Page 29 of Shattered Crown

“You will. But not like this.” She knelt beside him, studying his face with newfound worry. “The bond... it's affecting you more strongly here, isn't it? Away from your forest, in hostile territory?”

Thorne wanted to deny it, but honesty won out. “Everything feels... amplified. The need to protect him, to be near him. It's like a constant ache.”

“That's the bond responding to threat,” Elena explained gently. “In your forest, you're both safe. Here, with him in danger and you weakened, it's overcompensating. You need to recognize when it's the bond pushing you and when it's your own judgment.”

Elena's network proved more extensive than Thorne expected. Kitchen maids who maintained hidden shrines in pantry corners. Guards whose families remembered older oaths. Minor nobles who practiced guardian traditions behind closed doors.

“The king plans more than just attacking the Eldergrove,” whispered a servant girl as she brought them bread and cheese on the second morning. Her hands shook as she arranged the plates. “There's talk in the kitchens. Strange ingredients being gathered. Ritual components.”

“What kind of ritual?” Elena asked sharply.

The girl glanced nervously at Thorne. “Something about binding. Using the young lord's connection to...” She couldn't finish, but her meaning was clear.

Thorne's form rippled with rage, antlers threatening to manifest. The protective fury that surged through him felt almost foreign in its intensity.

“The bond,” Elena murmured after the girl left. “It's making you more volatile. More protective. We need to be careful.”

Thorne spent the afternoon wrestling with that truth. Each time Silas faced a challenge at court, every political maneuver his lover navigated, sent waves of protective fury through Thorne that he struggled to control. He could feel himself growing more possessive, more prone to action rather than thought. Meditation helped, but only marginally.

By evening, once he'd managed to center himself somewhat, Elena found him in the small garden. “Come,” she said softly. “There's something you need to see.”

She led him to a hidden chamber beneath the cabin, one that required careful navigation through warded passages. “Tonight's court gathering,” she explained as they descended narrow stairs. “The wards are weakest then. You can watch, though not interact.”

The image swam into focus: crystal chandeliers casting rainbow fragments across marble floors, nobles in silk and velvet moving through the elaborate steps of court dances. And there, at the center of it all, stood Silas.

Thorne's breath caught. His lover wore formal attire in deep blue that brought out his eyes, moving with practiced grace as he led a nobleman's daughter through a waltz. To any observer, his smile appeared genuine, his manner perfectly appropriate for a returned heir.

But Thorne saw what others missed: the slight tension in Silas's shoulders, the way his fingers brushed the crystal at his throat between dances, the micro-expressions of distaste when certain nobles approached.

“He's magnificent,” Elena murmured appreciatively.

Thorne's growl made her laugh. “Peace, guardian. I meant his performance. He's playing them all perfectly.”

Lady Evangeline appeared in the scrying mirror, resplendent in deep green silk. She and Silas exchanged what seemed like casual pleasantries, but Thorne caught the subtle hand signals, the loaded glances.

“She's been preparing for this,” Elena explained. “Gathering allies among the older houses. Those who remember when the relationship between humans and guardians wasn't about dominance.”

“I can't bear this,” he admitted finally. “Watching but not touching. Being so close yet completely separated.”

“Then don't just watch,” Briar suggested. “You're connected. Use it.”

Dangerous advice, but Thorne was past caution. He gathered his power, pushing against the palace wards, seeking the familiar resonance of their bond.

Pain lanced through him as human magic fought back. His form wavered, threatening to discorporate entirely. But there, a thread of warmth, of home...

Silas's chambers materialized around him, though Thorne himself remained partially transparent, more ghost than guardian. Silas whirled from where he'd been removing his formal jacket, eyes wide with shock and joy.

“Thorne!”

They reached for each other instinctively. The agony of their fingers passing through each other made them both gasp.

“I couldn't stay away,” Thorne confessed, drinking in the sight of his lover. “Are you well? Are they treating you?—”

“I'm fine,” Silas assured him quickly. “Playing my part. Gathering what we need.” His eyes devoured Thorne with equal hunger. “Gods, I miss you. Miss your touch, your scent, everything.”

“Soon,” Thorne promised, though he had no idea how to make it true. “What have you learned?”

“Father's planning something bigger than we thought. There are references in the archives to someone named Nathaniel Ashworth, exiled years ago. I think he might be?—”

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