Page 28 of The Crowned Queen

The bond pulled him left at the top of the stairs, through a servant’s corridor and out into a wider hall. Richly colored tapestries contrasted dark wood paneling, thick carpet muffling the pounding fall of his boots. Somewhere ahead, a door crashed open. Shouting—cut short by the distinctive crack of magic discharged at close range. He turned again, following the pounding of his own heart. She was so close⁠—

“That’s far enough, Your Highness.”

Jaxon Shaw rounded the corner, positioning himself squarely between Loren and the bond’s pull. He wore a loose shirt and simple pants—like this incursion was nothing but a mild inconvenience on his relaxing evening. The shadows hissed, bristling at his back as Shaw flipped a long length of bone in his hand, raising it between them.

“I was wondering when you’d try to make a play for her,” Shaw said. “But I must admit, I’m surprised at your audacity. In my own home?”

“Your father’s home,” Loren growled. He had imagined this moment a hundred times. What he would do. What he would say. He drew his borrowed sword, the hilt strange in the palm of his hand. “That he stole.”

“To the victor go the spoils.” Jaxon twirled that awful staff, golden aetherlight flashing off the runes carved into its polished surface. “That’s why your mate is chained to my bed instead of in your arms.”

“Is it satisfying to terrify a female who used to love you into your bed?” Loren bared his teeth. “If you ever cared for her at all, you would let her go.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Jaxon scoffed. “My father wants her. He wants you too. I have one piece of advice for you, Loren. From one man who has been loved by Araya Starwind to another—surrender now. It won’t be like before. You’ll have accommodations appropriate to your station, just like her. You’ll even get to see her sometimes—if both of you behave.”

The shadows snarled, rising behind him like dark wings. Their fury fed his own, their demands for death and destruction drowned out by the roaring in his ears. They wanted to destroy him. To tear this house down around them both, board by board. And finally—finally—they were of one mind. Because Loren would never surrender to a Shaw. He lunged, the shadows surging with him in a black wave of death that would crash down and end Jaxon Shaw at last⁠—

Steel struck bone in a shower of sparks. The shadows flinched, breaking harmlessly around them both. Loren stumbled, nearly losing his feet. He couldn’t breathe—it felt like Jaxon Shaw had reached into his chest and twisted, the darkness crying out with a hundred voices as they hung suspended between them for one awful moment.

“Didn’t you learn this lesson on Eluneth?” Jaxon shoved hard, throwing him back. A sheen of sweat coated his face, his chest heaving with every breath. But he spun that cursed staff, pointing it at Loren. “Your shadows can’t hurt me. Not when I have this. You’re nothing against me.”

“I don’t need the shadows to kill you,” Loren snarled.

He swung again and again, putting his full weight behind every blow. He was a prince. Trained to fight from birth—but he’d never truly fought an opponent that wanted to hurt him. Not like this. Jaxon met each blow, his jaw set and his breath whistling between clenched teeth. Loren pressed his advantage, driving him back. Any second now, he’d falter. Miss a parry and then⁠—

The staff whistled through the air, forcing Loren to duck. His own shadows surged after it, striking him in the chest like a battering ram. The force of the blow threw him into the wall, tearing through his borrowed leather armor like paper.

No. That wasn’t possible. Loren gasped for breath, his ears ringing and blood soaking his shirt where the shadows had rent his skin. Dara’el had chosen him. The shadows only served one master⁠—

“Fight him,” he rasped, blood bubbling on his lips.

We cannot, they howled, straining and bucking against Jaxon’s control. Cannot fight. Cannot— Their voices shattered, breaking into a thousand pieces.

Somewhere far away, Nyra screamed his name, begging him to get up. To retreat and live to try again. But Araya was so close. Loren’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword. He used it to drag himself to his feet, his heartbeat a pounding drum in his ears.

Jaxon watched him with sharp eyes, the shadows—his shadows—coiling around him like snakes ready to strike. The only one Loren had left was the little one, and he wouldn’t even have known it was there if not for its slight weight over his heart.

Loren forced himself to lift his sword. He wouldn’t abandon her. Not even with his own power turned against him.

The ground pitched under his feet, throwing him to the ground. Jaxon went down hard too, the shadows momentarily rudderless between them. Loren scrambled for his feet, desperate to seize the advantage. But Jaxon wasn’t looking at him anymore.

He was staring at something behind him.

Loren turned.

Nyra stood in the center of the hall, her soot-stained hair lifting in an unseen breeze as the air crackled with magic around her. The ground heaved again, long cracks splitting the walls as they twisted and buckled under pressure they were never meant to withstand.

“Stop!” Jaxon shouted, his voice panicked. “You stupid bitch, you’ll bring the whole thing down on top of us⁠—”

The wind rose to a scream, ripping tapestries from the walls. Jaxon swore, the shadows lashing out as he whipped his hand toward her.

Not fast enough.

For a single heartbeat, Nyra’s eyes met Loren’s. She grinned—like she’d been waiting her entire life for this moment—her sword dropping forgotten to the floor as she raised her hand toward the ceiling and clenched her fist.

Magic tore through wood and stone. Lanced down from the sky like lightning. Loren grunted, dropping to his knees as something hit him hard in the back. Splintered wood and raindrops like needles pelted his skin because the ceiling over his head was gone⁠—

And then the floor was gone too.