Page 41 of The Crowned Queen

If they caught him here he’d never get Araya back.

But still, his boots stayed rooted to the stone beneath his feet. He stared at Maerin’s body, taking in the way her dress had been shredded, doing nothing to hide the dark bruises and livid cuts that marked her skin from head to toe. How many times over the years he’d spent in chains had his own body looked like that? He prayed Maya hadn’t witnessed it. There were some things a child should never have to see.

“They tortured her,” he said aloud, speaking to no one. “Because she helped me.”

“This isn’t the time for that.” Serafina yanked on his arm hard. “Unless you intend to fight the Arcanum here and now, you need to move. Now.”

One of the guards was staring at them, his brow furrowed. Loren stared back, watching as the guard leaned toward his partner, saying something that made the other man straighten, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. How many fae had these men murdered tonight? How many more had they captured—tearing children from their mothers’ arms, never to be seen again?

“You should go,” he told Serafina. “Find Finn, figure out a plan.”

Serafina’s blue eyes widened. “Don’t be a fool,” she hissed, her voice tight. “There’s no sense in fighting a battle you have no chance of winning. Think of Araya.”

Loren gently pried her fingers loose, easing his arm from her grip. The shadows shifted against his back, practically vibrating with disbelief and excitement. Serafina was right. He knew she was and so did they. Retreating and falling back to plan again was the obvious strategic choice. But he couldn’t do it.

Araya was his mate. But these were her people.

The soldiers were moving now, cutting across the open space straight for them. Neither one of them spared a glance up at Maerin, despite walking nearly directly under her swaying body. Two of them, he was certain the shadows could deal with. But how many more would come to their aid, pouring out of the surrounding buildings once the threat was revealed?

No matter, the shadows hissed. Two is nothing. Ten is nothing. We remember how to kill, Lorendrael.

“Whatever happens here,” Loren murmured, his voice pitched for Serafina’s ears alone. “Protect the children. Araya would want them to be safe.”

Serafina stared at him, her mouth dropping open like she wanted to argue—but the soldiers were almost on them. She swore under her breath, spinning on her heel and melting back into the crowd.

“Well, you’re a tall one, aren’t you?” The first soldier stepped into Loren’s space, his sneer twisting the scar that cut across his lip. “Bit warm for that cloak, isn’t it?”

“Hood back,” the other guard ordered, his bored tone at odds with the way his sharp gaze lingered on Loren’s shrouded form. “Show us your face, halfblood.”

Loren smiled, the shadows buzzing against his skin. “As you wish.”

He pushed back his hood, making no move to catch the cloak as it slipped from his shoulders. It dropped to his feet in a whisper of dark fabric, pooling across the cobblestones.

“Shit.” The first guard stumbled back, his sneer faltering.

Fresh air brushed Loren’s skin, the morning light kissing the pointed tips of his ears and gleaming off his long fall of blue-black hair. A ripple went through the crowd behind him—a collective sharp intake of breath as everyone shuffled away from him. There was no mistaking him for anything other than full fae now. Not with the full strength of his magic humming just beneath his skin.

But it was the shadows that sealed his fate.

They rose at his back, stretching and mantling like wings carved from a moonless night, blotting out the sun. Their familiar weight settled across Loren’s soul in a living, breathing promise.

Metal rang out, the second soldier drawing his iron-edged sword in a single, smooth motion. “By order of the Arcanum,” he barked, voice cracking despite himself, “you are wanted for questioning and immediate detainment. Surrender now, shadow-wielder, or we will be forced to⁠—”

Dara’el struck.

The human soldier’s shout died on a gasp, the last breath he’d ever take. The shadows sealed themselves over his mouth, sliding past his lips and slithering into his lungs. His hands rose to claw at his neck, his forgotten sword clattering to the cobblestones as he crumpled to the ground. He didn’t get up again, his bulging eyes wide and unseeing.

The second soldier breathed something between a prayer and a curse, not even drawing his sword before he turned to run⁠—

He didn’t make it more than a few steps.

Bands of shadow wrapped around his legs, ripping them out from under him. They coiled around his arms, crushing tendrils lashing tight around his chest. His iron armor screeched against the cobblestones, the shadows dragging him back until he knelt at Loren’s feet.

“Gods—” he swore, his voice shaking. “You’re making a mistake. There are more of us than you can fight—but if you surrender now they might show mercy⁠—”

“Mercy?” Loren echoed. “Like you showed her mercy?”

A coil of darkness wrapped around the guard’s throat, pressing into the soft flesh under his chin. His head tilted back, forcing his gaze up, up, up—until his wild eyes landed on Maerin’s hanging body.