But the king was still staring at Leisa, and she could almost see the struggle taking place behind his eyes.
“Leave us,” he said quietly.
Leisa bent her head and bowed as she backed away.
“Not you.”
Evaraine jerked as if he’d slapped her.
Leisa’s feet itched to run, but she didn’t dare. Not so soon after giving him reason to doubt her. She had to stay, had to allay his fears.
Evaraine rose from her seat, face frozen as she made her way out of her own sitting room. Leisa could have wept for the look of betrayal on the princess’s face, but she had to remain neutral.
“And you as well, Roderick,” Soren said.
The guard tensed and hesitated for a moment, but he did not rebel. Perhaps, were it anyone else, he would have, but Leisa was a trusted member of the guard. No one to be afraid of.
Though Leisa very much feared that King Soren had decided differently.
She crammed her hands into her pockets as she tried not to fidget.
“My daughter was mistaken,” Soren said softly. “You must know that this changes everything.”
“Your Majesty, I must disagree,” Leisa said stubbornly. “I am as loyal to your daughter as I have always been. Why should I care if she has magic?”
“This has nothing to do with you or your loyalty,” the king replied. “It’s about the reality that this knowledge cannot be permitted to get out, for reasons you need not attempt to understand.”
Did he think her dim as well as disappointing?
“I am obviously not the only one who knows,” Leisa argued. “Roderick knows, or he would be standing here beside me, and Zander clearly knew as well. Is it only me you’ve decided to view as a threat?”
The gravity of the king’s expression suggested it was true.
“But you’ve trusted me with your daughter’s life for years,” she protested. “And you trusted me in the heart of Garimore. You said that it had to be me! Because I know Princess Evaraine and care what happens to her. I am not suddenly such a fool that I fail to realize why her magic must remain secret, so what has changed?”
“I’m sorry,” Soren said, and perhaps he was, a little. But sorrow was not what Leisa saw on his face—any regret he might feel was buried beneath stern, implacable command.
“All of that is over now. You will step down from being my daughter’s guard and remain here, in the palace, for the foreseeable future. Perhaps when the danger from Garimore is past, and Evaraine is safely married, we can consider allowing you more freedom. Until then, you are confined to these halls.”
Leisa blinked, unable to grasp what she was hearing.
“You’re… You’re locking me up?”
“I’m saying that there are too many risks in permitting you to leave,” Soren replied. “Which it seems is what you had every intention of doing.”
Silently, Leisa cursed her earlier slip. Soren was no fool, and he must have correctly interpreted her briefly blurted objection the night before.
“You could be captured,” the king continued. “Returned to Garimore and tortured for information. I cannot risk that, therefore we cannot offer anyone the opportunity.”
“No,” she blurted out in disbelief. “No, no, and no. I have done everything you’ve ever asked of me, even when I thought it was crazy. Even when I knew it could cost me my life. I’ve defended your daughter and pledged myself to her safety, and now you say that’s going to cost me my freedom?”
The King of Farhall regarded her with a pitiless stare. “Yes.”
“But why?” Leisa’s voice seemed to echo in her own ears. She’d known he didn’t feel for her the kind of affection she’d always imagined, but this was so much worse. He was abusing his power out of fear, and destroying not only her hopes but all her fondest memories in the process. “Just tell me why you feel you have the right to use me in this way.”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ve given you everything,” she cried, begging him for an answer—for any response that might make sense out of this moment. “And in return, you’ve lied about everything. You lied about my magic and forced me to hide it so you could use it for your own gain. You lied about Garimore and forced me to play a game I could never hope to win. And you’ve lied with your actions every day of my life, pretending I meant something to you when all you wanted was to use me. So tell me why you think I owe you anything, let alone the rest of my life, wasted here so you can pretend Evaraine is safe.”
Soren did not flinch. “Because I am king,” he said. “And as such, I must determine what is best for all my people, not just one. If I must deprive one person of their freedom in order to save many, then so be it.”
Leisa’s mouth opened, but no words came.
And her king was still not finished. “For many years,” he said harshly, “you have imagined yourself free to speak your mind and behave towards me with a disrespect I have allowed out of foolish sentiment. But I will allow it no longer. As a citizen of Farhall, you will serve me, and Evaraine, in this way, from this day forward.”
Then he turned towards the door, but only took three steps before he paused. “Do not for one moment think that I have forgotten your childhood. I took you in when the streets would have eaten you alive. I raised you, developed your talents, and nurtured your magic instead of destroying it. If this has raised expectations that I regard you as any more than one of my loyal subjects, then I regret permitting such feelings to grow. But the truth is, you owe me everything. And now you will show me your dedication, not from your quarters as I had planned, but from the dungeon. Because that is the only place I can be certain of your loyalty.”
He walked out.
And Leisa fell to her knees. Some part of her seemed to have broken, and she could not have named the emotions that flooded her heart. Rage? Betrayal? Grief? All of them at once?
Rage sustained her while King Soren summoned the guards. Betrayal stiffened her limbs as they removed her vest with her lock picks and her rope. And grief held her motionless while they searched her boots and secured her hands for the trip to the dungeon.
The tide of emotions might have swamped her fully had she not seen the king standing alone in the hall as they walked her out of the princess’s rooms. He stood in shadow, his back turned—waiting.
Her hearing had always been far more acute than anyone realized, and so it was that she heard what he could never have meant for anyone to hear in that moment—a sound she could not reconcile with the proud, cold man who had sentenced a loyal servant to the dungeon to protect his secrets.
Alone in the hallway, King Soren wept.
Chapter 4
Kyrion woke from a dreamless sleep with the feeling of rage coursing through his veins.
Rage.
Confusion.
Betrayal.
He was on his feet, sword in hand, before it occurred to him that the rage was not his own.
The fae sat across the clearing, watching Kyrion curiously as he whittled away at a chunk of wood, never once looking at his hands.
“Bad dreams?” he asked.
If only. After ten years of rarely sleeping, Kyrion wasn’t sure he remembered how to dream. And in any case, what dream could be worse than the reality he’d suffered while trapped in enspelled armor, forced to do the bidding of an evil, ambitious man?