CHAPTER 6

Corvin’s chambers shut out the noise of the palace the moment the doors closed behind them. The guards remained outside as ordered, their spears grounded and unmoving. Inside, the air felt heavier, as though the room itself understood what had just happened in the hall.

Elowen took stock of the space as he stepped farther in. The king’s rooms were larger than he expected, but not excessive. Dark hangings embroidered with silver softened deep stone walls. A wide bed rested against the far wall beneath a carved raven crest. A blackwood desk stood near tall windows, covered with maps, letters, and a few scattered daggers that seemed placed more out of habit than intention. A couch waited near the fireplace, which burned low and warm.

Corvin moved through the room with deliberate calm, unbuckling his sword belt and setting it on a stand. He glanced back at Elowen, who still stood near the center of the room.

“You will sleep here,” Corvin said. His voice carried no strain from the recent attack. It flowed with the same cool certainty he used when giving orders on the throne.

Elowen lifted an eyebrow. “In your bed?”

“On the couch.”

“That decision is less exciting.”

Corvin ignored the remark and approached the fire. Elowen followed and held out his hands to warm them. His body ached from the shift and from the fight. His cheek still stung where the dagger had grazed him. The message in his pocket pressed against his thigh with quiet insistence.

Corvin stood beside him. The firelight reflected faintly in his pale eyes and created subtle shadows along his jaw. He looked like someone carved from stone and set too close to the flame.

“You saw the assassin before anyone else,” Corvin said. He did not sound surprised. He sounded as if he had expected it.

Elowen glanced at him. “I have sharper eyes than your guards.”

“That is not an explanation.”

“I noticed the threat before anyone else. You were in the way.”

Corvin held his gaze. “In the way of what?”

“In the way of a very fast arrow,” Elowen replied.

Corvin studied him with a quiet intensity. “You pushed me with enough force to break my bones.”

“I did not have time to calculate the angle,” Elowen said. “You are fortunate I did not break anything important.”

“You acted without hesitation,” Corvin continued. “Your hands shook afterward.”

“They did not.”

“They did. You hid them in your sleeves, and you smelled of fear.”

Elowen straightened. “I am not afraid of blood.”

“I did not speak of blood,” Corvin said. “I spoke of fear.”

The silence that followed carried a different weight. It felt as if the air between them had thickened.

Elowen looked away first. “Your mage said the assassin had no natural soul. Is that common here?”

“No.”

“So someone inside your kingdom is crafting puppets,” Elowen said.

“Yes.”

Corvin returned his attention to the fire. His expression shifted only slightly, but Elowen saw the tension under his calm. The king did not like admitting uncertainty, not even to himself.

“And your Crown Sight gives you no answers?” Elowen asked.

“It should,” Corvin replied.

“That sounds like it does not.”

Corvin turned his head slowly. “The Sight is not a list of names. It gives me glimpses, and shows what might become real. It does not just hand me the truth.”

Elowen watched him carefully. The light caught in the king’s hair, turning the black strands almost blue at the edges.

“What do you see when you look at me?” Elowen asked.

Corvin’s answer came immediately. “Too little.”

Elowen felt that hit deeper than he expected. “You cannot read me at all.”

“I know when you lie,” Corvin said. “I know when you choose half truths. I can sense deception, but I cannot see your past or future. It is as if something inside you refuses to be caught.”

A flicker of satisfaction warmed Elowen’s chest. “Good. I would hate to be predictable.”

“You are not predictable,” Corvin said. “You are confusing.”

Elowen felt heat rise to his face before he could stop it. Corvin stepped closer. Their breaths mingled in the warm air near the fire.

“You bleed for me, save me, and insult me at every opportunity,” Corvin said. “You also hide messages in your pocket.”

Elowen’s fingers tightened over the coin through the fabric. “You do not know that.”

Corvin tilted his head. “You forget that I watch everything.”

“What do you want from me?” Elowen asked.

Corvin’s voice softened. “Truth.”

“I already told you,” Elowen replied. “I am here to complete a mission. I am here because the wildlands are tired of watching Valdris bleed them dry.”

“That is the reason you were sent,” Corvin said. “I asked what you want.”

The question unsettled something in Elowen. He met the king’s gaze anyway.

“I want my people to survive,” he said. “I want freedom that does not require kneeling, and a world that breathes without fear of your walls.”

“And beyond that?” Corvin asked again. “People want more than survival.”

Elowen had no answer for that, not one he could give.

Corvin finally stepped back and reached for a decanter on the mantle. He poured two glasses and offered one to Elowen. The amber liquid glowed in the firelight.

“It is safe,” Corvin said. “If I wished to poison you, you would not be standing.”

The honesty startled Elowen enough that he almost laughed. He took the glass and tasted the drink. Heat rolled down his throat. It tasted of honey darkened by fire and spice.

Corvin watched him drink. Elowen felt the attention like a hand pressed to his spine.

They stood together in the rare quiet. Corvin finally set his empty glass down.

“You should sleep,” the king said. “Your magic will falter if you push it without rest.”

“You care a great deal about your assassin’s health,” Elowen said.

“You are not my assassin,” Corvin replied. “At least not yet.”

That answer slipped under Elowen’s skin.

He moved to the couch and lowered himself onto it. The cushions were softer than any he had used in months. Corvin watched him with an unreadable expression, then walked to the bed and removed his boots. The room dimmed as he lowered the lamps.

The king lay down, but Elowen could feel his awareness stretching through the dark. The shifter closed his eyes and tried to let his body loosen. He felt the weight of the coin. He felt the echo of the king’s touch on his cheek.

Sleep eventually dragged him under.

Crown Sight did not wake Corvin gently. The moment the vision began, he felt the familiar pull at the back of his mind. His chest tightened as the world around him dissolved into a different space. He stood inside his throne room, although it looked more like a memory of the hall than the real thing.

Blood dripped down the raven banners. The torches burned low and cold. The air tasted like iron.

Elowen stood in the center of the hall. His shoulders were bare, and the gold sigils along his skin glowed faintly. Blood pooled around his feet, yet he seemed unaware of the red stains creeping up his legs.

Corvin stepped toward him. “Elowen.”

The word echoed strangely, as if the vision swallowed half the sound. Elowen did not respond.

A second figure formed behind him. The outline was blurred and difficult to place. The blade in its hand gleamed with something thicker than light.

Elowen finally heard a whisper of Corvin’s voice. He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood to the wrists. A quiet sound escaped him, something wounded and low.

The second figure raised the sword, and the banners bled faster.

“Choose,” a voice whispered into Corvin’s mind. It was the voice of the Sight, ancient and cold.

The hall collapsed.

Corvin woke with his breath trapped in his chest. His hand clenched the bedsheets. He forced himself upright, fighting the last shadows of the vision.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the dying fire.

Elowen slept on the couch, curled slightly on his side. Moonlight touched his face and softened his edges. Without his sharp smile, he looked younger, almost peaceful.

Corvin rose and crossed the room with quiet steps. He crouched beside the couch and studied the shifter. The scratch on Elowen’s cheek had darkened, yet he still looked composed. One hand rested near the coin in his pocket.

Corvin reached out, then hesitated. His fingers hovered above Elowen’s temple. He finally touched the shifter lightly. Elowen inhaled sharply but did not wake. His head tilted into the touch with instinctive trust.

Corvin whispered, “Do not force me to choose between you and the kingdom. I do not know what I would do.”

Elowen stirred faintly, but his eyes remained closed.

Corvin withdrew his hand and returned to his bed. He remained awake for the rest of the night, listening to the steady rhythm of Elowen’s breathing.

Morning would come soon, and whatever followed would change everything between them.