Page 93 of Bound to the Shadow Queen
“Archmage Isren, thank you for coming so quickly,” Draven said, and I heard the undercurrent of sarcasm in his tone.
He was still angry that it had taken so long.
Isren humbly nodded his head, either not understanding the unspoken admonition or not caring.
“Of course, Your Majesties,” he said smoothly. “And may I say that it is a relief to be meeting you under your roof, this time, where I won’t find any of my pupils dead in the inner sanctum.”
A muscle feathered in Draven’s jaw as he pulled out my chair.
“Trust me when I tell you I share that relief. And that it’s much easier when you can rely on your own staff to remove the waste afterward.”
If I expected the tension to grow, it didn’t. Instead, Isren chuckled once again.
“Can I offer you tea this time?” I asked, surprising myself when a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Draven stiffened at my side, and I abruptly realized it was the first time I had attempted to host anyone in the palace—and in his rooms, no less.
I had no idea how he even summoned servants, let alone tea.
“And by I,” I amended, “I mean Draven.”
Isren let out a deep chuckle. “I certainly would not say no to that.”
Draven tugged on a small ribbon near the door, and a faint pulse of faelight shimmered above it.
Moments later, three steaming mugs were set on the table, leaving the scent of spiced leaves curling in the air. Once the servants had gone, the Archmage turned his attention to me.
I wrapped my fingers around the mug, more to ground myself than anything else, and tried not to fidget under Isren’s calm, measured gaze.
“As always,” he began, voice low, almost warning, “I remind you that it is your choice whether we investigate further into your mana.”
Batty squirmed against my wrist as if to offer a small measure of comfort. I ran a finger over her tiny head before responding.
“You’re big on choices,” I said, flatly, “considering who chose you.”
His brows rose.
“The Shard Mother?” I added. “She just…doesn’t seem to believe in them.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
I gestured vaguely to myself and Draven. “The chosen bride thing. The chosen Visionary. All of it.”
“Ah,” he said, taking a sip from his tea. “But it was the Winter fae who enslaved the line of Visionaries to the fate they endure now. Before that, the choice was indeed a blessing, and was possible to decline.”
“And us?” I pressed.
“It was the enslaved Visionary who was forced to impart that foreknowledge, bound by her vow to Winter, was it not? If you had met under other circumstances, would you have felt quiteso shackled to your vow? Or might you have progressed there naturally?”
I stopped just short of laughing outright. Draven’s face flashed in my mind—the perfect, infuriating symmetry of it, the weight of his protectiveness that I had resented even as it shielded me. Would it have been true without the vow? Would I have come to appreciate him, to… want him all the same? The thought hit unexpectedly hard, like pressing on a bruise I didn’t know I had gotten.
I’d only ever thought about how to escape him, never what it would mean if I hadn’t been bound at all.
“I…no.” My voice shook, though I tried to layer it in steel. “Without all the complications we have, if the vows hadn’t been compelling our attraction every shards-damned minute of the day, it would have been impossible.”
Isren coughed on what I was quite certain was a laugh. “I am not aware of any vow, nor bond, that compels attraction, My Queen. Even a soul bond is only the manifestation of what already exists. Contrary to the very understandable beliefs you have formed from your regrettable experiences, the Shard Mother cares very much about both choices and consent. I rather think that a forced attraction would achieve the opposite results.”
Silence stretched, thick and awkward. I fixed my eyes on the crystal-littered desk, anything but Draven, while I tried and failed not to think about all the times my body had craved his with a visceral, unrelenting longing—and how convenient it had been to blame it all on the bond.
