Page 16 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Lymseia pretends to frown. “You may not believe me now. But just watch, you’ll see.”

Striding past her, I roll my eyes. The day I enjoy Viridian’s company is a day that will surely never come.

“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,” Lymseia calls after me.

I stop and turn my upper body to look at her. “Why not?”

“That hallway takes you to the East Tower,” she says, gesturing behind me. “The High King’s private quarters.”

I glance back at the hallway in front of me. It’s the one with all the beautiful portraits hanging. The ones that make me wish I could draw. Missing my sketchbook only emphasizes how alone I feel here. How out of place.

“Am I not allowed in there?”

Lymseia shakes her head. Her voice softens. “No one is. Not since the High Queen died.”

“No one?”

“No one but the High King and his private security detail.”

“Not even the Crown Prince?”

She gives me a look. “Not even His Highness.”

Interesting.

I take a step toward her. Curiosity colors my words. “Aren’t you allowed in there?”

“No,” Lymseia says, like a parent trying to dissuade a child from doing something they shouldn’t. “Not even me.”

“But you’re the Captain of the High King’s Guard. Doesn’t the High King’s private security detail report to you?”

“They do,” Lymseia says, leveling her tone. As if she were picking her words very carefully.

But her tone of voice tells me everything her words don’t.

The High King’s hiding something.

My mind itches to know what. To sneak into the East Tower and uncover all of the High King’s secrets.

I open my mouth to ask another question, but I don’t get the opportunity. A young-looking man rises to the top of the stairs. His crimson eyes catch my attention almost instantly, as do his pointed ears. If his eyes weren’t obvious enough, his ears give away his fae heritage immediately. Staring intently, he cranes his neck to look down at the stack of papers in his hands, all while muttering to himself. His rich brown hair is disheveled, as if he couldn’t be bothered to care about how others may see him.

“Ah, Myrdin.” Lymseia plasters on a smile. “Just the male I wanted to see.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, too focused on whatever it is on the parchment that’s captured his attention. Slowly, he continues ahead. Lymseia holds out her arm, and Myrdin walks right into it, dropping some of his papers.

“Myrdin!” Lymseia demands.

“Huh?” Myrdin’s eyes widen when he sees her. “What?”

“Myrdin,” Lymseia says, using her hand on his arm to turn his body toward me. “This is Miss Cryssa Thurdred.”

Recognition flashes in his eyes, and his mouth spreads into a genuine smile. “Miss Thurdred, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

I smile politely while arching a brow. “And you are?”

“This is Lord Myrdin Tarrantree,” Lymseia cuts in, patting him on the shoulder. “Son of Head of House, Lord Tanyl and Lady Phaendarra Tarrantree—the Crown Prince’s cousin.”

He’s from the Copper Court. That explains the color of his eyes.

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