Page 37 of Embers of Ruin

“Do all your guests receive private garden tours?” I ask.

“No.”

“How fortunate for me to be one of the special ones.”

“No, Lyra,” he says, and the calmness of his answer makes my stomach tighten. “Not fortunate at all.”

I swallow as he begins walking, not toward me exactly, but along the path beside the dead beds. After a moment, I follow because curiosity has been trying to kill me for years with remarkable persistence.

The hem of my gown brushes against the stone path as I move.

“Nothing grows here,” he says.

“Really? I haven’t noticed.” I put on the most sincere face I can muster, and the king smirks.

“It has not grown here in centuries, but I suppose you know that.”

“Ah, yes, the curse that dooms us all. Do you want me to feel sorry for your garden?”

“No, I don’t.” He looks ahead as a muscle in his jaw ticks. “Pity has never made anything bloom.”

I glance at him, surprised by his honesty.

We stop before a low stone planter filled with black soil and the remains of what might once have been roses. The stems are twisted and brittle, thorns still sharp despite the lack of life in them. A single bud hangs from one branch, closed and gray, preserved in death.

Thorin turns to look at me, gesturing toward the bud. “Touch it.”

I blink, wondering if I heard him correctly. My eyes dart to the dead plant, then back to him.

“No.” I say, shaking my head. “What would be the point? Your Majesty, I know what you think. I do not possess magic.”

His expression doesn’t change as he stares at the contents of the planter. “Touch it, Lyra. That is an order.”

I open my mouth then close it, because there is no denying a direct order from a king.

“I don’t know what kind of tricks you want me to perform for you.” I know he can sense the lie. I feel his shadows creeping up my spine, caressing my hair, trying to find a way in. I refuse them. Why does he want to know if I possess magic? What does he gain from knowing this?

“I don’t want you to perform any tricks, Lady Tarethyn,” he says, his voice soft with an edge to it. “What I want is for you to stop lying to me. And you are going to stop lying to your king.”

Anger sparks through me, hot and welcome. At least anger makes sense in a kingdom where nothing else does.

“I told you yesterday, Your Majesty, I don’t have magic.” I say through gritted teeth, though now my magic is surging in response, and I wonder if he can feel it with his shadows.

His gaze shifts fully to mine, and there it is again—the underlying magnetic pull that makes me physically incapable of looking away from him.

I want to argue with him in this moment, but I… can’t. We stare at each other for a long moment, and I feel the tension building. I wonder if he can feel it, too? His eyes are the most beautiful shade of gray—no, silver? They look as if there are silver swirls within them.

His eyes roam down to my mouth, and I inhale softly. He tracks the movement of my lips as I inhale and my eyes roam his face, searching. Is this the king that has the entire continent terrified? What if they were wrong?

NO. No, they aren’t wrong, and this man is a monster. I would know because he issued the order that had my parents killed on his hunt for magic. Just like his father before him did. Looking for someone like ME.

He reaches his arm out again, and I know what he’s about to do. I lift my hand weakly to block his path, but his hand is already cupping my face.

“Lyra,” he says softly, and I don’t know what it is about him that makes me move closer. I’m not consciously moving, it just happens. I feel the excitement of my magic, ready to reach out to him. I suppress it. It’s drawn to him, just like I seem to be. I hate it, but I don’t know how to turn it off.

His fingers trail along my face, fingers running through my hair as his free hand pulls my bottom lip down, inching his face closer to mine. He is so much taller than me that he has to bend down, and I feel his face inches from mine, smell the sweet scent of mint on his breath.

“Your Majesty⁠—”