“You will tell them to stand down,” I say tightly.
“I will do no such thing,” he snaps.
“This is treason.”
“It’s not treason if you’re not the rightful heir.”
“Commander,” I say, and my voice is rough.
He turns to look at me, and my guardsmen are well trained. Another guard shifts to take his place. Dustan’s hand is still on his sword. Spit is still wet on his cheek.
I don’t want to do this. Grey always made it seem as though it was easy to take action, to accomplish these horrible things. I always thought it would get easier every time I have to put lives at risk, but it doesn’t. It gets harder.
Marshal Perry must realize that I’m serious, because he takes a step back. His guards have begun to shift forward. “You think you can hold your people together this way?” he shouts. He spits at me. “You’re no better than Karis Luran.”
My pulse is a roar in my ears. I inhale to give an order. His blood will be on the stones, and there will be no way to undo it. I can’t undo what I did to Grey, either, but there was no other choice.
There is no other choice now.
I can all but hear the crowd suck in a breath. A pause, a hesitation.
A boy shouts from amid the melee. “Father!” he screams. Others are holding him back, but he jerks free and runs for the steps. “Father!”
“Luthas,” snaps Marshal Perry, and his voice is ragged. “Luthas, get back.”
“Rhen!” shouts Harper from somewhere distant. Her voice is so faint that I almost don’t hear her. “Rhen!”
I turn to find her fighting her way through the crowd, Zo at her back. The people rock and shove against her, but she’s fearless and gutsy and elbows her way past them. My heart lights with both relief and panic at the same time. Anyone could have a blade. Anyone could use her against me right here and now.
“Father!” shouts the boy.
“Luthas!”
One of my guards steps forward, his blade drawn.
I remember Grey at my side the last time we came to Silvermoon. I was speaking of the Royal Guard’s prowess in battle. It was once said that approaching the royal family was a good way to lose your head in the street.
I jerk my eyes away from Harper, and I jolt forward, toward the boy. “Hold!” I snap. “Hold!” But the crowd is too loud, the tension too palpable. The guard’s arm begins to fall.
I shove him away, throwing up an arm to deflect his blade. The sword falls against my bracer and skids off. The guard stares at me in shock.
The boy is on the ground, his arm up, his breath high and keening.
I look up, searching the crowd for Harper. As my eyes lift, the shouting around us changes. “It’s the princess!” they yell. “The princess full of promises.”
“Dustan!” I shout. “Find her!” But then I meet her eyes in the crowd—and just as suddenly, Harper disappears from view. My vision narrows with singular focus. I forget the Grand Marshal. I forget the people. I forget the war and the enchantress and the guards at my side.
I’m unaware of leaving the steps. I’m unaware of drawing my weapon. I’m in the thick of the crowd, shoving people away, resorting to my sword when they don’t move quickly enough.
“Release her!” I shout. “Do not touch her.” My rage burns the air around me, hot and thick. When I make it to Harper and Zo, they’re on the ground, but the men surrounding them fall back.
Zo seems uninjured, but she’s on one knee, her dagger up, blocking Harper. Harper’s dress is torn, a long rip from the shoulder into the bodice. A panel of the skirts hangs awkwardly in the dirt. Her dagger is gone. She’s got a swath of dirt across her scarred cheek, and she’s panting, clutching a hand to her side, but she’s trying to get to her feet.
I put out a hand to help her, but I want to bury this sword in the chest of every single man surrounding them. I want to do it twice.
Harper’s breath hitches, and my eyes lock on hers.
“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice wavers, belying her confidence. “I’m fine.” But then her weak leg gives way, and she begins to fall.
I catch her, pulling her against me. It’s only then that I realize she’s trembling.
We’ve caught the crowd in a moment of indecision. There’s still so much violent promise in the air. I can’t tell if the people are more alarmed at what I was about to do—or at what they were about to do. My guards are at my back, and to my surprise, Chesleigh has followed them down off the steps with weapons in hand.
I look at the men and women surrounding us. “You will let us pass,” I say. “Or I will execute every person who stands in our way.”
“Rhen,” Harper whispers against my armor.
“I mean every word,” I snap, and I must look deadly serious, because a few of the men shift and shuffle back a step. These aren’t soldiers. These are merchants and dockworkers. Weavers and butchers. Few of them are armed. Children stand among them.
They came with questions and accusations. They might have spit in Dustan’s face and shoved my guards, but they didn’t come for bloodshed.
I’m the one who almost brought it.
Dustan steps in front of me. His own sword is drawn. “Clear a path,” he says sharply.
They do.
“Rhen,” whispers Harper. Her fingers dig into my arm, and she tries to take a step, then stumbles. “Wait. I don’t—I don’t think I can walk. Just—just give me a minute—”
We do not have a minute. I sheathe my sword. “Hold on to me,” I say, and I draw her arm across my shoulder, then scoop her up into my arms. She’s so fiercely determined that I expect her to protest, but maybe she’s as shaken as I am, because her fractured breath trembles against my neck.
As we stride out of the courtyard, the shouted questions and accusations resume. I keep my eyes forward, my arms tight around Harper, striding all the way to the livery to fetch our horses. I want to be thinking of ways to resolve this, to earn back the respect of the people here. To build my army, to create a larger show of strength against the forces Grey is readying against me.
But instead, all I can think about is how I came here hoping to project a show of strength and purpose, and now this feels like a retreat.
I think of how my people almost died at my hand, when they simply came seeking hope and change.
I look down at Harper, and I think of what she did—what she stopped—and what she risked.
This might feel like a retreat, but at this moment, I don’t feel as though I’ve lost anything at all.
Harper and I haven’t ridden double since the first day she arrived in Emberfall. Then, she’d tried to escape from Ironrose and ended up saving Freya and her children. We needed extra horses, so Harper rode at my back when we went to the Crooked Boar Inn to secure a room for the others. She hated me then.
She might hate me now, honestly. I have no idea.
Then again, I don’t think so. Her arms are tight around my waist as Ironwill steadfastly canters along the road. She did not balk when I considered her pained expression and offered to share a horse.
But she hasn’t said anything since we left the city.
Nor have I.
My feelings of betrayal from hours ago, when I learned of Lilith’s visit, have wilted and shriveled into nothing. That felt petty and impudent, the way I was in the early days of the curse, when I thought I could stomp my foot and give an order and the world would right itself. She was trying to protect me, as I’ve tried to protect her. In the castle, in front of my guardsmen, it made me feel weak and powerless. But when I saw Harper overwhelmed by the men in that crowd, I … I forgot everything else.
Once we’ve put a few miles between us and Silvermoon, I let the horse slow to a walk. At my back, Harper remains silent. Dustan rides close, but the other guards have fallen back. Chesleigh is among them, riding beside Zo.
On the steps, Chesleigh said, “Sometimes making an example of one gets the attention of m
any,” and those words keep ringing in my thoughts. It feels like something my father would have said. My father would have killed Marshal Perry without hesitation. My father wouldn’t be in this mess.
I keep telling Harper that Grey isn’t suited to be a king when I have no idea whether I am.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
Harper’s soft voice at my shoulder takes me by surprise. No, the apology takes me by surprise.
I turn my head slightly, seeking her eyes, but she’s looking out at the countryside, her cheek pressed to my shoulder.
“I just wanted to warn you,” she continues. “I mean … I guess you didn’t need it. But I’m sorry I … I ruined whatever you were going to do.”
I spend a moment trying to figure out her tone. It sounds suspiciously similar to the way I feel: Uncertain. Ineffective. Vulnerable.
“You ruined nothing,” I say.
“Well, you were about to say something to the crowd, and I came crashing in—”
“I was about to order the death of the Grand Marshal. One of my guards was about to slaughter his son.”
That shocks her into silence, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“As you see,” I continue. “You ruined nothing. You stopped me from taking an action I could not undo.” I pause. “I want my people to have faith that I will do right by them. I have spent so much time resorting to violence that it has begun to feel like the only solution.”
She’s still quiet, but I sense her judgment riding on the cold air. Ironwill tugs at the reins, so I give him another few inches to stretch his neck, then reach out a hand to rub the itchy spot under his mane, just where he likes.
“I thought you were mad,” Harper says.
“Mad?” I feel her shift, so I turn my head and catch a glimpse of her blue eyes. “I am furious that Marshal Perry sought to trap me. I don’t think his intent was violence, but it could have quickly turned to that. I am angry that I anticipated gaining another few thousand soldiers for the King’s Army, and now I am leaving empty-handed.”
“No—I mean, I thought you were mad at me.”
I hesitate, then rest a hand over hers, where she grips tight against my sword belt. Her fingers are cold from the wind, but they grow warmer under mine. “No. I am grateful that you thought to warn me.” Another pause, as I consider the order I was about to give. “I am grateful that you arrived at exactly that moment.”
She’s quiet again, but this time it’s contemplative, so I wait.
Eventually, she says, “But … you were pissed off before. You were being such a jerk on the way to Silvermoon.”
“Ah.” I frown. “I was struggling with thoughts of betrayal.”
“Betrayal.” Her voice is hollow. “Like … with Chesleigh?”
“What?” I turn my head again. A cold breeze rushes across the fields, making her shiver at my back. “Betrayal with Chesleigh? I do not understand.”
She ducks her head. “Never mind. What kind of betrayal?”
“Lilith came to you.”
She freezes. I can feel the shock reverberate through her body. “Dustan told you.”
“He is my guard commander. Of course he told me.”
She straightens, her head lifting from my shoulder. “I should have known.” She raises her voice. “Hey, Dustan. Maybe you should—”
“Harper.” I keep my voice low, placating. “You once asked me not to fault those close to you for their loyalty.”
She clamps her mouth shut, then sighs. “Ugh. Fine.” She pauses. “He didn’t have to lie about it.”
“Neither did you.”
She says nothing to that.
“Did Lilith harm you?” I say.
“Nothing that left a mark.” She takes a deep breath. “She’s awful, Rhen.”
“I know.” I pause. “Did you not think I would be able to bear such news?”
“If I don’t want to be your pawn, I don’t want to be hers, either.” She hesitates. “I’m not going to let her use me against you.”
“Yet she sowed discord anyway.” I sigh bitterly. “It is her gift.”
Harper says nothing to that. We ride in silence for the longest time, until Ironwill grows antsy and I draw up the reins.
“Thank you,” Harper says then, and any ire in her voice is gone. “For pulling me out of the crowd.” She shivers. “You looked like you were going to level the courtyard.”
I cluck to the horse, and he leaps forward into a gallop, eager. Harper clings tightly to my back. “For you, my lady, I would have leveled the entire city.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HARPER
Something has shifted between me and Rhen, and I’m not sure what it is. Like something has cracked in him. It doesn’t create a new tension between us. Instead, it feels … good. Like it was something that needed to break.
You ruined nothing. You stopped me from taking an action I could not undo.
He seems relieved. I think that’s the most startling thing of all: his relief. I’d somehow forgotten that he doesn’t want to resort to drastic measures, that at his core, he wants the best for his people.
Once we arrive at Ironrose, Rhen leaves Zo and the guardsmen to tend to the horses and find lodgings for Chesleigh, then helps me into the castle, mostly carrying me until we reach the stairs of the Great Hall, where I demand that he set me down.
He doesn’t. “You could hardly dismount from the horse,” he says. “I will see you all the way to your chambers.”
“I can hold the railing.”
“Hmm.” He strides up the steps like I’m weightless. “I have seen the results of your other attempts to refuse assistance, so you’ll forgive me for insisting.”
“I never refuse assistance!”
He snorts. “Harper.”
Harrrrperrr. The way he says my name makes me blush and shiver. He must notice, because a light sparks in his eyes when he stops in front of my chambers and eases my legs to the ground. I put a hand on the wall to keep my balance, which is a challenge even when I don’t have a twisted ankle.
My other hand doesn’t let go of his arm. There’s a gouge in the leather of his armor, so I look down. There across the buckles is a deep rivet that’s gone down into the steel. One of the buckles has been sliced clean through.
I frown. “What happened?”
“I told you: one of the guards was going to kill the Grand Marshal’s son. I stopped him.”
I open my mouth. Close it. I thought he meant with … with an order. Not his arm. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his hand.
“I’ll call for your lady-in-waiting,” Rhen says softly.
“No!” I think of Freya’s tears earlier. “Don’t bother her. I’m okay.”
His eyes skip across my form, the torn dress that’s only holding on to my left shoulder by a few threads and a prayer. “You will need assistance in dressing.”
“I just need to unlace the corset. Could you—” I realize how this is coming out, and I flush. “I mean—I don’t mean—never mind.”
He feigns a gasp. “ ‘I never refuse assistance,’ ” he teases, his voice light and mocking.
“Fine.” I lift my chin. “Unlace it.”
The corner of his mouth turns up, his expression becoming slightly wolfish, which is rare for him. “Right here in the hallway, my lady?”
I smack him in the middle of the chest, which is ridiculous, because I’m smacking leather-coated armor, but he catches my wrist anyway, his fingers gentle yet secure against my skin. His eyes are intense and piercing in the dim light of the hallway.
I stare up at him until my heartbeat is a roar in my ears. My lips part slightly, and a breath escapes. He feels closer, intimidating yet not, reminding me of the moment in the crowd at Silvermoon when he looked ready to take them all on. For me.
I’d forgotten he could look like that. I’d forgotten he could be like that.
I swallow, and his thumb strokes over the base o
f my palm before he lets me go. His voice is lower, softer. “I will call for Freya.”
“No.” I catch his hand, and he waits. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. In a minute, his guards will be done with the horses and they’ll appear in the hallway, or Freya will hear us out here and come to check if I need her. Either way, I’m going to lose all my courage in a second, and my instincts are telling me that Rhen and I have been fighting our way to this moment for ages now, and I can’t let him go.
“Come in,” I whisper. “Please.”
For half a second, my heart stutters, because I expect him to refuse.
Instead, he nods. “Yes, my lady.”
My chambers are warm, candles already lit in preparation of my arrival, the fire burning high in the hearth. Rhen helps me to the low sofa near the window, then drops to a knee to unlace the boot on my injured ankle.
“I can do that—” I begin in protest.
He silences me with a look. When he pulls the boot free, it’s both agonizing and a miracle. I can see the swelling even through my stockings. Rhen frowns up at me. “I should call for a physician.”
“No. It’s fine. It’s just a sprain. It’s okay if I don’t stand on it.” I make a face. “It’s not like I don’t already have a limp.”
He pulls the laces on the other boot, then drags that one free, too. He’s hardly touched me, but I shiver anyway, goose bumps springing up all along my arms.
That gets his attention, but not for the right reason. “You are cold,” he says, straightening. “I should fetch a blanket.”
“You should remove your armor,” I say, and his eyes flash to mine. “I mean.” I clear my throat and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My eyes skip away from his and land on his sword belt, which is not better. I look at the wall instead. My face is on fire. “I’m fine. The armor—it’s uncomfortable.”
He studies me. I can’t look at him now. He saved my life like a fairy-tale prince, and now I’m a blushing puddle in a chair.
A knock at the door saves me.
“My lord,” calls a voice.
“Dustan,” says Rhen. He touches a gentle finger to my chin. “I will return in a moment.”
A Vow So Bold and Deadly Page 17