Page 9 of Vow of the Shadow King

“The darkness? And what about the rest of it? Such as the cold. The lack of privacy. The hard cot for a bed. No blanket, no chamber pot. Not to mention the total ignorance of my coming fate or future. Did you neglect to consider these as well?”

His shame sharpens to a knife-like point. It pricks hard enough to make me wince. But I don’t back down. I maintain a level stare, daring him to meet my gaze.

He doesn’t. When he finally speaks, his voice is very low. “I did not think beyond simply placing you somewhere secure.”

“Secure enough that an assassin could simply walk in, take me from my cell, and march me forth at blade-point?”

Vor’s lip curls. His teeth flash in the low light from thelorstcrystals hung from the ceiling above. But he answers only, “Lord Rath has always enjoyed certain privileges in the palace.”

“Do these privileges extend to the assassination of political prisoners? Is this Lord Rath’s role in service to his king?”

“No!” The word is adamant, spoken with another flare of intensity. “I do not keep an assassin on retainer. Even if I did, I could certainly find someone better suited to the task than Rath.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Settling back into the mounded pillows behind me, I rest my head against the stone headboard. “Your Lord Rath was a poor assassin. It’s not as though I’m a particularly lethal target.”

“Aren’t you?” Vor’s eyebrow twitches. There’s an uneasy gleam in his eye as he considers me. “I’m curious, how did you manage to subdue Rath? There were no marks found on his body.”

I don’t answer. I merely look at him.

“Was it the same thing you did to Lady Lyria on . . . when . . .” He voice trails away.

My nostrils flare slightly. “You mean when she tried to stop your people from cutting off my head? When I had to save her from being torn apart by your guards? Is that what you mean?” Gods above, who knew I possessed such wellsprings of defiance? I’ve always been the demure, shrinking, people-pleasing, disappointing princess. Perhaps this is what multiple near-death experiences in quick succession will bring out in a person.

Vor’s jaw tightens. The muscles in his throat constrict, causing a vein to stand out. “About that—”

“About my near-decapitation?”

He draws back from me slightly. “I wasn’t myself. I don’t want to make excuses, but . . . there were other factors at play. I want you to know that I have no intention of . . . of . . .”

“Of separating my head from my body?”

“Yes. That.”

“Such a comfort.” I draw myself a little straighter and fold my arms across my stomach. “In that case, whatdoyou intend to do with me?”

Another sharp wave of emotion. Not shame this time. This is something hotter, stranger. Something he quickly tamps back down behind his walls, but not before I sense it. My blood warms. Suddenly, I’m uncomfortably aware of where I am. The last time we were in this room together, he was with me in this bed. And there was a lot less space between us. And a lot less clothing.

The heat in my blood pools in my center. My skin is alive, prickling, as though I can feel his breath stirring the hairs on my arm even at this distance. But I won’t let it show. I know how to mask my own feelings, and I’m not about to give him any advantage over me.

“I don’t know,” Vor says at last. His words strike my ears like the inevitable toll of funeral bells.

I knot my fists. “What’s to prevent you from changing your mind again? From sending me back to the block?”

“I would never do that to you.”

My lip curls. “I find that hard to believe, given recent history.”

“Indeed?” His gaze flashes at me from beneath his drawn brows. “And I would not have believed it possible for you to deceive me as you have done. Perhaps it’s time we both readjusted our expectations of one another.”

I don’t answer. Why should I? I simply look at him, my eyes slowly narrowing. Let him realize the foolishness of what he’s just said. Of comparing my deceit—a deceit forced on me by outside powers against which I had no sway—to his murderous rage. They are not the same.Weare not the same.

He holds my gaze for three silent breaths. Then his eyes widen, and the stern line of his brow softens. Another wave of feeling rushes out from him, this time strong enough to drive him to his feet. His chair scoots back several inches across the floor, and he looms above me. So tall, so powerful. So beautiful. “While you are a guest in Mythanar,” he says coldly, “you will be under my protection. You can take that for whatever you deem it worth, but I intend it for your peace of mind.”

I want to tell him that I’ll keep his intentions in mind the next time I’m being dragged up a scaffold. Instead, I lower my eyelids in a slow blink of acknowledgement. When I look up at him again, I say only, “Is that what I am then? Your guest?”

“You are certainly not mywife.”

Of everything he’s said to me, this strikes the hardest. The whole room seems to rock. Nausea whirls in my head, and my stomach pitches. But I won’t let it show. I won’t. I lift my chin, draw a firm breath. “In the eyes of my people, I am. By the will of the gods and of Gavarian law, I am your wife and therefore deserve all the rights of a wife.”

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