Page 111 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Suddenly alert, I sit up in bed, straining my ears to listen. My heart rate accelerates, beating fast. Swinging my legs from under the covers, I rise to my feet.

Who would want to see me at this hour?

The knocking sounds again. This time, it’s accompanied by a voice.

“Cryssa! Cryssa, are you there?”

My eyes widen, and I fly to the door. When I open it, I cover my mouth.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my shoulders suddenly tense. My voice is harsher than I intend. “Have you lost your gods-damned mind?”

Loren flashes a smile at me. One that would have made my knees weak before coming to High Keep.

But that was then. And only then.

“I had to find you,” he says. “I couldn’t leave this wretched place without you.”

“You must go,” I tell him, my voice laced with urgency. “Viridian—he’ll kill you if he finds you here.”

“So, he won’t find me,” Loren says, as if it were that easy.

“I’m—look at me.” I gesture to myself. “I’m not even dressed.”

Loren doesn’t miss a beat. “Then dress quickly.”

I hesitate. Something tucked away in the corner of my mind is still screaming at me to run, to go with Loren and leave this place right now, appearances be damned. But my feet seem fixed to the floor, and I can’t find the strength to move.

Because the rest of me doesn’t want to.

“Cryssa,” Loren says, brows stitching together. “What is it?”

“You can’t stay.”

“And neither can you.” Loren frowns.

Blood thuds in my ears. My palms grow sweaty with panic.

“Loren,” I grind out. “Stop fighting me. You have to go now. Before Viridian—”

“Before I what, Cryssa?”

I turn to his deep rumble, my eyes wide. I’ve never heard him say my name like that before. So bitter and wounded, as if I’ve slapped him.

Guilt swirls in my stomach. I instantly wish I hadn’t said anything at all, that he hadn’t found me with Loren in nothing but my nightgown.

Gods above.

This looks bad. This looks very, very bad.

“Before you get angry,” I say, forcing myself to look at him.

Viridian’s expression hardens, the angles of his face growing sharp, like knives. His amber eyes fume, but he doesn’t look at Loren. He only stares at me, his gaze locked with mine.

I press my lips together, fighting the tears that gather in my eyes.

“Viridian—”

“You.” He says to Loren, not once breaking eye contact with me. “If you want to live, I’d suggest you leave. Now.”

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