35. Farrow

The Donnellean army arrived two days later. In all actuality, it was fairly anticlimactic.

Far Shore soldiers waited at the city limits for them, lining the roadways to provide a royal escort for such honored guests that led their commander straight to the castle’s entrance.

Urban Bjorn, leader of the Donnelly troops, looked puzzled and suspicious as hell, glancing around him as if he expected an attack any moment even as he strode forward to meet me, where I stood awaiting his arrival at the door to the throne room. When he recognized who I was, his scowl grew.

“You!” he boomed as he grabbed the front of my tunic and yanked me against him so he could snarl directly into my face. “This whole mess is your fault?” He shook me harshly, rattling my teeth. “You fucking punk. I should’ve let Brentley execute you that night Nicolette begged me to save your miserable life.”

“Be that as it may,” I offered mildly. “What’s done is done, so…” I lifted a bored eyebrow. “If you’ll kindly release