Page 24 of Vow of the Shadow King

I nod. Another shiver works its way down my spine. Then, setting my jaw, I start to sit up. Vor reacts at once, reaching out but not quite touching me. “Should you be doing that?”

My robe catches under my arm, pulling open across my chest. Hastily, I grab the fabric and draw it closed again, then adjust my legs under me on that pile of dusty blankets. “I’m fine,” I growl, even as the room tilts and my head spins. I plant a hand on the ground. My other hand still grips my crystal. I look down at it, almost to convince myself it’s really there. Thank the gods it wasn’t smashed to dust beneath the fallen stones.

Vor’s eyes are fixed upon me. I open my lashes, peer at him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Pain flashes in his soul, a sharp stab of guilt that makes me wince. He shakes his head, gets to his feet, and crosses the room to the door. It’s a relief if I’m honest. His emotions are too strong for me in this weakened state.

“I can hear them working on the other side,” he says after a long silence. His back is to me,lorstlight gleaming on the silvery strands of his hair. “They’ll break through to us soon. Hael will drive them hard until they do.”

I watch him, studying the set of his shoulders. Shame surrounds him like a cloud. He hates himself. Hates what he did to me. I wrap my arms around my stomach, drawing another careful breath. How am I supposed to feel about this man now that I know about the poison? He had me dragged to the chopping block, bowed over and facing that blue-lined box. He tore off my clothes, put his hands on me. These were such terrible, violent actions.

But were they truly committed by him? I saw that darkness. I felt how it enwrapped him, a separate, living identity. I felt the rage, the lust, the betrayal, the horror, all swirling around a core of pulsing, livingdespair.

I lift my chin, staring hard at his back. When I speak, I make certain my voice is calm and clear. “These tremors.”

His spine stiffens. His hands clench into fists.

I continue: “Are they why you need my father’s Miphates? Are they the danger you hinted at, Mythanar’s great threat?”

He does not answer at first. Finally, he lets out a huge breath, turns, looks at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

My brow puckers. “Why not?”

“You need not concern yourself with Mythanar anymore. I am sending you home. The moment they break through that door, I will give the order. You may carry word to your father that I have no further need of his Miphates. The alliance is off.”

A chill shivers in my gut. No. This cannot be. The alliancecannotbe off. Not after everything I’ve been through. My people are still suffering. They need Vor. They need the powerful trolde warriors. And besides . . . I study that cloud of emotion surrounding Vor, bowing his shoulders, threatening to crush him beneath the weight. He needs this too. He needs the hope this alliance offers. He needs it as badly as I do.

“And what if I do not want to leave?” I say softly.

“What?”

I rise. I’m a little unsteady, my knees buckling, my head swimming. But I brace myself, grip my crystal, and hold the Shadow King’s gaze. Then I approach him. One step. And another. He backs away, so I stop. Breathe. Then advance two steps more.

“I’m not ready to give up,” I say. “Not yet.”

His face is stone. But I feel the heat flaring through him. The confusion. The hope. And again, that painful longing. It’s real. It’s so real, he can’t hide it. Not even when he tries.

“You cannot be serious,” he says, his voice tight. “Not after everything . . . not after what I almost . . .”

I swallow hard, dust clogging my throat. “There’s still a chance, isn’t there?” The words are difficult to speak, but I force them out. “There’s still a chance for us?”

Vor looks away. Then, slowly, as though compelled by a force he cannot resist, his gaze meets mine. “If your father agrees to the new terms I’ve demanded . . . yes. Yes, the marriage could still go forward.”

“And what are those terms?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That he will send his Miphates now. At once. Before I lead troops to Gavaria.”

I nod. Let a slow breath out through my lips. “If my father agrees, you will take me as your bride?”

“No!” Vor quickly shakes his head, his hard expression breaking. He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Gods, no, Faraine. I wouldn’t ask that of you. I will find some other way for Mythanar.”

I know what he’s doing. I feel his guilt and shame trying to smother out every other feeling. Hastily, I take another step toward him, half-stumble on a bit of rubble, but quickly draw myself straight once more. “What if there is no other way?”

He looks at me, his expression agonized.

“Prince Ruvaen is sure to overrun Gavaria by summer’s end.” I continue. “If you send me home, I’ll only be murdered by the fae, just as my sisters were. Gavaria needs Mythanar even as Mythanar needs Gavaria.” I take another step, then another. There’s scarcely two paces between us now. I could reach out and touch him if I dared. “Which means . . . maybe you and I need each other too.”

The surge of feeling from Vor is so strong, I nearly draw back. It’s hot and red, longing and lust so intertwined they cannot be separated from one another. But when I look into his eyes, I don’t see the dark voids which had bored so viciously into my gaze. The poison gone. Only the man remains.

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