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He pinned Mery with his gaze. “Explain.”

“Col said he wanted to walk with me from the healer’s quarters since he was helping with dinner preparations, but just as we approached, Rencis here joined us.” She glared down at the mage in question. “Without warning, they attacked my brother. A mental blast. Though in pain, Mac managed a punch against Rencis, and I filled in the gap when he took on Col.”

Just as she finished, Sir Macoe—Mac?—finished his own battle with a fierce punch to his attacker’s face. Swiping a trickle of blood from his forehead, the captain straddled Col and twisted his attacker’s arms behind his back. Then he took a rope from his pouch and tied it around the servant’s wrists with deft, tight knots.

Mehl scanned the other warriors circling the room, but none moved forward. There weren’tthatmany nobles to keep away. “Why aren’t the others helping?”

“I don’t need it at this point,” the captain snapped, clearly forgetting Mehl’s current rank in the turmoil. “Better to keep the courtiers away, especially since one of them could be involved in the attack. Took you long enough to heed my kicks on the door and come out, though.”

Those thuds had been a signal? The captain must believe him to be inept for failing to respond. Heat crept up the back of Mehl’s neck, but he couldn’t reveal why he’d been delayed without disclosing one of the kingdom’s secrets. Not even to save himself embarrassment.

“I’ll leave that to High King Toren to fully explain, if he so wishes,” Mehl replied. “I can only say that my duty as king comes before all else.”

It was all the reminder necessary, though he regretted it before the polite mask had finished slipping over the captain’s face. “Of course, Your Majesty. Please forgive my lapse.”

Mehl wrinkled his nose in distaste, but he could hardly complain. “Forget it. These two need to be hauled to the dungeon, and I must escort Toren and Ria back to our rooms. Do you need immediate healing?”

“A quick repair of my mental channels, perhaps.” Sir Macoe shoved himself to his feet and pulled a thin chain from his pouch. Magic-blocking bindings. “Let me tie this one up, and then I’ll see to it. Mery, would you mind…?”

The healer shifted her body to allow her brother to secure the mage’s arms. “Of course I don’t. Unless His Majesty needs me right away.”

It was tempting to order her to the throne room immediately so she could check on Toren and Ria, but that wouldn’t be best in the long run. They needed to be able to communicate telepathically with Sir Macoe. So instead of following his heart, Mehl forced himself to obey logic.

Protection took many forms, after all.

* * *

Emptiness wasboth bliss and torment, for although Toren gloried in those precious moments without the relentless push of energy, his gut clenched in fear that his power would never return. Would he forever be emptied as the cost of such a great change? How would he maintain the kingdom if he couldn’t use the royal family’s unique spells? He might be able to draw up enough power to seal a proclamation or two, but that was it.

“Are you okay, Toren?” Ria asked, the worry in her tone drawing his gaze. His wife stared at him, her pale brow furrowed. “I…Maybe I pulled too much.”

He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but her concern didn’t seem to ease. “No. It was needed, and I gave freely. I’ll be fine.” He hoped. “I should be asking how you fare.”

“Tired but well,” she said.

Toren skimmed his gaze down her body to reassure himself. Aside from being too pale, she appeared—was that blood on the bottom of her dress? He levered himself fully upright, though his muscles screamed at the movement. If she’d started bleeding…but no. Based on the smears on the floor, she’d tracked it over from their mingled blood on the sunburst.

He slumped in relief.

“Toren?” Her frown had only deepened. “What is it?”

He shook his head and leaned back against the throne. “Nothing. I’m not thinking clearly, that’s all.”

Though he could feel her gaze on his face, Toren closed his eyes, leaning his hand against his palm. Had he ever sat so casually in this room? He couldn’t recall it, even when he’d been a child eager to play at being king. Had his mother known he’d played here when court wasn’t in session? Probably, but she’d never said a word.

As the silence lengthened, Toren’s energy slowly began to return. The trickle was too slight to notice at first, but by the time Feref made it through the bodyguards outside the royal entrance, Toren’s muscles had ceased their aching, and his thoughts had grown clearer. When he straightened in his seat this time, it was with far less effort.

Feref slipped around the throne and gave a short bow. “King Mehl summoned me, Your Majesty. What can I do?”

“You know how to clean up the remnants of an oathing ceremony.” Toren said, gesturing toward the space between the thrones. “That’s no doubt what Mehl was thinking.”

Feref took the scene in with a glance. “Likely, I’d say. What about Princess Ria’s dress? I am uncertain how the spell works on fabric.”

Gasping, Ria examined the bottom of her dress. “Oh, no! I’ll do it, Feref. This is not a forgiving color, not if one hopes to maintain the vibrancy. But I know several spells for removing blood from cloth, and I’m skilled at using them.”

With a father like hers, of course she was. Toren had to bite back an angry growl.

The main doors opened before anyone could respond, and Mehl strode in, a young healer trailing just behind. Toren trailed his gaze behind them to the entry hall, where Macoe directed a handful of guards in removing two men, both bound. So therehadbeen an attack.