Chapter 68 Elowen
ELOWEN
I find a quiet corner at the back of the King’s Court, tucked between a tall stone pillar and a faded tapestry depicting some long-forgotten battle. It’s dim here—the torchlight flickering against the gray walls, the noise of the crowd softened just enough that I can think.
The Court itself is vast—far larger than I imagined.
The ceiling arches high overhead, supported by massive stone columns carved with twisting dragons and ancient runes.
Banners hang between them in deep reds and golds, each one embroidered with the royal crest. Light spills in from high, narrow windows, catching on polished marble floors and the gleam of armor worn by the guards stationed along the walls.
I ignore all of it.
My heart is pounding. This is it—it’s time.
My fingers curl into my skirts as I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus. I go over the words again in my mind, careful not to stumble over them. The spell has to be exact—every syllable, every cadence, every breath.
Thread of time, unwind the seam,
Carry me through memory’s dream,
Back before the fault was cast,
Let me mend the broken past.
I mouth the words silently, shaping them without a sound, feeling the rhythm of them settle into me. My heart is pounding too fast and my thoughts feel tangled, but I push through the confusion and inner turmoil. I have to do this. I have to be steady.
I just need a few more moments before I start, though—a little more time to gather myself and begin.
I draw in a slow breath and open my eyes, ready to start…and then the bells begin.
The sound crashes through the Court like a storm breaking overhead—loud, sharp, and impossible to ignore. It echoes off the high vaulted ceilings, reverberating through the stone so violently that it feels like the floor itself is trembling beneath my feet.
Every head turns toward the entrance and a ripple of confusion spreads through the crowd, voices rising in startled murmurs as people crane their necks to see what’s happening.
The line of supplicants that stretches from the throne all the way back toward the doors shifts uneasily, robes rustling and boots scraping against the polished stone floor.
I turn too, my heart jumping into my throat and then I see him—Theron!
My heart seems to stop in my chest as I watch two guards drag him forward, one on either side, their mailed fists tight on his arms. He’s resisting—of course he is—but whatever happened at the entrance has shaken even him.
His movements are sharp and frustrated, his expression dark with confusion and anger.
“Let go of me, Gods damn it!” I hear him growl. “I didn’t do anything!”
But the guards don’t seem to listen. They drag him straight past the long line of people waiting their turn—past merchants clutching scrolls, past peasants in worn clothing, past richly dressed nobles who draw back in outrage at being bypassed.
A few protest loudly, but their voices are swallowed by the chaos as the guards haul Theron forward like he’s something dangerous…
Like he’s already been judged and found guilty.
My stomach drops. Oh Goddess, what will they do to him?
My eyes follow to where they’re taking him—right to the front of the line of supplicants where the King’s throne is mounted on a marble dais.
The throne isn’t just made of gold—that would be too simple, I guess. It’s also shaped like a great coiled dragon, its wings rising behind the seat in a display of power and dominance. And seated upon it is the Old King.
He’s older than I expected—far older. His hair is long and white, falling past his shoulders in thick waves, and his beard matches, flowing down over his chest. His face is lined with age and weariness, his shoulders slightly bowed beneath the weight of years.
But there’s nothing weak about him. Power clings to him like a second skin, heavy and unmistakable. And rising from his temples I see horns.
My breath stutters in my chest. He’s a Drake!
The King is a Drake Shifter. Why did I never know this before?
Maybe because communication between the City of the King and my little village isn’t very good.
It takes weeks to walk or ride the distance—unless you have a Drake to fly on like I did when I was with Theron.
The realization barely has time to settle before the guards reach the base of the throne and shove Theron forward.
He stumbles, dropping hard onto one knee at the foot of the steps leading up to the marble dais.
The guards immediately level their spears at him, the sharp metal tips gleaming as they hold him in place.
They don’t speak but they don’t have to—the message is clear.
Don’t move.
Finally the paralysis that seems to have come over me eases and I find I can move again. If Theron is being accused of something, I need to come to his aid. I can’t do much but speak for him, but that’s certainly better than just standing here watching like a ninny.
Pushing forward into the crowd, I slip between bodies, ignoring the annoyed looks and muttered complaints as I try to get closer.
The press of people is thick here—the air warm with too many bodies packed into one space.
The scent of sweat and perfume and polished leather mingles into something overwhelming, but I barely notice.
Theron is frozen in place, his eyes flicking between the guards and the throne, his big body tense with barely contained violence. I can feel it from here—his anger and confusion and the instinct to fight his way free.
My chest tightens as I edge closer, my fingers curling into the fabric of my skirts. I don’t know what he did—or didn’t do—but this isn’t good. None of this is good.
What if he offended the King? What if he said something wrong, or looked at someone the wrong way, or—
My thoughts spiral, each one worse than the last.
What if they kill him?
No. No, they can’t!
But I don’t know that.
I don’t know the laws here, the customs, the punishments. I don’t know what happens to someone dragged before the throne like this.
All I know is that Theron is down on one knee with spears pointed at his chest, and the King is looking at him with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
I push forward one more step, straining to see, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely hear anything else.
Oh Goddess…please—please let this be nothing. Just a silly misunderstanding—nothing of consequence. Please let him be all right.
But I have a bad feeling despite my prayers. Something bad is about to happen and I won’t be able to stop it.
No matter how hard I try.