Page 60 of Shadows of the Crown

They began leaving the door to their room open when nightmares plagued my every sleep. I would wake screaming of chaos in the realms and beg them to never leave me like they did in my dreams. I chuckle, tapping a finger against my thigh.

I falter before their room, bile rising to my throat.

I do not wish to remember that piece of my past as a deteriorating, musty space. I just barely can recall its details, and I know seeing it in this state would erase every good memory I still hold on to.

The moment I commit to avoiding that area, my lungs allow me to inhale a full breath as the tightness lessens in my chest.

“Why the fuck did I come here…” I whisper to myself, turning back toward the staircase. I’m muttering to my weak mind when something grabs my arm; I jolt, immediately pulling my blade to shove it in their throat, but freeze when I turn.

There’s no one there…

My ears become hypersensitive, listening for the smallest of movements but finding none. I look to the floor, where only my footsteps imprint the layer of grime coating it. Slowly, each of my muscles loosens and I drop my arm while keeping hold of the weapon. I tug on my umbral strand and send a pulse through the quiet house—I’m the only one here.

Unless whoever is here doesn’t have essence?I snort and sheathe my blade.

A strand of light catches my eye, my head snapping up to the crack in the door next to me.

My father’s office.

I push the creaking wood open, my heart beating faster with each foot of space presented to me. My jaw clenches—his office somehow still smells of stale paper and worn leather. I step into the room and run my fingers over the stacks of paper and folders that are still on the large desk, all of them addressed toLord Erendor Mistaire.

He was a nobleman—always in the castle, meeting with the king, other nobles, and advisors. Somehow that makes what happened to him even worse…Thalion knew my father on a personal level. Anyone that knew him would have seen just how dedicated he was to his work and the kingdom.

So when Thalion executed him on accusations of treason, without investigating or even defining what he did that was treasonous?

Metallic liquid covers my tongue, and I release my cheek, forcing my fist to let go of the paper it has crumpled. I adjust my stance to move when something catches my eye…

Fix the accord.

Three words scribbled over and over in a notebook—journal, I realize as I pick the small book up. I fan through the pages and catch dozens of entries written by my father’s hand. My abdomen clenches when I stop on a random page and the words Valyria and death seize my eyes. I slam the journal closed and press a hand to my chest, willing my breathing to slow.

“Fuck this.” My hand clutches the journal as I stalk from the room, hurrying down the stairs and through the front door. I pull back my luminal strand before returning to the portico—knowing the king, he most certainly has someone trailing me.

I’d thought being outside would ease the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t. Shaking my head, I walk down the steps, faltering slightly when my vision blurs at the edges, creating a tunnel to thestreet. The moment I’m off the property, I crouch and scrunch my eyes closed. It takes heartbeats longer than it should to gather myself and will the emotions away once more.

I do not have time to feel things I’ve already dwelled on.

My mother, father, Isaiah…they are dead. I am not. There is no room for anything other than the sheer truth.

The king and I have matters to settle, starting with his son…whom I just stabbed in front of the entire court. I force my feet to run before the pressure inside my head becomes more than I can handle. Bitter wind cools my skin, my brows furrowing when the exhale of my breaths becomes visible ahead of me.

He’s going to hate me…and I deserve it. Even if part of me wishes I didn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Caspian

Stitching along my abdomen tugs when I trip over my own foot and tense the muscles to keep myself upright. I wince, breathing deeply until the sharp pain subsides.

Elowen insisted on healing each of my wounds, but I only allowed it for the worst of them. She’s intelligent, so I’m certain it wasn’t difficult for her to surmise why I refused.

I deserve to heal this on my own and live with the scar that will no doubt replace it.

Ariella was right…she had tried again and again to push me away, and I did not leave. Even now I’m pacing the castle gates as I impatiently wait for her to return. My steps grow faster with each minute that passes—it’s nearly midnight.

I know she’d truly kill me if I showed up at the guild to drag her ass back here, but I’m a moment away from taking such a risk. I freeze. She must think my father will have her head regardless of her return. She did shove her blade into me…in the courtyard, of all places, so there was not one chance for me to twist what happened to the king. I should be embarrassed with the amount of begging and arguing I did to halt my father’s execution order, but I’m not. If I hadn’t managed to convince my father that I fucked up by challenging her, he would have sent a search party through Valoria with orders to kill on site.

When he finally relented, I asked about Isaiah. As much as Ariella attempted to hide her love for him, it was clear just how much he meant to her. And just like everything else I’ve asked him, my father shrugged and said he didn’t know, but he was sure an answer would turn up.

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