Page 182 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Magic flowed like a hot river down both my arms. I’d never done this to a strong, healthy heart before, and these tried to fight back, holding onto their structure with the stubbornness of the living. The jagged holes I carved into them were instantly fatal. By making it quick, I’d granted them far more mercy than they deserved.

Their grips went slack, and their bodies thumped to the floor.

I was still so drained from healing Berian that the effort hit me like a wall…but I couldn’t let them know that.

Thibault and the other mages turned ashen. Coryanthus stared at me. At that same moment, the guards standing at the door flickered and vanished, leaving only the mages behind.

A low, crazed laugh escaped me. The illusionist was performing the oldest trick available: making the threat seem larger than it was, trying to make me think I couldn't win.

But I was willing to bet against those odds. These men were cowards. At least one of them would run rather than fight.

My hands were steady. I showed Coryanthus my teeth in a predatory smile. From a distance, I could only aim my rending magic accurately enough to hit one mage at a time. I had to be cautious.

It took the mages still standing at the entrance of the tunnel less than a heartbeat to rush down it. I’d been right. Thibault followed right behind.

He stopped at the edge of the hatch, cast a quick look at Berian’s body, then returned his gaze to me, as if examining two interesting specimens. Without uttering a sound or a single care for Coryanthus, he began his descent.

“So,” I said, and my voice came out quiet and far more certain than I felt, “now I’m the most dangerous person in this room.”

Coryanthus took one step forward.

I projected a thread of intention across the knot at his throat. I kept my touch feather-light to show him that I was in control, not desperate. The thin line of red that appeared there was enough to make him stop.

“Take one more step, and I’ll push deeper,” I said pleasantly. I let the pressure increase by the smallest fraction, just enough to make beads of sweat appear on his forehead. “Or perhaps you’d like to know what it feels like… From the inside… Since you find the experience so unremarkable when it happens to others against their will.”

His jaw tightened. “They’re going to kill you for this,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But you won’t be alive to see it.”

He’d started sweating under the collar of his fancy doublet. “The mages are getting help,” he said quietly. “There’s a company of soldiers waiting for us in the tunnel.”

So, this wasn’t just about stealing me. It was so much worse.

Then the balcony doors glided open, and my fury turned to ice. The true architect of my nightmare arrived. Churning dread replaced my fury as Vaustin Maeron stepped into the room.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the ground beneath us roared to life with seismic fury.

My mate was coming.

The relief lasted less than a heartbeat before Vaustin's expression changed.

Chapter 49

Owain

My lungs burned from the run. I could feel my pulse in my throat, my temples, the tips of my fingers—ragged and unsteady since the bond had screamed at me.

As I burst into the great hall, the nightmare came into focus. Three ranks of warriors in yellow and red stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their interlocked shields forming an impenetrable wall between me and the corridor leading to Lunette. On the floor before them, my own men were forced to their knees beneath sword points.

I forced my sabaton shod boots to skid to a halt, though every instinct screamed at me to throw myself forward like a battering ram. Coryanthus. That piece of refuse had been plotting this with the Assembly for weeks.

A profound silence fell over the great hall at my entry. Everyone in it, gawking from the sides or wearing full steel, understood that what transpired over the next few moments would change history.

Camrick stopped half a step behind me. I heard the faint whisper of leather against steel as he readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword. He was ready to act but waiting for my call. The path toward showing everyone who I really was—the man they’d seen defending them from a blast—was one I could still walk. But it rested entirely on my next decision.

Except my choices were turmoil, ripping me asunder from the inside. In one direction was Lunette; her fear felt like a cold, insistent hand around my throat, suffocating me the longer I stayed away. In the other were my people—first and foremost my men, kneeling with treacherous blades at their necks.

And caught between them was my Nocthel blood, screaming that losing either was unacceptable. Shadows writhed against the stone beneath my boots, betraying my instability as surely as the thin black veins tracing across my skin.