Page 33 of Blackheart

He truly had no idea that the king had summoned me, nor did he know that Riven lurked within the residence.

“It’s late.”

He narrowed his eyes, noticing I was fully dressed, down to my boots. “It is. I figured you would still be celebrating. Heard I might find you here. I brought the things you requested.”

He dropped the bag at my feet.

Shocked into silence, I swallowed, unsure of what to say about beinggivensomething. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You earned me quite a bit of gold tonight, so consider it a thank you.” He glanced at my boots. “Heading somewhere?”

Riven slowly mouthed ‘no’.

The Draker wanted me to lie to the Witchlord? That could be just as dangerous as trying to avoid the king. I carefully picked at the skin on my thumb. Riven had always proven to be different—better than the other Drakers and Witchlords. I hardly knew Lord Ansel.

“I just got in for the night. I was actually about to go to bed.”

Lord Ansel stepped back, full lips falling into a flat line. “You’re a terrible liar. Goodnight, Elora.”

Something about a Witchlord saying my name and not simply calling me a Blackheart or an inkweed left me stunned. The door remained open as he took to the streets on foot, not bothering to use his clouded mist to travel.

My face stung with embarrassment as I stared at the gifted bag resting at my feet.

I turned toward Riven. “Why doesn’t the Witchlord know we’re going to see the king?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s not his business.”

If even the Witchlords didn’t know, then it was surely bad news. Though if it really were the king's orders, I had no choice.

Reluctantly, I left the comfort of the Pearl, following Riven through alleyways and unpopulated streets. Practically dragging my feet in silence until he brought us to an abrupt stop.

“Put this over your head,” he instructed, holding out a black hood.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Have you got one? Do you want the entire ‘Wards talking about you the way they do Arielle?” His jaw ticked, the hood still waiting in his fist.

He had a point. If I were returning, I didn’t want to be labeled mad. “How am I supposed to see anything with it on?”

“You’re not.” He tried to hand it to me again. “You’ll survive this. I promise.”

The Oathkeeper.

Luna had loved to talk about his famed reputation with the king and other Drakers.

Oathkeeper or not, I found it hard to believe that the king would want to see me for any benevolent reason.

Fear rapidly outweighed any trust I had in Riven. I turned on my heel and bolted back down the alley.

Riven followed, yanking me by the braided strap of my bag.

I yelped before a gloved hand covered my mouth. His harsh eyes scolded me, a wisp of brown hair falling on his forehead. It was as if a small piece of Riven refused to be tucked neatly into place like the rest of him. He removed his hand and pushed the hair back.

I groaned. “Swear that I’ll make it out of the castle aliveandnot gomad.”

“I swear,” he promised, eyes locked on mine.

I felt the soft hood. “You only get my trust once.”