Page 30 of The Bound Mage
He was right. She had to survive here long enough to make it back to the New Dominion. And she didn’t want to hurt anyone. But if she was going to give in she would claw something out of it for herself.
“If I agree to this I want something in return,” she said.
Loren’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Access to your archives,” she said. “Everything you have on mate bonds, the shadows and their relation to the royal bloodline—and all the records of your father’s death.”
“And what exactly do you plan to do with that information?”
“Research.” Araya lifted her chin, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “If you expect me to stay here and confront thisbond—I want to understand it. You and Eloria have both manipulated me, misrepresented it. Books won’t do that to me.”
Across from her, Loren looked…stricken. The strange connection between them stretched tight, heavy with something she didn’t understand. Even his shadows fell still, curling tight around his boots.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “Do you know where the library is?”
Araya hesitated. Thorne had breezed by the door during his tour, waving it off as the royal family’s personal collection. She’d been curious, of course, but she knew where she wasn’t welcome.
“I can find it,” she said.
“Tomorrow then.” Loren inclined his head, stiff and formal. “Sleep well,ael’sura.”
Chapter
Ten
Loren pacedbetween the long tables, his footfalls silent on the polished stone. The library hadn’t changed in twenty-five years, the ancient enchantments woven into its foundations allowing it to endure when everything else had crumbled to shadow and ruin. No dust, no damp—only the familiar perfume of ink and leather, and rows upon rows of towering shelves groaning beneath the weight of thousands of books.
The full history of the fae—boiled down to words on parchment.
He’d spent hours here as a child, pouring himself into his studies in an eager effort to earn his father’s praise. It had been his sanctuary, a place to prepare himself to wear the crown he’d been chosen for.
As he’d grown, he’d dreamed of bringing his mate here. Of showing her the quiet alcove where he liked to curl up and read, to share the knowledge he’d grown up with at his fingertips.
But not like this. Not when she’d negotiated access like she didn’t believe he’d share everything he had with her freely. Not when she didn’t trust him to tell her the truth.
It’s your fault. The shadows snapped at his heels.You locked her up.
Loren dragged a hand over his face. Hehadlocked her up. Because the moment she’d had the chance, she’d tried to run. Because she’d lost control of her power. Because she’d nearlydied. She’d agreed to meet him last night, but now…he glanced over at the table, where the tea service he’d asked Veria to bring sat untouched, the pot gone long cold despite the magic meant to keep it warm.
What if she’d changed her mind? What if she didn’t come?
Their shadows laughed, their mad whispers breaking into a hundred jagged pieces, scraping over him like knives.
“Enough,” Loren growled, slamming his hand down on the edge of the table, topping a few of the aged scrolls from their neat stacks.
To his shock, they obeyed—skittering up the walls like dark ivy to flicker and shift just beyond the reach of the weak sunlight that filtered through the high windows.
Shehad done that. Even now, her magic pulsed through him, twining with his own in a way that felt sorightthat Loren feared he might never feel whole without it again.
He threw himself down in one of the padded chairs, dragging a hand through his shorn hair. Cutting it had been the only way salvage what remained, the rest of it too matted and tangled for even magic to repair after twenty-five years spent rotting in his own filth. Loren stared down at his wrists, his gaze catching on the other lingering reminder of his captivity. The scars from the manacles had finally closed over and flattened, some of the lurid color fading—but he doubted they’d ever vanish completely. There was only so much magic could heal.
He turned his arm, tugging back his sleeve to study the shadowmark that still twisted up his forearm.Thatscar was as dark and vivid as the day he’d gotten it. Both Ilyana and Thorne had looked at it, but there was nothing that would heal it but time. A cold numbness radiated from the writhing marks thattwisted under his skin, a chill reminder of what he could expect whendara’elfinally tired of waiting for him to be the prince it wanted and decided to wipe the slate clean after all.
“Does it still hurt?”
Loren startled, his heart leaping in his chest as he shot to his feet.
Araya stood just inside the doorway, one hand braced lightly on the frame as if she wasn’t sure whether to fully step into the room or run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. She’d dressed plainly, her hair pulled back into her customary braid, a few stubborn wisps curling around her face. The shadow that had refused to leave her and rejoin the many curled around her ankles, watching him as carefully as she did.
