30. Chapter 30
Owain
The oppressive light of a hundred candles guttered in the iron chandeliers overhead, their flames bowing and straightening in restless drafts. Three hearths roared along the pale stone walls, turning the formal dining hall into a kiln packed with perfumed, scheming bodies.
I was used to it, but tonight, especially, I hated every moment.
My embroidered doublet clung to me, the gold-threaded vines stitched across the dark green fabric catching the candlelight and throwing it back in glittering arcs.
There were bloody ruffles at the shoulders—subtle, but there.
Normally, I would’ve refused the clothing outright.
But I’d let my valet fasten the ridiculous thing without protest.
Because I’d woken this morning feeling almost level. Because I’d been able to hold her under the excuse of carrying her to her room.
And at least it made me look every inch the polished, controlled, safe regent they needed me to be. Not a demon wearing a crown.
I’d spent years learning to wear the face that matched the clothes.
The perfect, unreadable smile that said there was nothing to fear, when the truth was that the dark magic living beneath my skin had never once stopped pressing against its restraints.
My tutors, people who were supposed to be friends, my own damn brother had called it a corruption.
But Luna’s book said it was a gift.
And now it surged, desperate to break out of this stifling room and anchor itself back to her. But she was already furious with me; if I let my magic take the reins now, would it ruin my last chance to fix this?
Sweat collected between my shoulder blades as the murmur of nobles rose and fell like the tide.
Leather belts creaked as empty scabbards shifted.
Jewels clicked faintly as hands tightened around golden goblets.
Carefully measured laughter cut through the heavy air as two dozen eyes pretended they weren’t constantly watching me.
The head servant struck the meal bell, its clear chime slicing through the din of so many conversations. Chairs whispered back as a line of servants helped our guests find their places at the table.
I took the unfamiliar seat at the head of the long oak table, careful not to let my crown slip as I lowered myself, eyes scanning. Someone in this room was the Assembly’s man. I didn’t know which face he wore yet, but I’d learned years ago that they always had one at the table when it mattered.
On my right, Camrick settled with the soldierly stiffness he donned for these occasions. Across from us stretched a swath of Larethia’s bannermen, all draped in their house colors, their embroidered sigils gleaming.
On my left, two chairs still sat open…
Why two? I didn’t know. All I cared about was that Reina was late, and she was never late.
Initially, I thought she was probably avoiding the prattle of nobles. I would’ve traded my crown for that privilege. But as the first course was laid—smoked fish or light consommé, depending on your taste—the first flicker of unease wormed its way down my spine.
Reina was undoubtedly perfectly safe, but I worried this had something to do with my fiery Fae female.
Even as I answered every question asked of me, I thought of her. Was she resting? Lunette had weighed so little when I carried her to her room. Had she eaten the tray I’d ordered? Had Muffin liked the food I’d sent up for him? Was she reading? Exploring her apartment? Thinking of escape routes?
Thinking of me? Thinking of strangling me?
I definitely should not have liked that last thought.
The echo of her soft, uncertain voice from our conversation last night lingered in my mind, refusing to fade. She might not remember speaking to me, but I couldn’t forget a word. Her fragile “you can try” had felt like hope injected straight into my veins.
It steadied me enough that I managed to get through an entire course without needing to excuse myself to rip off the obnoxious ruffles. With the plates cleared and the second course on its way, Reina’s continued absence was like a missing limb.
I was halfway to signaling a footman when the double doors creaked open. Reina entered, as regal and composed as ever. My breath caught in my throat. She wasn’t alone.
The sight of Lunette struck me like a blade finding the gap between my ribs.
She wore white, and the candlelight loved her for it. Gold traced her neckline and hems, glinting at her elbows, cinched at her waist. Healer’s garb made regal. Made dangerous, because now every man at this table could see exactly what I saw.
She and Reina walked the length of the table. I realized with dawning horror what the second empty seat was for: to torture me.
The only reason Luna would be here now was that the secret of her presence had already gotten out. I turned away, pressing a napkin to my mouth, pretending a cough, desperate to hide the ink already flooding my irises.
But then the bond ignited with a full, violent surge that drove the rest of the breath from my lungs. The edges of my vision dimmed as the Nocthel blood in my veins demanded I move to cover her, shield her, remove every set of eyes that dared to look her way.
I anchored myself to my seat, my knuckles white and the chair-frame complaining under my grip, fighting the urge to let the monster out of its cage. If they wanted a demon, I was currently one thought away from giving them one.
I dragged air into my lungs and forced my face to slacken. She wasn’t mine to react to. Not here. Not yet. Maybe not ever if I couldn’t figure out how to keep her out of the Assembly’s clutches long enough to give her the choice.
Reina reached her place closest to me first and executed a flawless curtsy. Lunette’s following curtsy was measured, albeit a bit stiff. She must’ve been practicing. Reina would never allow her to walk onto a battlefield unarmed.
All eyes tracked them as they sat. Mine most of all. Unfortunately, the plan was for me to act as if I barely knew her.
Reina smiled with calculated warmth. “My lords and ladies, may I present Lady Lunette, grand magus of healing. She’s graciously agreed to lend her considerable gifts to our beloved king.”
A ripple traveled down the table. It wasn’t that they’d expected an excuse for tardiness out of Reina—that would never happen. It was shock.
“Grand magus?” someone murmured.
“So young,” another said.
“Been harboring beautiful miracles in shepherd villages now, have we?” Lord Coryanthus, sitting next to Camrick, drawled, stroking his short beard. “And keeping them secret from the rest of us?”
Reina’s smile sharpened. “It was not secrecy, Coryanthus, but protection.”
Several pairs of eyes shifted to me.
I kept my expression pleasantly neutral.
Coryanthus wasn’t so disciplined. His gaze lingered on Lunette a fraction too long—tracking the line of her shoulders, the curve of her waist.
Dangerous heat built around my magic. Under the table, where no one would see, shadows pooled around my feet like gallons of spilled ink. They bled across the stone and curled toward Coryanthus’s chair.
My body knew what Coryanthus was and wanted to solve the problem with a brutality the Tir hadn’t seen since before my grandfather’s reign.
Holding back my magic felt like trying to crush a blade with my bare hands.
This was the part they’d warned of in Luna’s illuminated book—how unrestrained we could be.
The worst part of this instinct was how right the horrible intentions felt. It was clean compared to every political calculation I’d made in the last hour of small talk.
But this dinner was about allaying their worries about the succession, not my overbearing, possessive infatuation. So I kept smiling even as my face ached from the pressure, my cheeks stretched taut until they might split.
Fortunately, I could cut some of this short. The thing about being a wild creature with the biggest claws in the room was that people listened when you spoke. That was doubly true when they heard exactly what they wanted to hear. “Thanks to our healers, King Berian is on the mend.”
The entire room exhaled a sigh of relief. Nobility only wanted strife when they knew it would garner them more money or power. The rapidity of Berian’s decline hadn’t given anyone enough time to scheme it to their benefit.
Conversations immediately turned lighter. Lunette answered questions with composed brevity despite the intense scrutiny she was under. She was avoiding looking at me.
Couldn’t blame her. If only I was half as disciplined.
She hid it well, but she wasn’t happy to be at this dinner and still very angry with me. It was written in the faint tension in the lines at the corners of her mouth. In the way her fingers curled around her napkin when someone mentioned the “good fortune” of her relocation to the Tir.
I lifted my goblet to hide the tightening of my jaw. Except that only revealed that I was white-knuckling the stem.
“Prince Regent Owain,” Lord Coryanthus pressed smoothly, “it seems you have secured a remarkable asset for Larethia.”
How many times had I heard similar words applied to myself?
Not openly, of course, but in the spaces between sentences.
The Shadowborn Prince is useful, if contained.
A weapon, if properly aimed. My entire value to this kingdom had always been contingent on my willingness to be pointed at something and released.
I’d tried to prove them wrong with my alliance with Darreth, but Berian had successfully diminished my role in the telling.
Lunette lifted her water glass to salute Coryanthus with perfect composure, doing beautifully even as they hurt her. She’d taken such offense to being seen as a tool by her village, I refused to have her seen that way here.
“Larethia is most fortunate,” I said mildly. I could be charming while mentally holding a knife under his chin. “But Lady Lunette isn’t a resource to be allocated. I would hate for there to be any confusion about that.”