Page 28 of Shattered Crown

Lady Evangeline made a small sound—approval disguised as a cough. King Thomas's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the throne's armrests.

“Fine words,” the king said flatly. “But words are wind. Actions will prove whether you've truly learned your place.”

Silas played his part flawlessly.

Inside, he seethed. Through their bond, he felt Thorne's rage at every honeyed lie, but also pride in his performance. The game required sacrifice, and Silas had learned to pay its price.

“Clear the room,” King Thomas commanded when the public spectacle concluded. “I would speak with my son privately.”

The courtiers filed out reluctantly, denied the drama's climax. When the great doors closed, leaving them alone save for the king's personal guard, Thomas's mask dropped entirely.

“I know what you've become to that creature,” he stated flatly. “End it now, or I will end him.”

“Father—”

“No.” The king's voice cracked like a whip. “You will listen. I have three legions positioned around the Eldergrove. Mages who've found ways to breach its defenses. Weapons you can't imagine. One word from me, and your precious forest burns.”

Silas kept his expression neutral through sheer force of will. “You would risk war with powers you don't understand?”

“I understand perfectly. Magic is a resource, nothing more. And resources exist to be controlled.” Thomas leaned forward. “You have one week to sever your connection to that thing. Return to your proper place. Or watch everything you've come to love turn to ash.”

Through their bond, Silas felt Thorne's fury like distant thunder. But he maintained his facade, bowing his head as if in thought.

“Your wisdom guides me, Father,” he said, the words ash in his mouth. “I will... consider deeply what you've said.”

“See that you do. Dismissed.”

As Silas walked from the throne room, back straight and steps measured, he memorized every detail of his father's threats. The game had indeed begun, but it was far more deadly than even he had anticipated.

7

GILDED CAGE

The capital of Highcrest sprawled before Thorne like a creature of stone and spite, its spires clawing at the sky while smoke coiled between buildings like dying serpents. After centuries among ancient trees and starlit glades, this human hive felt alien, almost hostile. Each breath drew in air heavy with forge-smoke and unwashed bodies, a far cry from the clean scent of pine and morning dew he knew.

“This way,” Elena whispered, guiding him through an alley where puddles reflected slivers of gray sky. “Keep your hood up. The glamour's good, but we can't risk someone looking too closely.”

Thorne pulled the rough wool tighter around his face, fighting the disorientation that came with walking on cobblestones instead of forest loam. His boots, made for soft earth and moss, clicked against stone with sounds that felt wrong, unnatural. Through their bond, he sensed Silas's carefully controlled anxiety, and something in him twisted. The need to reach his lover, to ensure his safety, pulsed through him with an intensity that surprised even himself.

“Almost there,” Elena promised, turning down yet another narrow passage where laundry lines criss-crossed overhead like trapped clouds. “My family's maintained this safe house for generations.”

The townhouse slouched between its neighbors, windows boarded with planks that had weathered to silver-gray. Ivy crawled up its walls in patterns that looked random to untrained eyes but spelled out protective runes in the old tongue. As they crossed the threshold, Thorne felt ancient wards recognize him, their magic humming a welcome beneath layers of carefully cultivated neglect.

“The basement,” Elena said, leading him down stairs worn smooth by countless feet. “We saved what we could.”

The sight that greeted him nearly brought Thorne to his knees. A garden, small but fiercely alive, grew around an ancient oak whose branches spread against the low ceiling like arms reaching for sky. Luminous mushrooms dotted the base of the trunk, and night-blooming flowers opened despite the lack of natural light.

“Brother,” Thorne whispered, stumbling forward to press his palms against bark that felt warm, almost pulse-like. Power flowed into him, weak but pure, like water to a man dying of thirst.

“Will it be enough?” Briar asked, her small form materializing from his shadow. She'd insisted on accompanying him, claiming someone needed to ensure he didn't do anything stupid for love.

“It has to be.” Thorne sank to the ground, roots curling up to cradle him like old friends. Through the tree's connection to older magics, he could sense the layout of the city, including the palace where Silas navigated his dangerous game.

But reaching him directly proved frustratingly impossible. Iron barriers and human wards created a maze that scattered his magical senses. Thorne pushed harder, feeling his form flicker dangerously. The need to reach Silas burned in him with unusual intensity, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if their bond was amplifying his protective instincts beyond reason.

“Stop,” Elena commanded. “You'll draw the king's mages. They patrol constantly for unauthorized magic, especially now.”

“I need to reach him,” Thorne said, his voice rougher than intended. The words came out almost desperate, and he noticed Elena and Briar exchange concerned glances.

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