Page 177 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I released Muffin from my arms. He smartly absconded to the balcony. I could see him through the window where the curtain had been drawn, a small tan shape investigating something at the base of the railing with total absorption.

I was so distracted by making certain Muffin was okay that I didn’t hear the bolt closing until it snicked home. I didn’t register the soft pulse of magic that crawled up through the stone wall until it had already sunk all the way in. By the time the sensation of the ward moving into place reached my conscious mind, the working was complete.

I was even more trapped than I’d thought.

Berian didn’t react to any of this, just looked at me with his usual distant scrutiny. I didn’t know why I ever expected more from a man unburdened by the need to accommodate anyone other than himself.

I cleared my throat of the vitriol that threatened to cascade out, and asked primly, “Your Majesty, what can I do for you?”

“Smile,” he said. “You’re getting what you’ve wanted since coming to the Tir.”

Out of this blasted room? But that was a dream, and I was living a nightmare, so I said nothing.

My silence prompted him to offer a further explanation. “A proposal.”

My nails dug into my palms hard enough to sting. I didn’t have a choice to be here, I certainly wasn’t about to be nice.

“A proposal,” I repeated. “You mean an order.”

He had to know I’d just left his brother’s bed. But not a single flicker of empathy crossed his features. “There’s little difference for me,” he said.

Disgusting. He’d been carried here on the last dregs of the strength I had given him. Now he was doing the next best thing to threatening me. Owain had warned me that we might have to deal with this, but so soon?

“Why me?”

Something that was neither shame nor calculation gleamed in his eyes. The ingrained reaction of a man who knew that desiring something meant getting it easily. “I need a wife.” He paused just long enough to look me over. “But you’re more valuable than that… I can control my shadow with you.”

Not his brother or Owain, his shadow—like he was an afterthought rather than a person. Still, Berian’s honesty shocked me. Maybe he thought it didn’t matter how honest he was since he held all the power.

“So you’re that afraid of him,” I accused. I had no interest in being his queen.

Berian gripped the chair arms and pushed himself up. His body strained, lifting a mere two inches before failing, legs quivering, breath coming out in a harsh gasp. He bonelessly slumped back into the chair. Yet even as his body staged a mutiny, his cold eyes were still utterly certain of his power over the situation. Even crippled, Berian had enough arrogance to believe he commanded Fate herself.

The ominous sound of a latch creaking open felt ready to prove him wrong.

Chapter 47

Owain

Luna will be safe , I told myself as I forced myself to keep walking. No distractions.

The public corridors were already crowded by the time we arrived. Half a dozen of my own men ringed the main hallway—but they weren’t the ones that mattered. Bannermen. Courtiers. Two of the visiting lords from the eastern reaches whose eyes I could feel tracking me the moment I appeared.

The time Camrick, Reina, and I had spent strategizing yesterday about our overall plan for handling the Assembly while they were in residence was already paying off. Increasing the guards wasn't just a precaution for the king’s life. It was a trap. We needed witnesses for whatever scheme the Assembly planned to pull while they were here.

At least, that had been the intention.

I scanned the corridor once more. An excessive number of men positioned along the walls displayed yellow and red over their armor, the colors of House Coryanthus.

Unwelcome certainty sank into my stomach like a stone. In my haste, I’d given him more men but neglected to mention the exact number. He’d taken liberties. There were nearly as many of Coryanthus’s guards as my own.

My father had said, “Never let your enemy stand better armed than you beneath your own roof.” I’d been far too young to understand the lesson then. But now…

The opposite was true about the Assembly mages. My gaze swept across the crowd, noting the complete absence of stark black robes, only one glaring purple one. Vaustin Maeron watched from the far side of the chamber, hands folded inside his sleeves.

Vultures always knew when something had begun to rot. I looked at Camrick. His face reflected the same realization. Vaustin was the token attendant—meant to make us think even they were surprised. What was more worrisome was where the others might be. Cleaning the blood off their hands, perhaps?

Everyone had gathered near the entrance to the dungeons, waiting for the entertainment to begin. Voices hummed in low, urgent threads. Speculation. Accusation. The beginnings of panic.