Page 85 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I bristled at the title. At the fact that he knew my name. At the presumption of what that cage meant. Only one person would think of Muffin and only one person had the power to send a battlemage to my front door.

“Yes, and you are?” I asked, voice sharp with rising anger.

“Ser Richart. Your king requires you in the Tir.”

My king? Not my prince?

Something small and stupid in my chest lurched before my pride could catch it. A ridiculous part of me had hoped this was Owain wanting me back.

He went on. “You have half an hour to pack a trunk and secure your belongings.”

I appreciated efficiency, but not when applied to abducting me.

When I said nothing, he shifted uncomfortably. “I am not at liberty to discuss this further, Lady. Your services are required. That is all you need to kno—”

Ser Richart was roughly pushed out of the way by another pair of gauntleted hands.

None other than the golden-haired prince of Darreth stood there looking like he’d happened upon us by accident. Rain slicked his hair and beaded on his armor. He offered an easy, familiar smile, so different from the sharp, predatory ones of men who reveled in the power they carried.

My mouth hung open. So, this drama spanned kingdoms now? Wonderful. I hadn’t even finished my breakfast yet.

Nisien’s bright blue eyes took me in from head to toe before he said the last thing I expected, “Hello, gorgeous. Sorry about that arsehole.”

I stood frozen, my mind scrambling for a response. He wasn’t being flirtatious. He was trying to soften the blow of the command to take me, and I, ridiculously, found myself wanting to believe him.

I looked past him at the sea of Larethian soldiers crowding my doorway. Surely, this wasn’t his doing.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the familiar scent of pine and damp earth—of home. I let the simple truth of bark and soil anchor me, a reality that felt a world away from the heavy weight of crowns and commands. The fear was still there, tightening my chest, but I forced it down. Fear wasn’t useful. Panic even less so.

My only recourse was humor, so I ventured, “Seems you were right about seeing me again, Prince Nisien.”

“I apologize for the theatrics in doing so,” Nisien replied, tone smooth and unhurried, “and my subordinate’s lack of delicacy.”

Behind him, the evoker waited, broad shoulders squared, the veska cage tucked under one arm like a shield he expected to use.

“Well, I lack the ability to say ‘no,’ it seems,” I said quietly.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nisien said simply.

The casual certainty of it made the already hollow and broken place inside me collapse in on itself. My choices—my life—hadn’t belonged to me in years, but now it was official, royally decreed, by the one person who’d ever made me feel like I was worth something.

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the restless stamping of horses in the clearing and the susurration of the wind rustling the leaves. I thought of my half-eaten breakfast sitting on the table. Of the winter pressing closer with every passing day. Of wards that would fail without me within the week and the children who would be put at risk.

“I already refused to go to the Tir,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Now you’re removing me from my home without notice?”

Nisien winced faintly. “I didn’t decide that part.”

“But you’re participating.”

“Yes,” he said readily. “Because refusing to take part wouldn’t stop it. The stability of a kingdom may rest on your shoulders.”

“You need to find someone else.” Best to get the ugly truth out of the way.

He raised one eyebrow, saying nothing.

“My magic is…having problems right now. It’s not as strong as it was and I can’t seem to get it to do exactly what I want.”

He rubbed the scruff of his beard with one gloved hand. “When did it begin?”