The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Garrick’s mouth opened and closed.

”I....it was nothing. Only my duty. The lady is....” He stopped. His eyes flicked to Morgana, then back. ”I’m glad of it, Your Majesty. That’s all.”

”As am I.”

Draeven turned.

At the foot of the steps a young man in the king’s grey stood alone, a little apart from the formed-up guards. His face was white. A raw red mark ran across his throat where an invisible hand had held him, and he was looking at the ground.

Corin.

Draeven crossed the yard.

His boots rang on the stones, and every eye followed him. He stopped in front of the young guard, and Corin went down on one knee at once, head bowed, hand pressed to his chest.

”Your Majesty. I failed you. I failed the lady. I will accept whatever....”

”Stand up.”

Corin did not move.

”Stand.”

He stood. He kept his eyes on the ground.

”Look at me.”

Slowly, the young man lifted his head. His throat worked.

”You were given an order,” Draeven said, clearly, in a voice that carried to every corner of the yard. ”To stay close enough to protect her and far enough that she would never know you were there. It was a poor order.”

Corin stared at him.

”I told you to follow a girl on foot, and I told you not to be seen. I did not tell you what to do if she rode a horse faster than any in my stables.” His voice did not rise. ”That failure is mine. Not yours. I laid hands on you in anger. That was wrong, and I will not do it again.”

A stunned silence rippled outward.

Morgana had never seen so many people try so hard not to breathe.

”My king....” Corin’s voice cracked. ”My king, I....”

”You rode a grey after a black stallion with no more than a mile’s start. You did not abandon the trail until you had no other choice, and you came to me at once.” Draeven’s gaze held him. ”That is what a soldier does. You will keep your post. You will have a horse worth the name. And you will report to me directly from today.”

Corin went red, then white, then red again. He bowed so deeply that the top of his head nearly touched his knees.

”Yes, Your Majesty,” he whispered.

”Rhen.”

”Majesty.” The captain’s face had not changed, but something in his eyes had gone approving.

”See him to the physician. And get that mark seen to.”

”At once.”

Draeven turned from them, and as he did, his eyes found Morgana across the yard.

Something passed between them. It was not a look. It was too brief for that. A fraction of a second, a flicker of gold in the dark. And then he was walking toward the main gate, with the servants parting before him like water.

Morgana let out a breath she had not known she was holding.

”Well,” said Garrick faintly. ”He’s not what they say.”

”No,” she said. ”He isn’t.”

”Mind you, I’d still not cross him.”

”No.”

”Morgana.”

She turned.

Two men stood at the end of the yard beneath the arch.

The first was tall, broad-shouldered, in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back. His pale hair was tousled, and his blue eyes burned in a face drawn tight with strain. Frost had crept across the stone at his feet. It lay in a thin white ring around his boots, and as she looked, it began to melt.

The second stood a little behind him, lean and dark, with shadows gathered at his heels like faithful hounds. He wore his black coat buttoned to the throat. His face revealed nothing at all. He was watching her with a very still expression, and his eyes slid once, quickly, to the place where Draeven had walked away.

Kaelen was across the yard before she could speak.

He stopped an arm’s length away. His chest was moving fast. He looked her over with a swift and hungry sweep, head to boot, as though to assure himself of every limb, and when he had finished his hands were fisted at his sides.

”You,” he said, low, ”are never doing that again.”

”Hello, Kaelen.”

”Never. Do you understand? I stood in that study and Draeven told me you were on a horse and I....” His jaw clenched. The scales along it flickered, rose, and went back down. ”I have flown into a storm with less fear.”

”I’m sorry.”

”Do not be sorry. Be careful.”

”I’ll try.” She replied.

”Morgana.”

”I’ll try very hard,” she said, and she meant it.

His eyes searched hers. The ice in them thawed by slow degrees, and the harsh line of his mouth eased. He let out a long breath and passed a hand over his face.

”You smell of horse,” he said gruffly.

”I’ve been riding one.”

”And wet grass.”

”I went through a river.”

”Of course you did.” He almost smiled. He caught himself and looked at her again, and his voice dropped. ”You’re well? Truly?”

”Truly.” Morgana replied.

”Good.”

He did not touch her. His hands stayed at his sides, curled hard against his thighs. But GLACIUS had gone quiet. She could feel it somehow, the ice in him settling, like a lake whose wind has dropped.

”There’ll be a bath waiting,” Thorne said.

He had come up beside his brother without a sound. His voice was cool and level. His dark eyes rested on her face, and then, briefly, on the loose end of her plait and the mud on her skirt, and then on something over her shoulder.

She did not need to look to know what it was. A tall figure at the far end of the courtyard, walking away.

”Agnes and Rowan have already seen to it,” Thorne went on. ”And a meal. You’ll eat before we speak.”

”Speak?”

”Draeven’s study. In two hours.” He tilted his head. ”He wishes to hear what the lady Astraea told you. All of us do.”