Page 146 of Enchanted Heir
He was gone faster than we could keep up with.
Once the king was down several hallways with us following but maintaining a distance, Owen whispered, “He will punish me, Jorah. Prepare yourself.”
“Punish?”I choked on a whisper. “He’s taking us to the throne room, not the mountain.”
“It doesn’t matter the location.” Owen’s eyes went to mine as he stilled for only a moment. “And please know I’ll say whatever the hell I have to so you don’t have the same fate. You’renotalone.”
* * *
Disregardingthe fact I was utterly terrified, the throne room was breathtaking. The ceilings in the room so tall, I was sure they reached as high as the mountain peak. The far wall was intricately carved with wood, browns and silver weaved throughout the most beautiful pattern I had ever seen. I absently wondered how many years that wall had taken to make.
And then in the center of the room sat the Wylan throne. Two silver W’s were carved into each armrest of the chair in such a way it looked like two V’s joined together, reminding everyone of the two Valanova heirs. The seat itself was royal blue with some sort of pattern in it, and the chair looked to be made entirely of silver, so shiny there was no mistaking it. The back was so high, you truly couldn’t miss it. And the legs of the chair were thicker than I had ever seen before in my life. It was so much more than a mere chair. It was a symbol of power, a throne. A throne the king had used to reign with cruelty.
Behind the first chair were two smaller versions of the same thing. One for Keir, one for Krew.
Windows lined the west side of the room, dozens of them. I wanted to rush to each one and see exactly where we were in this massive castle, but I was not here for fun.
It didn’t help there was only the chandelier above the throne area for light, the rest of the room rapidly growing dark around us.
The rest of the walk to the throne room, I had foolishly hoped we were just getting interviewed. The king would hear our side of the story and we would be dismissed to go back to Krew. But upon entering this massive room sprinkled with upper balconies and windows longer than I was tall, I found we were alone. Or almost alone. The king was surely here somewhere. The king and us.
I found it just as horrifying this time around, maybe more so now, to be alone with the king.
There was a clacking noise of two footsteps behind us signaling that the king was here and was not up front where we expected him to be, and I heard a slight swishing noise followed by a smack.
Owen gasped out in pain.
A whip.
The king hadn’t said a word, just gone straight for it.
“You left my son in Nerede alone,” our cruel king spit out.
Owen moved to turn around to face the king, but the king commanded, “Stay just as you are. Facing my throne.”
“He ordered me to bring Jorah back to the castle, Your Grace,” Owen said tightly over his shoulder, and I could tell by the veins in his neck and the magic in his palms and forearms how much pain he was in. How ready to fight back he was.
I heard the flicking noise again and before I could think to do a thing to stop it, it had slapped Owen in the back again. “Next time, you protect my son. He is your prince. He is more important to Wylan than whatever consort at his side.”
Owen explained, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I tried to reason with him. I tried to stay. But Prince Krewan was adamant I get Jorah to safety instead. He ordered me to do it.”
I had no idea how he was speaking normally, let alone still standing. I was sure I’d be in a heap on the floor by now.
That quick little swish was the only sign of what was coming, the smack of flesh being hit a split second later.
“Stop!” I begged and spun around. I was not going to stand here, in shock or not, and let Owen take a fourth lashing. “Haven’t we all lived through enough hell for one day?”
“You!” the king spit. “Don’t get me started on you. You weaken him. You almost got him killed.”
I felt the blood rush from my head. I had made the mistake of turning toward the king. I was now facing the king, and as he raised his wrist to use the whip, I knew I was next.
I didn’t know how Owen had stayed so stoic, how one could ever be prepared to take something so inhumane as a lashing. I winced and spun away as the swish of the whip curling toward me signaled that I was about to get hit.
But Owen sidestepped and was there, standing between me and the king, shielding me with his own back. He closed his eyes and took it for me. All but the very tip of the whip hit Owen. What did reach me sliced into the skin on my shoulder, making me cry out.
The doors to the throne room burst open, bright blue magic crawling across the ground toward Owen and I, while a gust of magic threw the whip out of the king’s hand.
“Enough!”
