Page 143 of The Sun King's Noon

A hiss tore out of the spider. Her legs scrabbled at the trunks behind, and the great web above shuddered.

“Insolence,”the voice squalled.“Oh, proud, foolish morsel, I shall suck the marrow from thine bones?—”

In a flash of light, the creature shrank, and its feet thudded onto the ground. Slender now, draped in green robes. Whitish-blond hair falling past shoulders, sharp eyes, high cheekbones of chiselled perfection.

Galdran smiled.“And now, kingling? Dost thou see beauty? Dost thou kneel? This face hath made stronger men than thee forget their oaths. Look upon it. Look upon what I have wrought for thee.”

Richard sneered. Now, this was an easier form to kill.

He lunged. The spider danced around the strike. The green robes whirled as Richard’s blade carved empty air, and the elf was already three steps to his left, laughing. Richard pivoted and struck again. The spider glided backwards, and her laugh warped into a giggle.

“Closer, kingling. Closer. Thou wert so eager to strike at me?—”

Richard feigned left, then reversed, the sword arcing beneath the spider’s guard, its blade a hand’s breadth from that pale, exposed neck?—

Another flash. The robes switched into a plum gown, and the elf’s smirk transformed into Aralynn’s gentle smile.

Richard froze, his sword an inch from his mother’s throat, his eyes too full of her—her sad gaze, her furrowed brows, her dark hair that he too bore?—

She kicked him in the ribs. The world cartwheeled. Richard tripped over a root and plunged to the ground, skidding through the dank leaves, sword tumbling from his grip. He groped for it, fingers closing on the hilt, and a heel slammed down onto his face.

Crack.

Black spots dotted his vision as pain ruptured from his nose and jaw. Blood streamed from a gash in his upper lip, filling his mouth and causing him to choke.

“Up, up, my handsome boy,”cooed his mother’s voice.“Let Mama see thee.”

His mother grabbed his hands and heaved them above his head. Richard thrashed, but her strength dwarfed his. Stacking his hands together, she reached for his sword and thrust its point through both his palms.

Richard screamed. The blade pinned him to the soil, and though he bucked, he could not free himself. Every twitch of his fingers sent a fresh, blinding agony lancing up his forearms.

Aralynn settled herself on his chest, humming as she arranged her skirts.

“There, there.”Her thumb swiped at the blood running from his lip.“Hush, my darling. Mama is here. Mama shall make it all stop.”

“Get—off—me?—”

“I shall kill thee, sweetling. It is a mercy.”She bent to card his fringe from his forehead.“Thou hast no notion of what awaits thee on the road ahead. Shall I tell thee?Shall Mama tell thee a story before she puts thee to sleep?”

“Do not—”Richard tried to jerk his face away, but she caught his chin and held it.“Do not wear her face?—”

“But it is a useful face.”She sighed. “Thy sword would not move against it. Thy heart will not close against it. Listen, my boy. Listen to thy mother’s voice. Thy knight has carried these words for seven years, and never once hath he spoken them unto thee. Shall Mama tell thee what he knoweth?”

Richard shook his head, a new terror surging. “Do not dare tell me the future?—”

“I see my youngest,”she began in the deep, husky voice his mother had always used when imparting her prophecies.“My little star. All grown and yet alone in a foreign land. Trying so hard to be brave as danger creeps close.”

Briony. His Briony. In what world would he ever let her be alone?—

“Stop—”

“I see my thirdborn,”the voice continued.“My laughing boy who no longer smiles. His eyes are hollow, and his body warped. He screams, but his lips do not move, and none can hear him.”

Bile surged up. Richard turned his head and retched, but nothing came up.

“I see my secondborn. My fiery girl. In a cell with no windows. She weeps on her knees, her hair hacked short and her shackles rusted.”

“Please.” Richard bit back a sob. No. Not them, not his little ones, no?—