CHAPTER 11

Elowen descended the stairs from the mage tower, but the tower did not loosen its hold on him. The mark inside Theon’s glass sphere, the jagged symbol formed from ancient curse work, lingered in his mind like an unwelcome memory.

He had seen that mark once before. It had been carved into a stone arch in the eastern wildlands, a place the elders refused to discuss. They whispered that the arch belonged to a forgotten age when magic shaped souls instead of guiding them. No shifter ever lingered there for long.

Now, the same symbol had appeared inside the assassin who had tried to kill the king.

Elowen walked the palace corridors without purpose. The halls blurred around him. Nobles avoided his gaze, guards bowed stiffly, while the servants looked at him the way small animals looked at fire, with fascination edged in fear.

He should have felt satisfaction. Once, he would have. But everything about this place unsettled him in ways he had not expected.

A voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

“Elowen.”

He turned.

Corvin stood near a carved pillar, watching him with a stare that felt too sharp for comfort. Something in the king had shifted since the tower. Determination burned behind his pale eyes, along with something he had not yet allowed a name.

“You left quickly,” Corvin said.

“I needed air,” Elowen replied.

Corvin approached with measured steps. “Then breathe.”

Elowen studied him carefully. “You do not control how I breathe.”

“No,” Corvin said, “but I control what hunts you inside these walls.”

Heat flared inside Elowen’s chest. “You hunt for your throne, not for me.”

“Both can be true.”

That answer unsettled him more than the tower had.

Corvin moved closer. “What did you recognize in that sphere?”

“Nothing you need,” Elowen said sharply.

Corvin’s gaze hardened. “Do not treat me like a man who cannot see truth.”

“I am protecting myself,” Elowen said softly.

“From what?”

Elowen looked away. “From what happens if you start to understand me.”

Corvin’s voice lowered. “I understand more than you think.”

Elowen gave a soft laugh that did not reach his eyes. “You understand what you see. That is not the same.”

Silence stretched between them until Corvin broke it.

“You do not walk alone today.”

Elowen raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Someone inside my palace used forbidden magic. Whoever it is feels safe here. That means they may strike again. And you are inconvenient for them. You saw their work, protected me, and you shifted too quickly for their liking. That makes you a threat.”

Elowen leaned against the pillar. “Let them try.”

“They will,” Corvin said. “That is why you stay near me.”

Elowen hesitated. “If you order it, then I must.”

“I am not ordering. I am simply asking.”

Requests carried a weight commands never did.

Elowen took a slow breath. “I will stay.”

Corvin nodded as if he had expected no other answer.

Court resumed in the afternoon, bringing tension instead of clarity. The nobles entered the hall with pale faces and careful steps. Fear lingered in the air like smoke. The assassination attempt had cracked whatever sense of security they had once possessed.

Elowen stood beside Corvin on the dais. Every eye found him, and every expression held suspicion or thinly veiled contempt.

Corvin began the session. His voice carried with effortless authority.

As usual, there were property disputes, trade disagreements, and boundary quarrels.

Yet beneath each petition lay the same fear. No one said it aloud, but every noble wondered who among them had dared attack their king.

Halfway through the session, General Tavris approached the dais and bowed.

“Your Majesty. We completed the identification of the assassin.”

Corvin leaned forward. “Explain.”

Tavris spoke clearly. “After the incident, my men retrieved the assassin’s body and compared his features to palace service records. He had been working in the outer guard rotation for three weeks. He was a recent hire. His paperwork was approved through the lower offices, but the process was unusually fast.”

Elowen frowned. “Someone smuggled him into your ranks.”

“Yes,” Tavris said. “Once we confirmed his identity, we searched his residence.”

Corvin’s voice sharpened. “What did you find?”

“Nothing,” Tavris replied. “Absolutely nothing. There were no clothing, letters, or even personal items. The furniture inside was placed there recently. There were footprints on the floor, but none belonged to him. The house was prepared for a man who did not exist.”

Elowen stiffened. “This was a clean burial of a false identity. That is not the work of one person.”

“No,” Tavris said. “This was organized. Someone inside the palace planted him, gave him papers, erased his life, and cleared his trail in advance.”

The hall grew colder.

Corvin sat very still. “Someone believes they can attack me from inside these walls.”

Elowen murmured, “And they believe you will never see them.”

Corvin’s reply was quiet but edged with steel. “They are wrong.”

He dismissed Tavris with a command to double guard rotations. The nobles whispered anxiously among themselves. Every shadow in the hall seemed heavier.

When the final petitioner left, Corvin stood. “Walk with me.”

Elowen followed him through the palace gardens, where the setting sun painted the leaves in gold and amber. The evening air felt cooler and steadier here.

Corvin stopped near a wide fountain. The water reflected the sky in soft ripples.

“When the mage said the old magic reacted to your lineage,” Corvin said. “What did he mean by that?”

Elowen looked away from him. “My people carry old bloodlines. Some tribes have magic that behaves differently. Our power wakes quickly. It does not rest. It senses danger faster.”

“And the mark beneath your magic?” Corvin asked.

Elowen’s heart tightened. “A birthmark.”

Corvin shook his head. “It was shaped like a seal.”

“It is a heritage mark,” Elowen insisted. “That is all.”

Corvin stepped closer. “Your answers are incomplete.”

Elowen turned sharply. “And your questions reach where they do not belong.”

Corvin studied him in silence. “If someone revived old curse magic, then your past may connect to this threat.”

“My past is mine,” Elowen said. “Leave it there.”

“You cannot expect me to ignore it,” Corvin replied. “Not when this magic is moving inside my palace.”

Elowen closed his eyes briefly. “My people did not cast that spell.”

“I never said they did.”

“You thought it.”

Corvin stepped closer. “I am thinking of every possibility. I do not want you harmed by whatever is rising.”

Elowen blinked. “What?”

Corvin’s voice softened. “Danger is moving in this palace. You are standing in the path of it. Whether by fate or design, I do not know. But I will not allow something to strike at you unchecked.”

Elowen stared at him, stunned. “You would put protection on me?”

“Yes,” Corvin said.

Elowen laughed under his breath. “You cannot protect me from myself.”

“I intend to try.”

Elowen looked away, heat rising under his skin. He did not want that warmth. He did not ask for it. But it found him anyway.

He sensed movement before he saw it.

A shadow near the garden’s archway stood still watching.

Elowen’s body reacted. He grabbed Corvin’s arm and pulled him behind a pillar. Corvin drew his sword instantly.

A figure stood at the arch, face hidden beneath a hood.

Elowen inhaled.

The air smelt of burnt herbs, and metallic dust. The same scent from the scorched storage room.

Corvin whispered, “The trail.”

“Yes.”

The figure turned and fled.

Corvin sprinted after them.

Elowen followed, boots striking the stone path in smooth rhythm. They moved through the archway into a dim corridor. Footsteps echoed ahead, frantic and sharp.

The figure darted toward the servants’ passage.

Elowen pushed harder, closing the distance. He could shift, but the corridors were narrow and filled with guards. A fox would cause panic. So he ran as a man, faster than any human could hope to be.

He lunged, grabbed the edge of the fleeing cloak, and yanked.

The fabric tore free. The hood fell back for a heartbeat.

He met burning white eyes that were unlike any human or shifter.

Before Elowen could seize him, the figure threw a handful of powder at the ground. Dark light burst outward.

Corvin swung his sword, but the figure slipped into a side passage and disappeared.

Elowen coughed as the powder settled.

Corvin reached him. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Yes,” Elowen said. “And it was wrong.”

“Magic?” Corvin asked.

“Yes,” Elowen answered. “But something more. It was not alive.”

Corvin glanced down the corridor. “He was watching us.”

Elowen nodded. “He wanted to see how close we stand.”

Corvin turned back to him. “Then let him watch.”

The words struck deeper than they should have.

Corvin stepped closer until only a breath remained between them. His gaze did not waver.

“Let everyone see that I protect what I choose,” Corvin said. “And you are chosen Elowen.”

Elowen’s breath caught. There was no misunderstanding in the king’s voice. No ambiguity.

Danger curled inside his chest, warm and sharp.

He did not step back this time.

The corridor held its breath all around them. Something had shifted permanently, and the court would notice.