Page 61 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

“Where were they dispatched?” I asked.

“Here,” Emrys said grimly. “Given the raid on your caravan, we think he may have been sent for you.”

Fuck. That was more than possible.

Emrys, Nisien, and I had been forced into Vaustin’s orbit years ago, when our families convened to renew our kingdoms’ non-aggression pact. The Chancellor and his son had attended as “non-political” mediators. Even as children, none of us had been fooled about the real reason they were there.

We were natural-born princes. Dealing with ambitious aristocracy came with the title. But Vaustin—a prince in everything but name—had always been a different kind of problem. As a boy, he’d thrown fits when he didn’t get his way then graduated to manufacturing conflicts between us and feeding lies to our parents. He was naturally talented at making those he decided weren’t sufficiently deferential to him suffer.

As he grew into a man, and into his magic, his personality only got darker. He’d pursued a minor lord’s daughter so relentlessly that her family had quietly relocated her to the borderlands just to end it. But then he’d had her brother audited into bankruptcy out of spite. He didn’t want things like a normal person. He collected people, favors, and leverage—just like his father.

The edge in his eyes when last we’d met told me he’d burned or buried the bodies of more than a few of those treasures he’d collected along the way. I wanted him nowhere near Luna.

We saw Vaustin only sparingly the year the curse took hold; he’d developed a sudden, cautious respect for Emrys’s reach. Their mutual loathing had been forged on the blood-slicked fields of the Assembly’s wars, back when Emrys was less a man and more a weapon. I’d never learned the exact atrocities they’d traded during those years, but it was enough to leave him with a desire to put an end to Vaustin permanently.

“I haven’t sensed any other mages since arriving,” I said, thanking the gods with every breath. He was capable of suppressing my magic. If the Assembly wanted me easily defeated, he was the right person to send.

Our conversation was interrupted by a wave of calming magic drifting in from outside. Isca’s work, a message, because Emrys’s shoulders relaxed immediately, and he straightened. “They’re ready for us.”

My pulse stuttered. I wasn’t prepared to face Lunette or see my men. Less than an hour ago, I’d been holding the perfect woman. Now I had to confront one of my greatest failures as a leader and the fact that I’d lied to her at the same time.

I followed Emrys and Nisien through the doorway, the stiff gait I’d earned ripping my stitches again more pronounced now that adrenaline had ebbed. The moment I stepped into view, the conversation died. Armor ceased its quiet clatter. Dozens of eyes fixed on me at once. The sudden silence was a physical weight pressing against me from all sides.

Forest green and gilt stretched before me in disciplined rows. My banners. My people. I hadn’t seen them since my armor was soaked through with blood, since I’d been certain I was saying goodbye for the last time.

Recognition rippled through the line. Spines straightened. Hands slid from pommels to parade rest. No one spoke, but the relief on their faces was unmistakable, striking me harder than any cheer could have.

Camrick stood at the head beside his bay roan stallion and a covered wagon. He was clean-shaven for once, with a fresh wound sliced across his jaw, presumably from the battle that also scarred me.

The sudden, intense rush of emotion nearly overwhelmed me, so I forced my breathing steady to keep my magic from reacting to it. I walked down the slight slope to meet him face-to-face.

“I see you lived,” I said, pulling Camrick into a half-embrace.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but I saw the depth of the emotion in his eyes. “As did you, my prince.”

The word crashed down with the force of a hammer. Every eye in this clearing—except one—would expect to see the Shadowborn Prince. Yet she’d never called me anything but stranger and Rowan.

My shoulders pulled back of their own accord. Pain flared along my ribs in protest, but I ignored it. Habit made it feel natural, even when I had to put on a show of being the same man who’d left Tir Larethia mere weeks ago.

Yet I wasn’t—not entirely. I wanted something now. Something I’d never allowed myself to want before. And how deeply I wanted her was just starting to sink in.

I could feel her off to the side, watching me. Even now, while putting on a show in front of my men, it felt like she, the moon in her glory, was the center of my universe—and I was the night creature, utterly reliant on her light.

Lunette stood, her shawl drawn tight around her shoulders, eyes scanning the clearing. Emotions rippled across her face as she took in the soldiers standing at attention, each bristling with weapons, waiting for me to speak. Something like understanding dawned in her eyes, and I knew, with the certainty that the sun would rise tomorrow, that things would never be the same between us.

She would see me clearly and decide I no longer fit into her world. I’d probably already lost my right to call her Luna.

I’d faced armies with steadier hands than these. I took a step toward her without thinking about how it would look to my men.

She didn’t step back.

But she didn’t step forward either.

Chapter 18

Lunette

My lungs still worked. My heart beat. But the faint, foolish hope I’d preserved in the back of my mind, barely acknowledged and never spoken, had snapped cleanly in two.