CHAPTER 3

When Elowen woke, the king’s heartbeat was the first thing he heard.

It was a slow, steady human rhythm beneath stone walls and distant armour. Far too calm for a man who had dragged a shifter into his rooms and locked the world out.

He lay on a narrow couch by the balcony, a folded cloak thrown over his bare hips. It wasn’t his cloak. It was black, heavy, and lined with a faint trace of spice and smoke.

It had King Corvin’s scent.

Elowen turned his head.

The king sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, still in his dark shirt and trousers, cloakless now. Jet-black hair fell loose around his face, no longer braided into strict war-lines. He leaned over a table strewn with letters, one hand braced at his temple, the other resting on a dagger that lay idle but close.

Corvin’s pale eyes were open. They watched Elowen through lashes that could almost be considered pretty, if they had not belonged to a man who ordered deaths before breakfast.

“How long have you been awake?” Elowen asked.

Corvin didn’t startle. “Long enough to know you snore.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do when you’re exhausted.” Corvin set the letter down. “You changed shape twice in an hour. You won’t be doing that again without my permission.”

Elowen pushed the cloak aside and sat up slowly, completely aware of his nakedness, the chill on his skin, and the way Corvin’s gaze slid once over his chest before returning to his face.

“Your Majesty,” Elowen said sweetly, “you can’t control how I breathe or sleep. That is where I draw the line.”

Corvin’s mouth twitched. It was almost a smile. “No. But I can control what happens if you lie to me again.”

Elowen’s spine stiffened.

There it was. The reminder, the edge under the velvet.

“You mean about why I came here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A knock cut through the tension.

Corvin’s eyes narrowed at the door. “Enter.”

Two servants slipped in, nervous but composed, holding folded fabrics and a towel. Behind them walked a woman in her forties in a simple blue gown, posture straight as a spear. Her hair was scraped back into a severe knot. A faint scar traced the side of her neck.

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing. “You sent for an attire.”

“For him,” Corvin confirmed with a nod toward Elowen. “I am tired of half my staff fainting in the corridor.”

Elowen clutched the cloak dramatically to his chest. “And here I thought you liked the view.”

The woman’s brows slammed together so sharply they nearly met. The servants went red.

Corvin’s gaze sharpened without raising his voice.

“Marla will see to your bath,” he said. “You will be clothed appropriately before you enter my court.”

“Elaborate chains? A gilded muzzle?” Elowen asked lightly.

Corvin rose, the movement smooth, his shirt pulling over the line of his shoulders. “No. You will walk beside me, not behind. They need to see you clearly when they whisper.”

He stepped close enough that Elowen could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the small scar at his mouth, and the thin line of fatigue at the corner of his eyes.

“And you,” Corvin murmured, voice low, “need to see exactly where you are.”

His hand lifted. For a moment, Elowen thought he would touch his face. Instead, Corvin’s fingers closed around the collar at his throat, adjusting it by a fraction. Not tightening, simply arranging it properly.

Elowen’s breath hitched before he could help it.

The king felt it. His thumb brushed skin once.

Then he stepped back. “Marla.”

The woman snapped to attention. “Yes, sire.”

“Scrub him until he looks like he belongs in a palace,” Corvin said. “But don’t mark him. Any bruises I did not give him will be questioned.”

Heat shot into Elowen’s cheeks. “You didn’t give—”

The king was already turning away, cloak in hand. “Court begins in an hour. Try not to steal anything.”

The door shut behind him with infuriating calm.

Marla waited precisely three seconds before clapping her hands once. “You heard His Majesty,” she told the servants. “Water and soap. The good kind. Move!”

They moved.

Elowen watched, bemused, as steaming buckets were dragged in from the adjoining chamber and poured into a wooden tub. Scented steam rolled into the room, carrying notes of sandalwood and something sharper.

Marla turned back to him, arms crossed. Her gaze flicked over his bare chest and landed briefly on the faint golden markings curling along his left shoulder. The fox sigils etched into his skin at birth, usually hidden under fur.

Her nostrils flared.

“You’ll bring trouble,” she said frankly. “But the king has decided you will do it clean.”

Elowen gave a lazy smile. “I like you already.”

She did not smile. “In the tub, fox.”

He went in. The water was nearly too hot, stinging his skin. He sank in with a sigh he would never admit to making and let the heat soak into the ache left by the shifts and the net.

Marla scrubbed him with brisk efficiency, using a cloth and a block of soap that smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. Her hands were impersonal and steady, as if she were polishing a well-used weapon.

“You’ve served him long?” Elowen asked.

“Long enough to know what happens when he is ignored,” she said.

“And when he is disobeyed?”

Her grip tightened just slightly on the cloth. “You are still breathing. Count that as an answer.”

He watched her face. Lines around her mouth and eyes were not from laughter. They were the marks of things seen, swallowed, and endured.

“Has he ever brought a stranger into his rooms before?” Elowen asked.

Her eyes flashed to his face. “You think you are special?”

“I know I am special,” he said. “I just want to know if I am new.”

For a heartbeat, her lips twitched. It was the closest he had seen to amusement.

“He brings in maps,” she said. “Letters, war councils, not foxes.”

“What an empty life,” Elowen murmured.

“Careful,” Marla said quietly. “Sometimes he hears the things no one says.”

Elowen thought of Crown Sight and the bone-deep sense Corvin had for falsehood. He let the warning settle alongside the heat of the bath.

He wasn’t afraid, but he had not underestimated the king either.

When Marla was satisfied, she stepped back and nodded to the servants. They brought clothes made of fine silk.

Elowen arched a brow.

They brought in black trousers, fitted slim, a deep green shirt that would brighten his eyes, embroidered at the cuffs with thread that caught the light. A sleeveless black coat with gold detailing, cut to flatter a lean, lithe frame.

And boots of soft leather, with no laces to hide knives in.

He climbed out of the tub and let them dress him. Their fingers fumbled once at a button near his throat when one servant risked a glance at his face and got caught.

His curls, now damp and clean, fell in a copper-gold wave across his forehead. Marla stepped behind him without being asked and combed them back with a firm hand, tying it at the nape of his neck with a narrow strip of black cloth.

When they were done, she turned him toward the long mirror propped against the wall.

A stranger looked back.

Not wild, not half-starved from travel. A man of court: sleek, dangerous, shoulders relaxed, shirt open just enough at the throat to show the hint of sigils curling along his skin like a secret.

Elowen smiled at his own reflection. Slow and sly.

“Now I look like a scandal,” he said. “He will be thrilled.”

Marla’s gaze softened for the first time. “He will be prepared.”

She opened the door. “Come on, fox. Time to see how well you perform on a leash.”