Page 100 of Heart’s Rescue

The king looks from Orryen to the portal to Rowan. He runs his hand over his lips and takes a deep breath.

“Yes,” he finally says. “It is a good idea. Lythienne, could you fetch the prisoner? And Aloserin?”

Lythienne nods, then turns toward the stairs. I take a step back, then another, then another, until I’m standing against the wall, as far from the portal to the Worlds Above as I can be. A hand brushes mine. I look up and find Rowan's brilliant blue eyes shining like captured pieces of the sky from the Worlds Above. I press my palm to his. Our hearts beat together.

“You can’t treat me like this!” Folwynn declares.

Beside him, Aloserin rolls his eyes. He has one hand firmly wrapped around Folwynn’s uninjured arm. Folwynn’s dressed in a ridiculously noble outfit that must have come from King Galan’s wardrobe, midnight blue with white fur trim and gold accents. He doesn’t quite fill it in, I notice; his shoulders aren’t as broad as the king’s, and his midsection and backside are thicker.

“What is this?” Folwynn demands, his eyes widening as Aloserin drags him into the room. “Some sort of a torture chamber?”

Rowan snorts beside me. Folwynn’s eyes dart nervously across the room, snagging on me.

“Why is she here?” he asks.

A flash of irritation stabs through my chest. I do have a name, after all. And Folwynn knows it. He’s even used it, once or twice. Folwynn frowns at me like he’s trying to place me back into some context he could understand.

And I don’t love him.

The thought leaves me feeling hollow. I’ve never loved him. I’ve never even liked him, dashing, handsome Prince Folwynn of the Kingdom of the Summer. But, stars above, how hard I’d tried.

“Prince Folwynn Orym Cairoris of the Kingdom of the Summer,” King Galan begins. “You are returning to the Worlds Above.”

“What?” Folwynn makes a face like King Galan is a dish that’s been left out in the sun too long.

“You murdered three people,” the king says. “We are returning you to your own kingdom to face judgment.”

“Judgment?” Folwynn says, with a snort. “No one in my kingdom’s ever going to convict—”

For once in his life, Folwynn seems to realize that he’s about to say something phenomenally stupid. He shuts his mouth. His eyes narrow, and he turns back to me.

“With her?” Folwynn asks.

He sounds decidedly unenthusiastic about the prospect of returning to the Worlds Above with me on his arm, and for the first time, I wonder what it must have been like for Folwynn to have me shoved into his life over and over again. I’m suddenly very certain he never would have chosen me if he’d been given a choice. Or if he’d taken one.

“No,” I say. “I’m staying here.”

“What?” Folwynn replies, frowning even harder. “Why?”

“It’s complicated,” I say, with a shrug. “It might be best if you tell everyone that I didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make what?” he asks.

Rowan snorts again. I try to keep my expression solemn.

“That I died,” I say. “Tell the royal court of the Kingdom of the Summer that Lady Arryn Damoira died in the Lands Below.”

“But, you’re not—” Folwynn begins.

“Captain Aloserin,” the king says, cutting off Folwynn as he walks to stand beside Aloserin. “Here is my formal missive to the Kingdom of the Summer.”

The king hands Aloserin a tightly rolled piece of parchment. It’s tied with a sleek red ribbon and sealed with a half-dozen royal seals; the air in the room still holds the scent of melted wax from the king pressing his signets onto the letter. Aloserin accepts the parchment, and the king pulls him into an awkward embrace.

“You have my gratitude,” King Galan says.

Aloserin nods stiffly.

“And mine,” Orryen adds, from the bed.