Page 103 of Crownless King

“Oh, um…it belonged to a hag I knew.”

The king rose from his throne. Pinning me in place with his stare, he descended the steps of the dais.

Alarm jolted me. I felt naked under his gaze, stripped of my disguise and my defenses. Desperately searching for a diversion, I rummaged through my satchel and yanked his sapphire ring out.

“We’ve met before, Your Majesty,” I said, showing the ring on my outstretched hand.

“I believe we have,” he echoed.

Ignoring the ring, he moved closer. His cape unwound from around the dais, billowing at his back like a giant wing in the breeze.

Flustered, I took a step back, but there was nowhere to retreat with the long line of attendees pushing from behind.

Alcon appeared at the king’s side. He darted a cautious look around the crowd surrounding us, then leaned to the king’s ear.

“Your Majesty, you should be up on the throne,” he said softly but firmly.

Voron ignored him, staring at me intently. His proximity trapped me. I drew in his scent, letting it permeate all my senses, and took in the sight of him, committing to memory every detail to keep for the rest of my life without him.

I struggled to remember what I came here for. My chest ached, and I rubbed over the mark, even though rubbing never made the pain any less.

Voron’s gaze dipped to my hand, then leaped back to my face.

“Instead of the gems,” I croaked, “I wish to request a favor… A word with you, my king. A minute of your time.”

“Just a minute?” He slid his hands up my arms.

I shrank back from his touch, but it proved inescapable. There was nowhere to run in the crowd. There was no running from him.

“Yes,” I breathed out. “A minute…”

He cupped my face, my human face beyond the glamor. His fingers trembled at the contact with my skin. Recognition sliced through his expression, like a slash of a blade.

“Will you take a lifetime instead?”

He slid a hand down my neck and hooked a finger under my necklace—hisnecklace that he’d given me so long ago. He yanked at it, tearing it from my neck.

The glamor was gone, and Voron saw me the way I was—exposed, undisguised, unguarded.

Shock was momentarily replaced by relief on his face. Tenderness softened his stare—that special kind of tenderness he only had when he looked at me, no one else.

Pain crossed his gaze next, an emotion so strong, it crumbled his handsome features with agony.

“Sparrow,” he groaned.

Suddenly, he sank to his knees. The mighty king had fallen at my feet. Gripping my cloak, he crushed me to him, as if he wished to absorb me with every cell of his being and every fiber of his soul.

“My Sparrow,” he murmured, pressing his face to my chest.

I closed my eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, and savored every sensation of him. The silky glide of his hair between my fingers as I cradled his head in my hands. The firm grip of his arms that caged me in the way that told me he’d never let me go. His warm breathing seeped through my clothes as he whispered something—a prayer, I realized.

Voron prayed to the merciful God of Death, thanking him for returning me to him.

The crowded Throne Room seemed to disappear. The entire world ceased to exist. I saw, felt, and heard no one but him.

My soul melted with his, the way it was meant to be.

A sapphire-blue glow surrounded Voron, overpowering the daylight or the shimmer of the crystals in the room. The light filtered through his white cape on his back, arching out like a silver-blue rainbow. The arch split in two, unfurling like sails from his shoulder blades.

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