The Forgotten Crown

Chapter Thirty-Four

Time slowed.

Calder latched the shackles over her wrists, and Morana didn't fight it. Terror embedded so deep into her bones, she allowed him to lead her down the four steps into the center of the room. She didn't take her eyes off of Alastair and the blade that hovered too delicately over his throat. One wrong move and Wisp would cut him open. One wrong move and he would die. The guards along the walls eyed the two of them. Calder pushed her forward.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jovah demanded behind her.

Morana could feel the heat of Warrick's gaze upon her and wished she hadn't left behind the iron bracelet. "I have you to thank for rescuing our halfling, Jovah," he replied, disregarding his son's command. He tilted his head toward Morana. "Where is the skinwalker?"

The lump in her throat swelled too large to speak. Alastair held her gaze, his right eye so swollen it was almost closed. They'd beat him.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Wisp pressed the dagger further into Alastair's skin.

"No!" Morana shrieked, tugging on her restraints. Calder chuckled behind her and then pushed her to the floor. Her knees cracked against the marble before the dais. She stared up at the king-consort. "I don't know where it went. I don't know what happened. They put me under some kind of spell and led me into the gardens. His Highness found me and—"

"So the skinwalker can glamour minds?" Warrick tapped his lips with his index finger. "I didn't think that was possible. No wonder my guards haven't found it yet."

Morana nodded slowly. There had to be a way out of this. She had gotten herself out of tricky situations before. She saw herself in her apartment, on the floor, and restrained. It was happening all over again and she didn't know what to do.

She had to keep Alastair alive.

Warrick leaned back in his throne, arms draping over the sides. "Do you know why you're here?"

She shook her head, praying he hadn't miraculously found out about Xandrianna. The palace was crawling with spies. Did he know who she truly was? Morana flicked her gaze to Alastair. He watched her intensely, his uniform torn and dirty. Perhaps the king suspected how close they had become.

Calder tapped his fingers along her upper spine, casting chills down the entirety of her body. "Think harder."

The wind ripped through the arches, tossing the crimson drapes around. Lightning flashed and then thunder vibrated the walls.

"Father," Jovah spoke carefully, his feet tapping on the floor as he descended the steps, "surely there's a more humane way to get the answers you want. What has Alastair done to earn this kind of punishment?"

Warrick's presence quaked the floor. He tilted his head. "That doesn't seem like something my son would say." His words were calculating. "Just a few hours ago, you wished punishment on these two. What changed such a passionate desire? Unless you aren't my son."

Morana stiffened. She clenched her jaw, praying Jovah would keep his damn mouth shut long enough for her to think of a plan. If he misspoke, Warrick would kill him. The glaze in the king-consort's eyes told her that much.

"Father, no—no. I—" the prince stumbled over his words, his footsteps halting behind her.

Warrick drummed his fingers along the curved stone arms. He gestured to the smaller throne next to him. "Take your seat then, Prince."

She kept her eyes on the floor. She may have suspected Jovah brought her here on purpose if it wasn't for the stench of fear that wafted off of him like vapor. A few moments passed, but then his footsteps echoed throughout the room. The pace was agonizingly slow. She wiggled her fingers. He finally passed her and lowered to his throne.