Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I stare up at him, my palms clammy, my stomach diving.
Our gazes lock, and I’m rising on my toes with a hammering heart and an uneven breath—
I’m startled back by a blast of tracking magic darting between our faces; it’s followed by a rush of redcloaks, aklas, and vitalians marching into the glade. The magic hovers over the cabin and the soldiers call out for Casimiria to receive the king’s decree.
With a bowed head, she slinks out of the cabin and drops to her knees on the dewy grass.
The decree declares that the crown prince has chosen her to be his consort, and their wedding ceremony shall be held at the end of the month.
Casimiria bows her head and murmurs her acceptance, but there’s a tremor in her voice as the aklas flank her, gripping her arms like she’s a criminal. Her gaze darts briefly to Yngvarr, and something unspoken flickers between them before the redcloaks drag her away.
Yngvarr’s hand twitches at his side, his fingers curling into a fist, but he doesn’t move—not until the silver-sashed vitalian smirks and barks, “Bring him out.”
His protest is raw with fury, but the slap of a gauntleted hand silences him. Blood trickles down his chin as the redcloaks shove him to the ground.
I lurch forward on instinct, as if I can stop this, but Quin hauls me back by my middle. My muscles quiver and strain to be released and he whispers urgently in my ear. “It wouldn’t change what happened. He’ll only know someone’s been in here.”
I glance at him, his clenched jaw, his hand gripping mine like he’s holding himself together. For the first time, it strikes me that watching this might be harder for him than it is for me.
I sag and stare with gritted teeth as the redcloaks pause in beating the prins bloody and the vitalians heal him only for the redcloaks to start over again.
They’re torturing him, not leaving a single bruise of proof.
I feel ill with anger.
No wonder he loathes Lumin. No wonder he despises magic. No wonder he wants revenge.
I slam my eyes shut and turn away, ducking my head against Quin’s shoulder. “Get me out of this dromveske.” But even as I say it, the image of Yngvarr’s bloody face won’t leave me. The silent way he endured it—the same way Quin does when the world presses too hard against him . . . How do they hold on?
Or perhaps the point is, eventually, they don’t anymore.
I shiver.
“Don’t end up like him,” I murmur. “Be stronger. Promise me.”
Quin’s hand presses briefly against my back, steadying, reassuring. But I’m still shivering.
The last rune door in the glade sends us spiralling through darkness.
I wake in Ragn temple’s meditation grove. It takes a moment to makes sense of it all. The carved beams, the blueish light of dawn seeping through the shuttered windows, my veiled hat sliding off my head and Quin slowly shifting beside me on his narrow bed.
Anastasius’s son, imprisoned by a king who’d like nothing more than to get revenge. It’s put in sharp focus just how dangerous it is for Quin to be here. Prins Lief may have hedged his bets and kept his captive cared for, but King Yngvarr has arrived. He must have grand plans for making Quin suffer.
I skate my hands over the mattress and under Quin’s legs as I gather the dromveske and the runestones, then scurry off the bed and towards the door.
“You’re missing one,” Quin says. I lunge for it and he closes his fist. “I must return these,” I say.
Suspicion and concern flicker in Quin’s gaze and I land my hand over his closed one. His warm fingers loosen around the rune and I wriggle mine into his hold to pluck it free. When it’s back in the dromveske alongside the others, Quin catches my sleeve. “Why am I afraid?”
“I’m doing what’s right.”
I turn to leave but he’s still holding on tight. “You are doing this for me . . .”
My throat is thick. “For Lumin.”
“You’re in King Yngvarr’s palm, while at your back is a regent who’ll even sooner kill you.”
“What are you telling me? To run away? Slink to the area on your chessboard that has me flanked only by pawns of the same side?”
“There, you have a chance!”
“But not where I’m surrounded by powerful pieces?”
He spins me around, but I’m prepared. Holding my breath, I toss a cloud of sleeping powder over him and he gasps my name as he crumples to the bed.
I whisper an apology as I position him more comfortably, my lips combing the shell of his ear. “You’re my . . . you’re my king. It’s my duty as your subject.” I shift back, staring at his resting face perfectly framed by his long hair and those delicate thin braids. As long as they should be now. As long as the ones I can’t take off my wrists. I squeeze my hands tight and step hastily back towards the door.