Page 131 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Never, in a thousand years, would I have thought that I would be so relieved to see Keuron’s tiled roofs looming over the horizon. The rising sun shines in my eyes, peeking through the gaps between the tall buildings.

I ride into the city and weave through the already busy streets, as if an unseeing force is at my back, driving me forward. Urgency powers me, despite the fatigue that’s long settled into my bones. I pull on Storm’s reins, slowing to a stop when I approach the drawbridge that separates High Keep from the rest of the city.

“You there,” the guard calls from atop the tower. “No one is to enter the castle, by order of His Majesty, the High King.”

I furrow my brow. Vorr must know how dire things are, if he’s barricaded himself in the castle.

My mouth twists. How can he hide in his tower, while his people suffer and die? Viridian must be furious.

“I am Crown Princess, Cryssa Thurdred Pelleveron Avanos.” My voice booms, amplified by my haste. “I have grave news, and I must see my husband immediately.”

The guard falls silent. There are hushed whispers I can’t make out and a shuffling of feet. Then, a voice rings out.

“You heard your future queen! Well, what are you waiting for? Open the gate!”

Briefly closing my eyes, I let out a breath in relief.

Lymseia.

The gate rises, lessening my anxiety—but only slightly. Lymseia dips her head to me in greeting when I pass, and I return the gesture to convey my gratitude.

She waves me off, as if to say, “There’s no need to thank me.”

I snort. Typical Lymseia.

I ride to the main entrance and disembark, leaving Storm there. Without a moment to lose, I push through the double doors and move through the halls.

“Where is His Highness?” I call out, frantic, to any servant that might be nearby. “Where is my husband?”

“The library,” someone says, pointing to the main staircase.

As if on command, my feet carry me up the stairs and through the halls, not once slowing down.

Until I see him.

In the main library, Viridian sits at a table, bent over a book and some loose parchment that’s scattered in front of him. He doesn’t notice me at first, engrossed in whatever it is that’s captured his attention.

I step inside, the sound of my breathing the only noise I make.

Startled, Viridian lifts his head. His long face brightens when he sees me, as if a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Instantly, he rises from his chair and closes the gap between us, taking long, purposeful strides.

“You came back,” he breathes, a hand reaching out to gently cup my face.

“Of course I did.” My eyes meet his, and it’s so easy to lose myself in them. “How could I not?”

My words seem to melt his expression. He looks at me with a mix of pure joy and wondrous surprise, as if he never thought it possible that I could want this.

That I could want him.

I raise my hand to cover his, pressing his palm into my cheek.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks and threatens to break. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I promise. And I mean it. Guilt rises up into my chest. “I should be the one apologizing.”

“And I would tell you the same thing you just told me.” The tenderness I hear in his words wraps around me, softer than even the gentlest caress. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all.”

I search his features, looking for any hint of anger, any trace of resentment.

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