CHAPTER 5

The ceremonial procession formed like a storm gathering shape.

The petitioners had dispersed, the nobles had reassembled in glittering clusters, and servants rushed through the hall lighting the tall gold-banded candles that marked the start of the monthly Oath Renewal, an old Valdran ritual meant to remind the court whom they served.

Corvin disliked ceremony, anyone could see that. But he endured it with the same calm he used for war: steady, unflinching, impossible to read.

Elowen, standing at his side like a shadow woven from silk and defiance, endured it too.

The nobles’ stares speared into him like thorns.

“How dare he stand there?”

“Corvin has lost his mind.”

“A shifter in court, shameful.”

Elowen smiled at all of them sweetly. Let them choke on it.

His fingers curled around the hidden crest coin in his pocket, the smooth, cold metal burning a warning against his skin.

Strike soon.

He watches.

But who “he” meant, Elowen didn’t know, and that was the part crawling under his ribs. His people would never risk an unsecured message inside the palace.

Unless they were desperate. Or unless someone else had sent it.

Theon, perhaps? Tavris? The queen dowager? Another hand at play?

The hall vibrated with whispers as the ritual began.

A long table of ceremonial banners unfurled down the center aisle. A priest in dark robes lifted a silver bowl filled with burning herbs that smelled sharp and bitter.

“The kingdom is fire,” he intoned.

“Fire,” the court echoed.

“The king is its shield.”

“Shield.”

“Loyalty is the blood that binds stone and sky.”

“Loyalty.”

Elowen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Human rituals had a flair for the dramatic.

Corvin stood with one palm resting lightly on the hilt of his sword: not tense, not relaxed, simply ready. His jet-black hair fell in loose waves now, the lamplight catching along its edges like dark glass. He looked carved from calm fury.

The priest lifted the bowl over his head.

“Let all swear their fealty before the throne.”

A flicker of movement.

Elowen caught it first. A shadow on the upper balcony. No, not a shadow, a person. Then a bow raised, braided string pulled tight, a glint of steel arrowhead catching the candlelight.

Time slowed.

Elowen inhaled sharply. “Corvin,” he breathed.

Corvin didn’t move. 

The archer released the bowstring.

The arrow streaked toward the dais, straight at the king’s heart.

Elowen shoved him.

It was like instinct, speed, muscle memory. His body slammed into Corvin’s with enough force to break human bones, twisting him aside.

The arrow tore through the air where Corvin’s chest had been and splintered against the stone pillar with a shriek.

The hall erupted.

Loud screams erupted, guards shouting, steel ringing.

“Elowen!” Corvin snarled, hands catching him by the shoulders as they staggered back.

But the threat wasn’t gone.

The archer reached for another arrow.

Elowen didn’t think or breathe.

He shifted instantly. The world snapped into sharp colors: the red of banners, the pale of candle smoke, the black of Corvin’s cloak, the burning gold of danger.

He was a fox. He bolted across the dais and leaped onto the high steps, claws skittering on polished stone. The archer nocked a second arrow, but Elowen was too fast, a streak of fur and fury.

He leaped and sank his teeth into the archer’s wrist.

The bow clattered to the floor. The man screamed, stumbling back, and Elowen released just in time to avoid the desperate kick aimed at his ribs. He twisted midair, landing on the balcony rail with fox light grace.

Below, the room roared. Guards swarmed, the nobles hid behind pillars. Corvin barked an order that silenced half the panic.

“Alive!” Corvin shouted to Tavris. “Take him alive!”

The archer tried to run.

Elowen jumped down after him, shifting mid-fall, fur melting into skin, paws stretching into hands as bones rearranged. He hit the floor in human form, rolling, ignoring the burn of scraped skin.

He lunged, catching the archer’s cloak and jerking him backward. The man swung a dagger wildly.

Elowen ducked.

Steel grazed his cheek in a hot line.

He slammed the man’s wrist against the stone. Once. Twice. The dagger clattered.

The archer snarled like an animal, and his eyes flashed gold.

Elowen froze.

Shifter?

No, not quite. There was no scent of fox, wolf, or hawk. No wild-born instincts. Something was wrong with those eyes; they looked artificial, glowing with a magic that didn’t belong to living things.

Elowen grabbed the man’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“What are you?” he hissed.

The man’s pupils dilated. His hands spasmed. His mouth opened as if to speak, but only a choking sound came out.

And then he went still.

Dead still.

Elowen jerked back.

Behind him, Corvin descended the stairs, fury sheathed in tight, controlled movements. The guards parted for him like water around a blade.

“Is he alive?” Corvin demanded.

Elowen shook his head slowly. “He died before telling me anything.”

Corvin’s jaw clenched. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Elowen snapped, insulted. “He died on his own. As if he swallowed poison, or someone forced him to.”

Corvin crouched beside the body, pale eyes narrowing at the gold tint still fading from the man’s irises.

Theon pushed through the crowd, robes fluttering. He knelt, pressing his hand to the corpse’s brow.

Then he recoiled.

“What is it?” Corvin asked.

Theon swallowed. “Sire… this man does not have a natural soul.”

The hall grew deathly quiet.

Elowen’s skin crawled. “That’s not possible.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Theon whispered. “But something puppet-like resides in him. Something directed. Something… crafted.”

A murmur rippled through the nobles.

Corvin rose to his full height, the fury in him sharpening into something cold and focused.

“Search the palace,” he commanded. “Every level. Every passage. No one leaves until we know who orchestrated this.”

Tavris saluted sharply. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Guards scattered.

Corvin turned to Elowen.

His expression was unreadable.

“You shifted fast,” he said quietly. “And you moved faster.”

Elowen shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“You shoved me out of the path of an arrow,” Corvin continued.

“Yes.”

“You saved my life.”

Elowen held his gaze. “Don’t get sentimental about it. It was instinct, nothing more.”

Corvin stepped closer. Close enough that Elowen could see the faint flecks of silver in his pale eyes, the tension in his jaw, the heat of breath ghosting over his cheek.

A warning, heat, and danger all flickered through Corvin’s gaze.

“You will sleep in my chamber tonight.”

Elowen raised an eyebrow. “Is that for protection or convenience?”

Corvin didn’t blink.

“Both.”

A spark shot down Elowen’s spine.

Before he could answer, the queen dowager swept toward them, eyes blazing.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Who dared aim at the king?”

Corvin didn’t look at her. “A coward hiding behind magic.”

Serina’s gaze darted to Elowen, taking in the half-healed scratch along his cheek, the shirt torn from the fall, the bare feet that left no prints.

“And you let him near the assassin?”

“He got there first,” Corvin said.

Serina’s stare sharpened to ice. “And why, exactly, would a shifter care whether you lived?”

Elowen smiled, unbothered. “Maybe I wanted to kill him myself.”

Corvin huffed a sharp breath. Something like a laugh, but not quite.

Serina did not find it amusing. “This is a mistake, Corvin. Keep him close, and you will lose what little control you have left.”

Corvin stepped between them, not protectively, but decisively.

“I do not lose control,” he said.

Elowen tilted his head. “That so? Because from where I’m standing, you look a little shaken.”

Serina inhaled in outrage.

“Elowen,” Corvin said quietly, “enough.”

The command slid under Elowen’s skin like a warm blade. It wasn't magic-enforced or cruel; it was just final.

He fell silent despite himself.

Corvin turned to Serina. “I’ll interrogate my fox later.”

Elowen sputtered. “Your...?”

Corvin ignored him completely.

“Mother,” he said, “leave this to me.”

Serina glared. “You cannot trust him.”

Corvin’s reply was almost gentle.

“I don’t.”

Their eyes locked; queen dowager and king, two storms meeting.

Then Serina turned sharply and swept away, fury trailing like a cloak.

Corvin exhaled long and slow.

Elowen observed him. “She hates me.”

“She hates anything she didn’t choose,” Corvin said.

He reached out.

Elowen didn’t move as Corvin’s gloved fingertip brushed the scratch on his cheek, tracing it once slowly.

“You bleed,” Corvin murmured.

“I also breathe, shift, and insult people. Want me to demonstrate?”

Corvin’s lips curved into something like a genuine smile.

“No,” he said. “I want you to follow me.”

Elowen arched a brow. “Where?”

Corvin’s fingers curled around the collar at his throat, anchoring him.

“My rooms,” he said. “Now.”

Elowen’s breath caught.

It was not fear. It was not anticipation.

It was something far more dangerous.

He swallowed.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “Lead the way.”

Corvin did.

And Elowen followed, not because he had to, but because he wanted to see what the king looked like behind a locked door, when the arrows had stopped flying and the world had narrowed again to just the two of them.