Page 12 of The Sun King's Noon

The sorcerer’s shoulders sagged. Sound erupted around Richard—shouts, sobs, the clank of soldiers’ armour, the crowd’s whispers, Elara and Corwin yelling for Briony.

Two Threadbourne soldiers were on the sorcerer immediately. They shackled his arms in iron cuffs, engraved,Richard knew, with runes that dulled magic. One guard struck the sorcerer across the temple with her sword’s pommel, rendering him limp.

Dain reached Richard first. The Lord Commander’s face was grim, sand speckling his beard.

“Balls and blisters.” Dain appraised him quickly. “Any bad wounds, Your Majesty?”

Richard heard himself answer, flat and distant. “No. I am well.”

But the sun was too bright, and every flicker of movement snapped his attention like a whip. He flinched when Kaelen ran towards him.

“My king.” Kaelen bowed and straightened. His eyes appeared dazed, and a blush coated his cheeks. Something about his blown-out pupils seemed to irritate Dain, who smacked the knight’s breastplate.

Confusion flickered, but Richard paid it no mind. His pulse whooshed in his ears, and the impulse to fight, kill, thrummed in his veins. He followed Dain towards the captured sorcerer. The guards had him drooping between them, his head lolling, mousy hair mussed. He looked older than Richard had guessed—perhaps thirty. Not handsome in the typical sense, but striking with his high cheekbones and soft lips.

Richard’s gaze slid to the sorcerer’s forearm, where his sleeve had ridden up. The tattoo there was familiar. Three small blackbirds, huddled close. Above the middle bird, a sorcerer’s staff. Above the left, a crown. Above the right, an axe. And linking them all was a heart.

“Oh,” Richard murmured.

This was Flint’s other lover. Lyell.

Richard had met the leader of the Raven’s Guild—a bandit group that terrorised the eastern border—a few months prior. Flint had been roguish and flirtatious, but his tendernesstowards the lovers etched on his forearm had been clear. Edith had been in the tavern too—a brawny woman with cropped hair who’d tongued Flint boldly—but Lyell, Flint had said, had been too sick to come along.

So this was Lyell.

Richard twirled the dagger. “Take him to the interrogation chamber. Tell Chief Morland to do what is necessary. I want answers.”

Dain’s mouth tightened. “Understood.”

Kaelen shifted beside them, jaw flexing. Still a young thing of twenty-four. Full of chivalry not yet scoured away by the world’s ugliness.

But war was looming, and Kaelen would fast need to become accustomed to such brutality.

Richard made his way to Briony. Elara had her encased in a hug, patting her hair. Briony’s face was blotched with tears. She shrank as Richard approached.

“Briony,” Richard said. “Why did they come for you?”

“I—I didn’t—” Briony whispered. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Did not mean what?” Richard ground out. Something wet and sticky dripped from his brow onto his eyelid.

Briony shook her head, lips trembling. “I don’t know. I don’t—please?—”

“Do not lie to me!” Richard thundered. Blood, the witch had said. They’d wanted his little sister’s blood. “What are you hiding?”

He stalked forward, and Briony wailed, burying her face against Elara’s dress. A palm thudded into Richard’s chest, rocking him back. Corwin stood before him with a wary frown.

“Enough, Brother. You’re terrifying her.”

Richard blinked at him. A hand clamped on his shoulder from behind, and he spun with a punch?—

that Dain caught in his broad fist.

“Easy now, lad,” Dain said calmly. “Go wash and settle yourself. We’ll debrief when you’re not tasting battle.”

Richard let his arm fall. He glanced behind to see Briony enveloped between Elara and Corwin. “Yes. Yes. Very well.”

A wave of exhaustion crested over him, and his legs quivered. Kaelen neared, but Richard ignored him and walked across the yard on his own. Guards parted and bowed as he strode through. The crowd had mostly cleared from the stands, but those who remained would not stop staring.