Page 175 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Camrick nodded. That was proof a mage had been involved in covering their tracks. Vaustin likely didn’t know the assassin had already exposed their plans. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to take any comfort in that fact. Every single one of them was a snake. Their planning was remarkably insidious.

I turned back to Lunette. I needed to tell her about the contract, but the world outside was pressing in. And she was already regarding me with an expression that told me she was about to argue. “I can help with the court—”

“No,” I said. I made myself soften it. “You are my—” I stopped. Mate sat too close to the wrong kind of possession when spoken aloud like that. I had to be careful with my moonlight. “You are the most valuable target inside these walls,” I corrected. “Which makes you my highest priority to secure.”

She crossed her arms. “I can take care of myself,” she said, as if daring me to deny it.

“True,” I said evenly. “That doesn’t change the fact that you collapsed yesterday after saving my brother’s life. You’re still recovering.”

Her eyes narrowed.

I pulled her closer before she could protest further and kissed her forehead. Camrick looked away to give us privacy, but I could still feel his impatience.

“I am not negotiating this,” I said quietly against her skin. “But I am asking. Stay here. Rest. Let me do what I need to do so that this doesn’t become worse than it already is.”

All the fight went out of her at once, shoulders drooping. “Fine,” she said. “I could use a nap.”

I turned to my captain. “Ten men remain. No one enters. No one leaves.”

A chorus of assent arose as I followed Camrick out of the family wing. Yet something made me pause just before Berian’s door. His guards were there. Everything seemed fine. Lunette was safe, yet a niggling feeling persisted anyway—the way joints could ache long before the approaching storm arrived.

All that was left to me now was a desperate hope that I was right, and that the fallout wouldn't destroy us.

Chapter 46

Lunette

The moment the door shut behind Owain, the silence pressed in. I shuddered, thinking about the assassin. I had no doubt the Assembly wanted him silenced, given what Owain had told me about his interrogation. But so soon?

Something about all this felt wrong. I stood where he’d left me, listening to the echo of his footsteps fade, waiting for the restless tension in my chest to settle back into something I could ignore. But it lingered no matter what I did.

I dragged in a breath. He’s fine. He said it was nothing.

Right… Time for a nap to shut down the worries.

I made my way back under the furs, fully clothed. The bed still smelled like the forest back home mixed with dark, sweet tea.

I was so exhausted, sleep should’ve come easily as I breathed him in. Instead, every small sound scraped at my nerves. A guard shifting on the other side of the room. The faint murmur of voices in the corridor. Logs on the hearth popping.

I lay there, willing myself to rest.

He said it was nothing.

My eyes snapped open and my heart stumbled into a sprint at the sound of low, angry voices growling at each other near the door. From his slumbering spot on my stomach, Muffin sprang to feral wakefulness, hissing at nothing and everything for bothering us.

“It is by order of the king—step aside.” A man’s voice.

“There, ya happy?” Anne snapped. “You’ve awoken her ladyship!”

Given her nature, Anne was probably close to slapping him. I shoved the furs aside, the prickle of unease turning into sharp, icy frustration as I realized exactly who I was about to confront.

I hadn’t even fully stood up before Lord Coryanthus strolled into Owain’s room. Like a frigid hand clamping down on my shoulder out of nowhere, the violation set my defenses on high alert. His persistent wooing with letters, flowers, and candy had already made me dislike him, but invading Owain’s space like this pushed my dislike to hatred.

Four men, two clad in the distinctive royal colors and two wearing his house’s, trailed him, giving credence to his claim. Yet even as I told myself that everything was aboveboard, my gut insisted otherwise.

I straightened, still disheveled and sleep-weary, to face him. Muffin mewled and jumped off the bed to wind between my feet. I looked down at him; he was nervous.

Me too, little guy.