Page 37 of The Princess's Chosen

Sam didn't wait, or one of my Chosen must've nodded, because I winced in the next second and then gasped as a great snowy white owl screeched in front of us, hopping and trying to beat its wings which hung twisted and tugged, feathers turned in odd directions. Owen landed on his knees, crouching low and stretching his hands out to the owl.

"That's enough. That's enough, Sam, you'll make it worse," Owen said gently, an ache in his words.

Sam reappeared, seated on the floor, arms wrapped around his shoulders, panting hard.

"But his arms are fine?" Owen asked softly, glancing back at us with a furrowed brow.

"It's not the same body," Wendell answered. "One soul, two natures, two forms."

I sank slowly down to the ground, Sam's pale eyes fixed watchfully to my every movement.

"When?" I asked. "When did this happen, Sam?

"A few days after you left for the north. I showed it to her years ago to amuse her, but I… Sometimes I would shift just to…just to rest a little," he said, frowning as my hands rose to cover my mouth. "I started doing it more recently. I didn't think she noticed, and then one day—" He shook his head, over and over, as if he couldn't stop himself.

"Sam, are there others? Does she have others like you? Others she might hurt in this way?" I asked, wanting to reach out, to wrap him up in my arms. He wouldn't appreciate it, and I didn't blame him.

"There's one, but he never told her and…they all saw," he said, nodding toward his shoulder.

So it was unlikely he'd reveal anything now. That was for the best.

"I'm not sure there's anything we can do now," Owen murmured. He'd slid closer to Sam, who didn't seem to care or notice, as if Owen's special touch with animals extended to him too. "It depends on how freshly broken it is in your second form. I don't know how the magic works."

I stood up, moving quickly away, ignoring Sam's flinch. "I know who we can ask," I said, marching for the door.

13

Aric

“You're a miserable bastard," Griffin muttered.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," I said.

"Someone should've taken a great many more words out of your mouth, Aric. Spared…quite a few people a fair amount of trouble."

I sighed, grimacing as I lifted the mug to my lips, guzzling the remaining contents before lifting an eyebrow at Otto, my bartender. He raised one back till I glowered at him, and then came to refill my cup. The only person I wish my mouth had spared right now was Bryony, and perhaps myself. I'd been stewing in my own personal punishment for the words I'd thrown at her for days now, trying to make amends in my research. Or just too cowardly to go and apologize.

"You can't afford to be missing the favor of the crown right now. Haven't you been paying attention? Emory is out for your head. Not your court, Aric. He's planning on taking it the old fashioned way."

A King of Thieves was deposed from his seat in only a handful of ways. He could hand over his crown to his heir—a rare manner of the deed, and one that tended to leave courts unimpressed with their new king. Most often, and the way I'd taken the crown myself, a king might be bested in a theft or a fight by their opponent. The old way was the simplest of the three. A challenger killed the old king and took up his crown.

Yes, Emory would like that one.

I'd thought him a young egoist who would grow bored of managing a court of thieves and eventually come to roost when he first appeared. He gave me no trouble, and I'd taken it as a blessing instead of the warning it was. Emory kept his nose clean of my work so that I wouldn't have cause to squash him before he grew more popular. But he'd risen while Charlotte was still alive, and she'd always preferred me merciful.

He'd started to show his colors since Bryony's arrival, whispers turning into warnings. But the attempted stunt at the festival made him an entirely darker creature than I'd predicted. I should've seen his tavern sooner, and I would've known what kind of king he intended on being.

"It's not just my head I'm worried about," I muttered.

"Oh and you're doing such a grand job of being an ally to her while you guzzle down that ale," Griffin snapped back.

You know better,Charlotte's voice murmured.The crown doesn't rest.

Which only made me think of Bryony again, and the words I'd thrown in her face, and the fact that she had guards watching her day and night who were loyal to her enemies, and a steward who took orders from someone else and…

"You're on your third night of whatever this is," Otto answered.

"What do I pay you for?" I snarled at him.

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