once. His voice was steady, yet hidden tension, rife with a sort of dangerous energy, still lurked just beneath its surface. “A regent has obligations. One of mine is to ensure that no foreign body, however venerable, mistakes Larethian courtesy for submission.”

My mouth went dry. A sudden, jarring silence fell upon the room. Something intangible moved through the hall. It was like a rising storm, filling the air with a crackling intensity. When I looked out at the crowd, I saw it was written on every hard, lined face: loyalty, the kind that would lead to sacrifice.

With an elegant sweep of his arm, Owain raised his goblet.

“To continued friendship with the Mage Assembly,” he said. “In that spirit, you will have one chance to assess her performance this afternoon when she attends to the king. But I require a word with my healer before this afternoon’s activities.”

I felt the weight of every eye at the table as they all shifted in my direction.

Vaustin’s eyes flicked to me. He nodded. “Then we shall settle in while we wait.”

“The king is not to be disturbed,” Owain warned.

Vaustin held up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. Only his terrible smirk, like he knew something no one else did, spoiled it. “We’ve had enough correspondence with His Majesty of late not to be impatient.”

Something told me that wasn’t a good thing—at all.

I looked up at Owain, a question in my expression. As our eyes locked, his gaze pierced the surrounding chaos of warriors, Camrick, Reina, and the mages, focusing solely on me with an intensity that shrank the question I was about to ask into insignificance.

“Come,” he added, his voice now a low rumble that bordered on a growl. There was nothing casual in the way he said it.

I threaded my hand through his offered arm, letting his self-assurance seep into me. The hall seemed to hold its breath as we descended from the dais together. The sheer power of his muscles, the warmth radiating from his skin, and the glances of the warriors all assailed my senses as we passed under the towering arches above.

I was on display again. The difference was that this time I wasn’t afraid of what would come next. Owain’s stride was deliberately slow, emphasizing the proprietary hold he had on my arm. Four armored guards followed.

The heavy doors closed behind us with a dull thud. When we stepped out into the corridor, he said, “You’ve not had a tour of the castle.”