Lorcan followed her but remained standing a few feet away, his clothes plastered to his muscular body, practically melding into the night, except for his frost-white hair, dripping down either side of his face. His silver eyes were fixed on her as if he expected her to bolt at any moment. Even soaking wet he exuded power. He was still the most handsome Draíolon she’d ever seen, and that only made her loathe him more. Especially when her gaze landed on the glowing red stone in his forehead. A reminder of what he had—and what he’d stolen from her, viciously cutting it from her body.
“What did you do to me?” Evelayn repeated, her voice more forceful and angry now that she was growing accustomed to her Draíolon form once more—and was no longer half-drowned.
“What I always do.” He lifted one eyebrow above his striking eyes, but she shook her head.
“No. Something is different—something is wrong.”
Lorcan folded his arms across his chest. “You’ll have to be a bit more precise than that.”
Her mind struggled as she still thought in terms of the swan, which was agonizingly simple once she was pushed back into this form—her true body. Images and feelings flashed through her mind but words were sluggish to come to her. “I … don’t …”
“Explain what you mean.” He was impatient, watching her, his unwavering gaze disconcerting.
But again the words escaped her. “It’s … pain. It hurts.”
“You always say it hurts.”
“It’s worse.” Evelayn clenched her hands into fists, then extended her fingers, over and over, trying to get used to having fingers and thumbs again. A year with only wings and webbed feet made for a rough transition. She wondered if it always felt this unnatural to go back and forth—even if the change was only for a short time. Lorcan had never seemed to struggle like this the few times she’d seen him shift forms. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking.
When she didn’t elaborate further, a muscle in his jaw tightened, but he didn’t push her again.
“There is food and a change of clothes for you in there.” Lorcan pointed to the knapsack lying closer to the hunched, spindly trees, specters of their former glory. Her Draíolon senses recognized the scents of food, but she could think of the name of only one—cheese.
“I don’t want to change. Nor am I hungry.” Which wasn’t true—she was cold, miserably so, and her stomach burned with the need to feed this bigger, stronger body. But at least she was finally able to find words more easily. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Darkness curse me, why are you so insufferably stubborn? Do you forget I can scent your lie as easily as I can see it written on your face?”
Evelayn stiffened. “Yes, I had forgotten,” she bit out. “That seems to be an unfortunate side effect of living as a bird for a decade, with only a night here and there when you deign to come and change me back.”
His silver eyes darkened to molten ore, but his face was like a mask, completely unreadable. “If you would accept my offer, you wouldn’t be forced to live as a bird.”
Evelayn laughed once, a hard, bitter sound. “You killed my betrothed, carved out my conduit stone, and forced me into my animal form. It’s hard to imagine why I haven’t accepted your offer, isn’t it?”
Lorcan didn’t even blink at her accusations. “Lachalonia is suffering, Evelayn. Éadrolan’s forests are slowly dying, and Dorjhalon is nearly always ensconced in winter now.”
“And whose fault is that?” she broke in angrily. “You speak to me as if I should take responsibility for what has happened to Lachalonia.”
He ignored her barb and continued, “Your Draíolon are nearly without power. If you won’t do it for Éadrolan or for yourself, do it for them.”
Evelayn jumped to her feet, the pain and weakness receding in the face of her fury. She felt even more diminished sitting on a log while he towered over her. “How dare you pretend to be concerned about what your actions have done to my kingdom—to my Draíolon. You did all of this. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
Lorcan gazed at her coolly, one eyebrow lifted as if he found her amusing, but his hands clenched into fists. There was an odd flare of heat in the scar on her right palm. “Then do it now, my queen,” he taunted. “Kill me and end this. Perhaps it would be a relief to be done with it all, instead of continuing to struggle along.”
“Don’t mock me,” Evelayn snapped back. “You know I don’t have the power, or I would have long ago. Just as I killed Bain.”
His mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something sour. “Oh, yes, your great triumph.”
“Yes, my triumph. Right before my worst failure—giving you the chance to make that vow and believing you’d actually work with me to establish and maintain peace. You’re no better than your father.”
Lorcan’s eyes narrowed and he took a step closer. “Don’t pretend to understand me or my choices, especially when you have refused to hear me out for a decade. And never compare me to my father ever again.” The cold fury in his voice and the crackle of the ground around his feet turning to ice was enough to make Evelayn close her mouth and swallow the angry retort she’d nearly spat at him, all too aware of the fact that despite his farce of an offer, he truly held all the power.
They glared at each other in the darkness until Lorcan took a deep breath and turned from her to the shadowed lake where the swans—her swans—floated a good distance away, watching them warily, their feathers fluffed out in distress. It could have been her imagination, but it seemed as though his shoulders sagged slightly when he finally spoke again. “You will have to excuse me, Evelayn. I haven’t …”
He trailed off and her eyes narrowed, wondering what manipulation he was going to pull out next, when he suddenly whirled to face the blackened forest. She heard it a split second after he had—something she hadn’t heard in a decade of nights like this one.
Someone was coming toward them.
EVELAYN SHRANK BACK INTO THE SHADOWS INSTINCTIVELY, even though whoever was coming wouldn’t know she was there. The first year that Lorcan changed her back, he’d taken her to the castle before presenting his offer. But no one noticed her—no one could see her. Somehow, he’d made it so she was only visible when she was a swan. It had been devastating to walk the hallways of her former home, to witness the downfall of her Draíolon but to have no ability to help them. She hadn’t even been able to let them know she was still alive.
After that, she refused to go back, and for whatever reason, Lorcan had agreed to keep their meetings confined to the shores of the lake.
When the male came into view, she couldn’t remember his name for a moment, even though his raven-colored hair, glimmering bronze skin—more gold than brown—and dark-gray eyes were familiar to her.
Lorcan burst out angrily, “What are you doing here, Lothar? You know I am never to be disturbed when I visit the lake.”
Lothar. Of course. His brother. The prince of Dorjhalon.
A breeze wafted past Evelayn, raising bumps across her still-wet skin, chilling her.
“Of course I’m aware of your ridiculous rule, but there is—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off abruptly as the breeze reached Lothar. His eyes widened, and then he turned toward Evelayn. She froze, not daring even to breathe, though she knew he wouldn’t be able to see her—
But then the blood drained from his face, and he exhaled sharply.
“Is that … ? It can’t possibly be—”
“You can see her?” Lorcan asked at the same instant Evelayn burst out, “You can see me?”
“That’s the queen of Éadrolan” was Lothar’s stunned response. “That’s why no one is allowed to come with you—because you’re hiding the queen down here? The Darkness-cursed QUEEN!” His voice grew louder and louder until the last word was a furious shout.
“Silence!” Lorcan commanded. He looked as rattled as Evelayn had ever seen him.
“You can see me,” Evelay
n whispered.
“What do you mean? Of course I can—you’re standing right in front of me.”
“Silence!” Lorcan shouted again, this time with a slash of his hand, and suddenly Evelayn couldn’t speak. Ice coated her lips, sealing them shut. “You shouldn’t be able to see her. No one should.” He turned to Evelayn. “Do you accept my offer?”
Evelayn indignantly shook her head, so livid that Lorcan was lucky he’d stolen her power—because the Light only knew what she would have done to him at that moment if she’d still possessed it.
“Then we are done for tonight.” He lifted his hands again and she flinched, waiting for the shadows to encircle her, for her arms to be replaced by wings and her words replaced by instinct.
But nothing happened.
Lorcan slashed his hands back down at the ground again; this time twin bolts of ice shot out of his palms to shatter on the soil beneath their feet. A look of thunderous rage darkening his expression preceded the very air turning bitterly cold, and then he roared, “What have you done?” to the night sky above them.
“Who are you talking to? What is going on here?” Lothar glanced warily between Evelayn and his brother.
Lorcan ignored him and stalked over to the bag on the ground near Evelayn. She instinctively shrank away from him, farther into the minute protection of the trees. He yanked a bundle of cloth out of the knapsack and thrust it at her. “Put this on and cover up that pathetic excuse for a dress.”
She just glared at him, her lips burning from the cold that sealed her mouth shut.
His jaw clenched, and with another gesture the ice was gone. “Cover yourself. Now.”
“Excuse me?” Evelayn barely suppressed the urge to leap at him, to try to rip the stone from his forehead with her bare hands and nails.
“We’re going to the castle, and I doubt you want to make your big debut in those rags.”
Evelayn pushed the dove gray material away. “I’m never going there again.”
“You don’t have a choice.” His voice was as cold and unfeeling as the wintry wind that lifted her damp hair, making her shiver.
“Just change me back.”
“Not tonight. You’re coming with me, one way or another. You can choose if it will be with dignity or …” He trailed off and shrugged impassively.
The heat of her rage was her only defense against the chill. “And if I refuse again? What will you do? Cut off my arm this time? Or maybe my tongue so I can never speak back to you again?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Lorcan growled.
“I hate to interrupt … whatever this is”—Lothar gestured between them—“but someone else is coming. I tried to tell you, an urgent message arrived at the castle for you. Apparently, I didn’t return with you fast enough.”
Sure enough, the sound of more footsteps was heading their way.
“What could possibly be important enough to warrant breaking my explicit instructions?”
“Just change me back,” Evelayn cut in before Lothar could answer Lorcan’s query, her anger tempered by desperation. “I can’t go to the castle. You’ve made me endure so much—don’t put me through that again.” Evelayn hated how subservient she sounded, but she had no choice. Begging was her only option.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Please, just do it.”
“No.” Lorcan cut her off, his eyes flashing in the darkness. “I truly can’t. I tried and it didn’t work. You were right. Something is wrong.”
Evelayn stared at him, shocked into muteness.
“I’ll go try to stall whoever is coming,” Lothar finally said into the charged silence. “But I expect you to explain all of this later.” He shot his brother a hard glare, then turned and rushed back into the woods.
“I … I don’t understand.”
“There’s no time. Put on the cloak, Evelayn. I’ll try to sneak you in so you don’t have to see anyone.” Lorcan held it out once more, and this time, she grudgingly snatched it from his hand and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her damp hair.
“Let’s go. Quickly.” He ushered her away from the main path that led to the castle and into the forest, taking a roundabout route, downwind and away from Lothar and whoever else had come searching for the king.
“Your Majesty! You’re soaking wet! Should I summon—”
“No. Thank you, Judoc.” Lorcan strode quickly away from his adviser, Evelayn disguised at his side.
“But, Your Majesty, there is—”
“Not now,” Lorcan snarled, quickly losing patience as they rushed down the dimly lit hallway. Though Evelayn had been silent the entire time they’d hurried back to the castle, beneath the acrid burn of her hatred, he could scent her trepidation—fear, even. He glanced over to see her holding the hood of the cloak tightly around her face, ducking her head down to keep from being recognized.
They’d come in a back entrance and he’d done his best to avoid running into anyone, but the castle was full of Draíolon gathered to celebrate Athrúfar; it was impossible to evade them all.
“But, Sire—there’s an urgent—”
“I said not now!” Lorcan roared as he halted and spun to face Judoc. The adviser must have been roaming the halls, searching for the king. “I must attend to my guest before I attend to the message. That is final. I am not to be disturbed until I seek you out.”
“As you command, Sire.” Judoc bowed, but he shot an anxious look at the female by Lorcan’s side, his curiosity and frustration a bitter tang on the air.
Lorcan turned with a swirl of his cloak, reaching out to touch the small of Evelayn’s back, to guide her from Judoc, but she flinched away from his touch. He barely held in his growl of irritation.
Who could have possibly sent a message that had caused such an uproar among his Draíolon? He certainly needed to find out as quickly as possible, but he had been serious about needing to attend to his guest first. She was as tightly wound as a bow pulled to the breaking point at his side; he could feel the tension radiating off her so thickly it was impossible to miss. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was prepared to flee at the first chance possible.
“This way,” he murmured, not daring to risk touching her again.
“But … the main quarters are—”
“I said this way,” he repeated, slightly more forcefully.
She turned from the hallway leading to the wing where her former rooms—and her parents’—had been, and instead followed him up the stairs to their right.
They hurried up the steps and turned the corner toward the rooms he’d taken. There were two Draíolon at the end of the hallway, but he rushed her to his door and flung it open, pushing Evelayn in—her aversion to him be cursed—and then quickly following before they were spotted.
Once the door was firmly shut and locked behind him, Lorcan whirled around—and nearly ran full body into Evelayn. She stood frozen in place only a foot away, staring at the outer room of his quarters. The violet-and-lightning-laced scent that was uniquely hers filled his nose, tempting him closer, but he stayed completely still.
“Ceren.” The name was barely more than an unsteady exhale.
Lorcan was silent, so close he could feel the heat from Evelayn’s body, despite her cold, damp clothes.
“These were her rooms.” This time her voice was slightly louder, though still shaky.
Another black mark against him, then.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and slightly husky. “I know you think me a monster—”
“I don’t think it”—she whirled to face him and then stumbled back a step, her shock at how close he was apparent—“I know it.” Her hood was still pulled up, keeping her face shadowed, but his keen eyesight still caught the flash of fury in her violet eyes.
“I thought you would find it preferable to my taking your quarters—or your mother’s.”
Her laugh was a bitter sound. “Why bother yourself worrying about how I would feel? Perhaps
you might have considered that before you stole my power and my kingdom and consigned me to—”
“Do you honestly think I had a choice?” The words burst out of him, spurred by the loathing on her face and the reek of her disgust that overtook the violet and sunshine he’d scented whenever she was with Tanvir—that coward—and then he immediately snapped his mouth shut.
Evelayn’s eyes widened, her disbelief palpable. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Lorcan bit out, pushing past her to stalk over to the dark fireplace. Normally the cold didn’t faze him, but in his damp clothes, he found himself chilled, which meant she must have been freezing. And it gave him a chance to compose himself. He wasn’t one to lose control, to slip up. Ever. If he’d been able to stay composed in the face of his father’s relentless cruelty, surely he could do so with Evelayn.
But even as he thought it, his right hand curled into a fist, closing over the scar that bound them together in ways she probably didn’t even realize. Had he finally set himself a task that would prove impossible?
Failure wasn’t an option. Or they were all doomed.
EVELAYN REMAINED FROZEN WHERE SHE WAS, STARING at the changes to the room where she’d spent so many hours of her life. Velvet curtains in exchange for the light, airy ones Ceren’s mother had preferred; thick, plush rugs; dark furniture; and oil paintings of mountains encased in snow, in place of the summer scenes that had hung for decades. It was a room that had once brought Evelayn comfort and relief but now turned her cold with dread. If Lorcan was using these rooms, where was Ceren? In the ten years of her entrapment as a swan, she’d rarely let herself think of her dearest friend. Doing so only brought her immeasurable pain and guilt. But now, faced with the changes to the room, she was unable to keep from wondering … and fearing the worst.
Once the fire had taken hold of the dry wood, crackling and popping in the weighted silence, Lorcan finally stood. Their eyes met and Evelayn forced herself to lift her chin, refusing to be cowed by the force of his steel-laced gaze as he looked her up and down. When he turned and strode over to the door that joined the outer chamber to the inner, disappearing inside, Evelayn let out the breath she’d been holding. But her relief was short-lived. Moments later he returned, his arms full of clothes. She stiffened, and watched him warily as his long, purposeful strides ate up the distance between them. He moved like a predator, stalking toward her, his very presence exuding power.