Page 5 of Vow of the Shadow King

I release a long, slow breath. Then, straightening my shoulders, I rise, turn from the waterfall, and retrace my steps along the path leading from the lake. The mothcats are strangely agitated today. They prattle in their singsong voices and sometimes emit harsh squawks and squeaks that send flurries ofolkdancing into the air. Something must have disturbed them. Hopefully not one of my ministers come to pester me with opinions or press for action. I can’t take much more of their—

I round a bend in the path. And stop dead in my tracks.

An apparition stands before me.

It must be an apparition. For it cannot be true. It simply cannot be.

Because Faraine is down in a holding cell. Under guard. Hidden away where she cannot distract me, where she cannot cloud my wits and reason as I search for a solution to the problem she’s created.

Which means she cannot be standing in front of me, beneath that arch of pale stone. Suffused in the purple light refracted off a blooming amethyst cluster. Gazing up at me from those strange, bi-colored eyes of hers. Eyes which blink slowly, long lashes fanning her cheeks as they fall and rise again.

“You,”I breathe. My lips curl back from my teeth.

As though moving of its own accord, my body lunges a single step. I don’t know what I will do. Catch her by the hair, drag her back to her cell? Press her to my chest so that I may feel her heartbeat against mine? Both needs, both desires, rise in my soul with equal and opposing intensity.

Before I can take a second step, however, she collapses to her hands and knees in the dirt.

Once again, I stop short. When she fell, the wide neckline of her gown slipped down one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her skin. Her tumbling golden hair catches thelorstlight, and I cannot help myself. All the blood drains from my face and rushes straight to my gut where it roils and burns.

With an effort, I master myself. “Rise, Princess,” I command. “Come, get to your feet.”

“I would. If I could.” A shudder races through her body. The muscles in her neck and shoulders tense as she rolls her head around and gazes up at me. Lines of intense pain frame her eyes. “Believe me, it gives me no pleasure, abasing myself before you.”

A streak of red stands out starkly against her pale flesh. It runs in a sluggish stream down her throat, dries across her bosom. I stare, not understanding what it is I see. Then in a terrible rush I remember:humans bleed red.

“Faraine!”

The next moment, I’m beside her, kneeling, gathering her in my arms. She resists, her hands pressed against my chest. Her arms shake in her efforts to push me away. But she’s weak. With a little moan, her eyes roll back, and her head lolls, affording me a clear view of the crimson gash just under her left ear. I touch trembling fingers against it, stare in horror at the blood seeping through. “Who did this to you?” I growl.

She cannot answer. When I pull her closer and rest her head against my shoulder, she merely moans. Her hair falls in soft waves across my breast, and when I look down, I can see only the curve of her cheek . . . and the much more expansive curve of her bared shoulder and bosom. It would be an alluring sight indeed were it not for that ugly red stain.

“Faraine?” My voice is rough in my own ears. “Faraine, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” She shivers. One hand reaches up, clutches the front of my tunic with desperate urgency. “You needn’t shout. I’m right here.”

That’s a lot of impertinence coming from someone whose throat has just been cut. Taking heart, I shift her in my arms so that I can tilt back her chin and get a closer view of the wound. Now that the first flush of panic has settled, I can see that it’s no more than a shallow graze. So why is she fainting in my arms?

She moans again and drops her head into the crook of my neck. “Let me go,” she breathes. One quivering hand rises, pushes against my chest, but without any force. “You’re hurting me.”

Hurting her? I force my arms to relax, but the moment I remove my support, she crumples to the ground in a boneless heap. Hastily, I catch her up again, my grip tight despite her agonized groan. Dark god spare me, what am I supposed to do? I can’t very well drop her in the path and leave her there.

A frustrated growl deep in my chest, I slip one arm under her knees, force her head back against my shoulder, and rise. She utters a little bleat, gripping the front of my shirt. “No! No, let me go!”

“Don’t struggle,” I say against her hair.

“I’ll struggle if I want to.” Her voice is fainter than before. “Please . . . please, don’t . . . send me back to . . .”

Her body goes suddenly limp.

My chest tightens as I gaze down at her face. Her mouth is slack, her lips parted, but her expression remains tense. A faint line puckers between her brows. Is she unconscious? I cannot tell. I must do something, must take her somewhere. Lifting my gaze, I search among the rock formations. “Is anyone there?” I shout. “Anyone?”

No answer. Only my own voice echoing among the blooming crystals.

With no other option, I march back along the path, muttering curses with every step. How in the Deeper Dark did Faraine manage to break out of her cell? And then to find her way here, of all places? It doesn’t make sense. As though dragged by an irresistible force, my gaze slides back down to the smooth white curve of her shoulder and breast. She’s tucked up under my chin now, so small, so delicate. How easily I might crush her in my arms. And yet everything about her is womanly, soft, and warm. The pleasure of simply holding her like this is more than I dare admit.

“Hael!” I wrench my gaze away and bellow across the garden to the south entrance. “Captain Hael! Gods damn it, where are you?”

At last, Hael appears in my line of sight, standing in the entrance arch. My captain of the guard looks uncertain, which is not normal for her. She’s usually so poised, but recent events have shaken her to the core. As they should. My own confidence in her is certainly not what it once was.

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