Page 92 of Bound to the Shadow Queen
By the timeWynnie woke up in the morning, I was already dressed for the day and in my study.
Instead of trying to force sleep to come, I had settled into the oppressive silence with my books and my skathryn and tried not to think about the ache in my chest.
My sister knocked once before coming into the room. She eyed me carefully until a small, frosty ball of fluff flitted in through the window.
“Wait… Can we use the windows now?” she asked cheerfully, her expression tugging toward something like hope.
I nodded once.
The ice thawing around the windows was the first thing I noticed last night as I stepped into my chambers.
Having the keys to my cage should have made me feel better, but instead, it just felt like Draven slipping further away.
Whatever my sister read in my features had her stepping closer.
Damn her for reading me so well.
“What happened last night, Evy?” she asked, her silver brows furrowing.
I shook my head, not willing to lie but not sure that I knew what to say just yet, either.
“We found my compendium,” I said, holding up the old leather journal.
She leaned a hip against my desk, crossing her arms over her chest.
Her expression made it clear she wasn’t going to let this go.
A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes burned, but before I was forced to evade another of my sister’s questions, Mirelda swept into the room.
“The Archmage has arrived earlier than expected, Your Majesty,” she said, setting the breakfast tray on the tea table by the window.
I clenched my fists, talons popping out of my nail beds.
Wynnie tracked the motion. She slid neatly between me and Mirelda, asking a string of questions to herd her toward the main sitting room.
Once the door clicked shut behind them, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.
My thoughts spiraled anyway.
Would he finally have a way to free my mana now that we planned to tell him the truth? Or would this just lead to another dead end—another failure?
Or worse, with the breaking of a bond I wasn’t sure I could regret anymore.
I shoved back from my desk. Wynnie didn’t push, not this time.
Draven was waiting for me on the other side of the door, all stoic composure. His clothing was pristine, his hair falling perfectly onto his brow. Only the faint shadows beneath his eyes betrayed he hadn’t slept any better than I had.
We briefly met each other’s gaze before Draven opened the door to his sitting room.
The space was as stark and imposing as the rest of his palace. Dark-paneled walls carved with subtle frost motifs, a low fire in the hearth doing little more than throwing long shadows across the room.
Silver-threaded drapes muffled the cold light from the windows, and heavy, fur-draped chairs stood like sentinels before a blackwood table polished with a mirror sheen.
Isren was already there, his grin widening as he took us in.
Like last time, he wore intricately embroidered robes, the gold and cobalt threads catching the light and contrasting against his umber skin.
His golden eyes crinkled when he smiled, warm and disarming, and utterly unlike every other mage I had ever met.
