Page 6 of The Bound Mage
Heat rushed to her cheeks, but Araya held her ground. “I wasn’t snooping. I need to talk to him. He can’t keep me here. Jaxon… he’s going to come for me. And when he does, people will get hurt.”
“You’re not the only one worried about that.” Thorne’s voice lost its humor, the weight of his words pulling it flat. “But people are going to get hurt no matter what. Loren just doesn’t want you to be one of them.”
“If Loren doesn’t want me to get hurt, he made a grave mistake stealing me out from under Jaxon’s nose.” Araya looked away, nails biting into her palms as she fought to steady her voice. “Are you here to escort me back to my cell?”
“I thought you might prefer a tour.” Thorne smiled, but his eyes stayed sharp. “So you don’t get lost the next time you sneak into Loren’s rooms.”
Her pride begged her to refuse. The words hovered on the tip of her tongue—but the truth locked them behind her teeth. Thorne was offering her something she couldn’t afford to turn down. If she wanted to escape, she needed to know where the doors were.
“Fine,” she said stiffly. “Lead the way.”
Chapter
Two
He shouldn’t have lefther alone.
Loren shifted in his seat, barely listening to the advisor as he droned on about rations and supply lines. This meeting was important—a dozen small fires ready to become infernos. But his mind was fixated on the stubborn, silver-eyed female back at Ithralis.
He’d spent every day since she’d stumbled into his room avoiding her. Eloria hadn’t said anything yet, but Thorne hadn’t bothered to hide his disapproval. Even Veria had finally snapped, chasing him out of the kitchens when he tried to inspect Araya’s breakfast tray to make sure she’d eaten enough.
The truth was, he didn’t dare go to her himself. Not when she hadn’t called for him. Not after he’d taken her against her will. Drugged her. Dragged her through the Veil and nearly killed them both. But when her nightmare hit just as they reached the cliffs it had taken everything he had not to turn and race back to her. Even now, he could feel the lingering echo of her terror pulsing in his chest like a second heartbeat.
If he had gone to her… would she even have looked at him? Or would she have turned away?
Eloria stepped on his foot—hard.
Loren hissed, jerking his foot away. He straightened in his chair, meeting the expectant stares of the advisors who had helped his sister run the fae government for the past twenty years—all of them waiting for him to respond to a question he hadn’t even heard.
“Apologies,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was…distracted.”
A chair creaked, a rustle moving through the room as several council members shifted in their seats, exchanging sidelong glances. Loren recognized many of them—veterans from his father’s council or peers from his own youth—but the prince they remembered had been a diplomat and a warrior, raised from birth to rule. Loren couldn’t help but wonder what they made of the broken prince that had returned to them?
The High Arbiter leaned back in his chair, studying Loren with sharp eyes. “I asked how long we’ll be keeping your return a secret?”
Loren frowned at the older fae—Maelor, maybe? He’d been part of his father’s Small Council too. Surely he’d known his name once? “As long as necessary.”
“That is not a real answer,” The High Luminary cut in, her voice cool. “Surely the people deserve to know their prince is free.”
Loren pressed his lips together. He didn’t feel free.
“His return could bring hope,” someone else argued. “With rations tightening and so many going hungry, it could be what we all need to brighten our spirits?—”
“Or spark chaos.” Eloria’s commander at arms said, his expression hard.“Unless we make it absolutely clear who holds the crown now.”
Silence stretched, thick with expectation as every member of the Small Council turned their attention to the head of the table—where Eloria and Loren sat side by side.
“That’s a fair question—” Eloria started.
“And an easy one to answer.” Loren cut her off, ignoring how she stiffened beside him. “Eloria is making the decisions.”
Not the answer she might have given. And not the one they had expected, judging from the startled glances exchanged around the table. But Loren wouldn’t have taken back, even if he could. Eloria had led them for more than twenty-years now. Years he’d spent locked in a cell, with only the shadows for company. They were better off with her.
“We’re still working out the details, Cormac,” Eloria said after a beat, smoothing over the uneasy silence. “I will continue to act as the voice of the fae monarchy—for now.”
“Very well, then,” the High Arbiter cleared his throat, his glance flicking down to the stack of papers in front of him. “I suppose we should hear from Eryn next then.”
Loren’s gaze slid to the male near the center of the table. Eloria’s spymaster looked like a clerk or a scribe—unassuming, forgettable by design. But every face at the table turned toward him expectantly, their silent deference that speaking volumes.
