Page 57 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Isca’s gaze flicked between him and me, and something sharpened behind her eyes. Her face then took on a measured, diplomatic expression. “Gentlemen.” Her tone shifted, suddenly crisp. I liked her immediately. “Lady Lunette and I are going to speak outside. Alone.”

Emrys’s head snapped toward her. “No—”

Owain cut him off quietly, with a seriousness I felt like pressure all the way down to my bones. “She is a grand magus of healing in ability if not name. Treat her with due respect or you will get more than the fight you’re hoping for, Stormdân.”

The two men stared, their auras colliding with a silent force that made the space between them buzz with an energy that felt ready to explode. Emrys’s jaw tightened before his gaze shifted toward me. For one breathless heartbeat, I was certain they would come to blows.

“Emrys,” Isca said again, slowly, like someone very used to handling powerful creatures. “Trust me. Trust your friend.”

He exhaled one long, reluctant breath, and the faint blue glow in his eyes dimmed. Slowly, reluctantly, the Beast of Darreth stepped away from the broken doorway.

Isca gave him one small, satisfied nod. Then she looked at me and tilted her head toward the door. “Let’s get away from the masculine blustering so I can explain.”

Isca waited patiently as I grabbed my shawl and discreetly tugged my bodice closed with trembling fingers. The small delay was just enough for my breath to begin steadying. The cabin still hummed with leftover magic. I stepped over the remnants of my door and followed a queen into the chill evening air.

Late afternoon sunlight painted the treetops in fiery hues of orange, yellow, and red. Breathtaking, as always. But I couldn’t appreciate it as I normally would’ve, because I’d never see my little clearing the same again.

At least forty soldiers crowded the narrow space. About ten wore crimson and gold—Darreth’s royal colors, unmistakable even in the fading light. The remaining thirty sported deep forest green trimmed with gold of Larethia.

I’d figured out that he was part of the royal convoy traveling toward the mountain pass, but this…

Every man was mounted or standing beside a horse, steel glinting over every inch of flesh and peeking from scabbards. Movement in the trees caught my eye. More men. Archers on the nearest ridge watching me openly, weapons raised. A veritable army.

At the head of them all stood a broad man wearing armor nearly as fine as Rowan’s. He stared at me, eyes wide, as though I were a specter risen from the Otherworld. Nothing about his posture screamed aggression or disapproval, only…confusion. Next to him, a covered cart sat near the front of the column, canvas pulled taut, wheels sunk slightly in the damp earth.

My pulse stuttered.

“What…what is this?” I asked, unable to tear my gaze from the soldiers.

Isca moved toward the log where I’d met so many patients, silk skirts swishing softly against the grass. “We accompanied Nisien on his journey to Tir Gelida,” she said, gentle and composed in a way that felt almost impossible given the number of blades surrounding us. “We sent scouts looking for Owain on the way. He’s been missing since his caravan was attacked.”

Hearing his real name spoken so openly—so plainly—made my stomach twist all over again.

She folded her hands above her small, rounded belly as though to calm herself—or me—and sat directly on the log. I winced internally at the thought of the sodden moss soaking through fabric that cost its weight in gold. Still, I joined her.

Isca hesitated. The pause stretched just long enough for me to understand that she was weighing honesty against kindness. “You reacted every time I said his name,” she said. “He gave you a false one.”

“Yes. Rowan.”

She blew out a breath. “Knowing Owain,” she murmured, “he did it for a good reason.”

It didn’t soothe the pit in my stomach. Nothing she said right now was going to. “How do you know him? Who is he? Why are a king and queen here? Why would—”

Isca slowly raised one hand, halting me.

I was doing a poor job of hiding how flustered I was.

“So he didn’t tell you that part either…” Isca’s bright green eyes softened with something like an apology. “He is the Crown Prince of Larethia.”

Understanding crashed into me like a stampeding horse. I had recognized his name… The whole kingdom knew his name.

My knees would’ve buckled had I been standing. The clearing tilted, the soldiers, horses, and mountains all blurring, and I was absurdly grateful for a sodden, mossy log.

“Some mercenaries were after him earlier today.” My throat tightened at the flashes of violence I’d witnessed only hours before. I didn’t know why I was telling her this; I just had to speak, to relieve some of the pressure by talking.

But she already knew. I could see it in her face.

“I see,” Isca said softly. Calm comprehension, laced with steady concern, practically emanated from her.