Page 64 of The Panther's Price

TWENTY-EIGHT

EVRYN

The walls of Umbraclaw Keep breathed shadow.

Not literally, not in the way living things did. But the stoneremembered. Every step she took down those vaulted, echoing halls, the ancient dark pressed closer—silent and watching.

Evryn followed Lucien through the towering entryway, her boots brushing the velvet runner that led to the inner court. The torches burned with violet flame, casting strange, shifting shadows. The ceilings arched so high they disappeared into smoke and spellbound gloom. And always, that chill in her chest. That hum of something ancient curling tighter around her bones.

This place wasn’t just built for royalty.

It was built forpower.

And it was hungry.

Lucien walked beside her, his expression carved from stone, but his hand never left the hilt of his blade.

They’d said yes to the meeting.

But neither of them had ever believed it would be safe.

A servant in a rust-red robe led them to the antechamber outside the throne hall. The Queen hadn’t arrived yet. Of courseshe hadn’t. She wanted them towait. To sit in silence while her presence settled like a curse in the air.

Evryn’s heart thudded with every breath. She wore no armor—only a traveling cloak and leather, her knives hidden at the small of her back and in the lining of her boots. Lucien had made her leave her shadowband behind. Said it might provoke something too soon.

Now, she wished she hadn’t listened.

“I hate waiting,” she murmured.

Lucien didn’t look at her. “That’s the point.”

Before she could respond, the doors at the far end opened.

But it wasn’t the Queen.

It was another servant—older, with gray-streaked braids and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“My lady,” the servant said with a slight bow, “Her Majesty asks that you refresh yourself in the guest wing while she speaks privately with her son.”

Evryn frowned, glancing toward Lucien immediately. Her instincts sharpened like drawn steel. The servant's voice was too smooth. Too rehearsed. Even her smile was wrong—too controlled, too expectant. It was a performance meant to put her at ease, and that was the most suspicious thing of all.

Lucien moved without hesitation, stepping forward, his voice sharp. “She stays with me.”

The servant didn’t flinch. She merely tilted her head with the patience of someone who knew her place in the game and wasn’t afraid to play it. “The Queen insists. She only wishes to speak mother to son.”

Evryn’s stomach twisted. The room felt heavier. Not with magic. Not yet.

But with intent.

She could feel it coiling just under the floorboards, rising from the stone like a scent only the blood-marked could sense. A quiet, creeping wrongness.

Her eyes flicked to Lucien—every line in his body a silent scream. He knew it, too.

“Evryn,” he said, and there was something different in his voice now. Something low and desperate. “Don’t.”

She hesitated.

The easy answer was no. Walk away. Stay beside the only person she trusted. But the truth was—this was exactly what she had come here to do.

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