Page 35 of Blackheart

My muscles tightened as I neared the entrance to Lyonsreach. It hadn’t even been twelve hours since I’d won Orb Hazy, my body still aching from head to toe.

The massive grey and gold structure was only steps away from where we dismounted. Riven guided me through a secluded entrance. Strangely, no guards stood waiting, nor stableboys around to gather the steed.

Late as the hour was, the castle hallway was eerily quiet, especially compared to the celebration in the Waywards. Bulbed lanterns trailed along the elegant cream and gold walls, dimly lighting the stone walkway. Riven led me up a stairwell, around and around, until we finally entered a new floor.

Dread set in.

I no longer cared to know why the king would want to see me. I wanted to disappear, hide, melt into a puddle.

Riven stopped in front of an ivory door, elaborately carved with flowers and the sun in a soft pink. It was more artistically elegant than any I had ever seen.

Before opening it, he turned to me. “Promise me that regardless of your conversation with the king, you will not lose trust in me.”

I lifted my chin. “You said nothing bad would happen.”

“You will leave this castle alive and sane. That is my promise to you.”

I sighed. “Can we please get this over with before my heart succumbs to an explosion?”

Riven nodded and opened the door, gesturing for me to enter first. I couldn’t calm the shaking in my legs or the churning in my stomach as I took slow steps forward into a bedroom.

White and pink stained glass windows overlooked the capital of Lyonscliff. To my right was a white and gold bed, and in it lay little Princess Clayvarie.

Oh shit.

I stepped back.

The princess was as still as death, her golden hair like silk over the light covers. Her skin was almost as white as her nightgown, but her veins were dark as night. Her face looked towards the ceiling, eyes open and clouded over entirely black.

Theincidenthad happened on her fifth birthday. Soon, she’d be nine. For almost four summers she had been trapped in a nightmare.

Chills ran down my spine.

Shackles chained her dainty wrists to the bed. She did not react to our arrival, as if sleeping with her eyes open. Forever stuck—forevertrapped.

Steps came from the balcony until a man stood in the doorway.

The king.

“Your Grace,” Riven said, bowing.

I was still, like a small bird caught in a lion's den.

Though the king was young, he lookedaged. His crown shone on top of brown, disheveled hair, but there was no light in his eyes. He did not acknowledge Riven, but nodded at me curiously, studying my face. I wasn’t sure if I should attempt a curtsy or fling myself out of the window.

“No such formalities are necessary, Sir Riven.” His voice wasn’t booming or deep like ‌I’d imagined. It was calm and quiet. Dark circles shadowed his tired eyes. Wouldn’t he of all people have time for sleep?

His mouth opened slightly, then closed, words failing him.

Riven cleared his throat. “I have brought?—”

“Elora,” King Clarke interrupted.

The breeze coming in didn’t help the sweat gathering in my palms. The King of Drakington and the Castivian territory knew my name and had said it himself.

I was speechless.

The king walked over to Princess Clayvarie’s bed, brushing his hand over her forehead, sorrow filling his sunken eyes.