Ignoring the pain in his already-healing shoulder, he reached out, but she jerked away before he could touch her. “We’d better hurry back and report this. I’m sure General Kelwyn will want to investigate the bodies at least.”
Without another word or glance in his direction, the princess turned and sprinted away from the body—and, he was afraid, from him.
EVELAYN PUSHED HERSELF AS HARD AS SHE COULD, thinking that perhaps if she ran fast enough she could somehow outrun the memory of Tanvir killing that Draíolon. That maybe the pounding of her feet could force away the trembling in her hands and the nausea that twisted her gut. She knew he’d only been protecting her—she’d also scented the male’s disgusting intentions. And all three Draíolon had tried to kill them. But she’d never seen anyone cut down in front of her before. She’d never seen someone alive one moment and dead the next, his eyes open, unseeing, his mouth twisted in a scream that never escaped.
She’d hobbled him when she’d used her power to cut through his legs—that alone had been enough to make her sick. She’d planned on having him questioned at the castle. She was mad that now there was no possible way to know why they’d come, how they’d found her and Tanvir, and how they’d managed to get past the wards and travel so far into éadrolan without being detected.
Evelayn heard Tanvir behind her, keeping a few paces back instead of drawing alongside her. When they returned to the castle … when she could bathe, and change out of these sweaty, blood-splattered clothes, and try to calm down … then she would find Tanvir and apologize. She could compose herself enough to thank him for protecting her. But for now, she just wanted to run and run until she ran out of forest, all the way to her room, where she could be alone.
As the sun arced ever higher in the sky, the trees began to thin and then, rising above the thick emerald leaves and creeping vines, there were the glittering white and gold turrets of her castle. The Light Sentries guarding the wall hadn’t noticed her sprinting through the forest toward them yet when someone grabbed her arm, yanking her to a stop.
“How dare you—” she whirled to face Tanvir.
“Please.” He cut her off, his gaze darting past her to the sentries beyond and then back again. “Let me apologize. The last thing I wanted was to make you angry.”
Evelayn opened her mouth to command him to let her go, but something in his burning amber eyes stopped her.
He was breathing hard, his hair damp with sweat again. “They were attacking us—attacking you. I’ve been on too many battlefields, seen too many friends and family die. The way he was looking at you—the way he smelled—”
“Tanvir.” His name was little more than a whisper, but he immediately fell silent. As quickly as it came, her anger dissolved at his words, at the unmasked anguish on his face. She’d lost it over a stranger dying in front of her—a stranger who had tried to kill her first—and he had held it together, even though he was no doubt haunted by the memories of his mother and father dying, his battalion … his sister, who had been murdered so brutally her body hadn’t even been identifiable to bury and mourn.
A breeze rustled the leaves beside them, lifting a few tendrils of her sweaty hair from her neck. The sun was hot on her back where it broke through the branches above them as they stood there, Tanvir’s fingers still wrapped around her arm, so close she could feel the heat from his body. His scent filled her nose—the mixture of spice and citrus that was uniquely his, but also the underlying scents that she was still struggling to understand. Possibly desperation … sorrow … and something else … the same rich, heady musk she’d noticed once before that made her belly tighten.
His eyes darkened slightly when she took a hesitant half step toward him, lifting her hand to touch his cheek—
A shockwave of power—not of her making—hit Evelayn, almost knocking her to the ground, yanking her out of Tanvir’s grip. The usually cold conduit stone embedded in her breastbone flared white-hot for one terrifying moment. Evelayn stumbled back a step, involuntarily reaching up to touch the stone in her chest. It had gone cold again, along with the rest of her body.
“What was that?”
A horrific, pulsing terror seized Evelayn. Empty. She was empty.
“Blast that tree,” she commanded urgently, pointing.
Tanvir gave her a strange look, confusion pulling his brows down.
“Just do it.”
He lifted his hand and … nothing happened.
All the breath left Evelayn’s lungs, as if someone had punched her with a fist made of ice.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head and taking another step back. “No.”
“Evelayn?” His voice wavered.
Her eyes burned with the fire of sudden tears. “NO!” Evelayn shouted this time, flinging her hands out. Tanvir flinched, but nothing happened. There was no power to draw upon. Finally, the concern on his face deepened into shock and sorrow, as comprehension dawned. And still she fought against it—the horrible truth of what that surge of heat in her conduit stone and subsequent loss of power meant.
Evelayn dropped to her knees, tears spilling out onto her cheeks. And then she crumpled forward, curling into a ball on the grass, the hot sunshine pouring over her as she shuddered with sobs. “Mother,” she moaned against the fist she had pressed to her mouth.
Because there was only one thing that could have happened to take away the Light Draíolons’ power.
Their queen was dead.
ALL AROUND HER, THE OTHER LIGHT DRAíOLON WERE in a state of panic. The air was thick with fright, grief, and shock. Some were shouting, others sobbing. But it all faded to a dull roar as Ceren shoved through the huddled groups of nobility and servants, trying to escape the morning room where she had gone to wait for Evelayn to return.
She’d been pacing the floor near the dormant fireplace when it happened.
And now she was desperate to find Evelayn. Tears burned near the surface, but Ceren forced herself to swallow them. She didn’t have time to break down right now. She had to find Evelayn. Their power was gone, which could mean only one thing—King Bain had killed Queen Ilaria. Only a royal had the power to kill another royal.
It meant her friend was now an orphan.
She’d almost made it to the door when someone grabbed her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Her mother’s voice was strained and her familiar scent was tinged with the tang of fear.
“I have to find her,” Ceren responded, yanking her arm free.
“Don’t you dare—”