Page 30 of The Shadowbound King

Humiliation and animosity frazzled through me in equal measure. She spoke of me like I was nothing. Like I might lift my skirts and pee on the furniture if I wasn’t supervised.

Clenching my fists, I stepped forward. Suddenly, Ginhad was in front of me, his long, silver hair a tangle down his back.

“Of course, my lady,” he said.

The woman caught my eye, a smirk playing around her mouth. Then she went to her horse, took its bridle, and moved toward the stable.

Ginhad waited a moment before turning to me. His features were strained, his tone low and urgent. “I’m sorry, Mirella, but we need to go.”

I wouldn’t make trouble for him if I could help it. And challenging the elven woman would only cause trouble.

“All right,” I said. “I understand.”

The journey back to the chamber was tense and quiet. In no time at all, the big doors swung open, and the cage filledmy vision. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run—to escape while I still could.

But I couldn’t. Even if I managed to overpower Ginhad, the collar prevented me from seeking the shadows. With nerves twisting my stomach, I let him help me climb into my prison. Then I clenched my jaw as he shut the door and touched the bars, sealing me inside.

He avoided my gaze as he stepped backward. “I’ll check on you soon. I promise.” For a second, he looked like he wanted to say more. Then he was gone, his steps fading quickly as the chamber doors shut behind him.

The cage rocked gently, the wood creaking. Tears burned my throat, and I swallowed hard, curling my hands into fists so my nails dug into my palms. My gown spread around me, the bright yellow skirts mocking me against the deep green of the cushion. I wasn’t a noblewoman in the Autumn Court. I was a prisoner.

Apet, as the elven woman had said.

My throat thickened. Reaching up, I tugged at the collar. What if Ginhad got sidetracked again? And who was Othor?

The chamber’s doors flew open, and I stifled a gasp as King Andrin entered with Rane on his heels. Both wore armor, and both werecoveredin blood.

I froze, my heart in my throat.

Andrin’s hair was unbound, the red strands wild around his face. Power rolled off him in thick waves, the force of it so strong it was almost visible.

No, itwasvisible. Dark, volatile energy flowed off his armor, the waves staining the air around him. He charged forward, his strides eating up the marble floors.

“Andrin!” Rane called, hurrying after him. “Andrin, stop.”

The king whirled with a snarl. Across the room, a small statue fell from the mantel and smashed against the hearth. Glass rattled, tinkling sounds streaming from all directions ofthe chamber. The men stood in profile, tension flowing between them.

“Who dares to address me?” Andrin demanded, his voice rough and deep. Unrecognizable.

Rane extended his hands in a placating gesture. He edged forward, his tattered, soiled cloak fluttering behind him. “Andrin… It’s me.”

The waves rolling off Andrin thinned. He peered at Rane. “You…serve me,” he said, a thread of hesitation in his voice.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I could only stare, transfixed, as the men faced off.

“Yes,” Rane said. He took another cautious step forward. “I serve you, my king. In all ways. Let me help you.”

Rane’s face was pale. His armor was dented. In other places, it was ripped open, as if something had tried to claw it from his body. He held completely still, his focus on Andrin.

“You’ll help me,” the king rasped. “I must take back what is rightfully mine.”

Rane took another careful step. “That’s right.”

Andrin’s nostrils flared. His chest swelled, as if he’d caught Rane’s scent and dragged it into his lungs. He lowered his chin, a growl rumbling from his throat. “You serve me,” he said, the hesitation gone.

The tattoos around his neck moved, writhing and rearranging themselves. Thick shadows flowed away from him in a dark river. They stretched toward Rane, licking at the air like a snake’s tongue thrusting from its mouth.

My heart thundered in my chest, fear and fascination twining through me.

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