Page 39 of Crownless Heirs

Maelan frowned, glancing at him. “What?”

“Not for everyone.” Kyron muttered.

It was the way he said it that made Maelan pause. The weight behind those words, as if they slipped through the cracks. A thought struck him. He turned, studying Kyron more closely now. The man who moved like a soldier, who spoke of this place like an outsider, and had never called it home.

“You weren’t born here, were you?” Maelan realized cocking his head to one side.

Kyron didn’t react at first. Eventually, he exhaled and turned toward the city. “No,” he admitted.

Those words held sadness, but venom also tinged them.

Maelan narrowed his eyes. “Then where?”

“My father wasn’t Tuatha.” His voice trailing off.

Maelan blinked. That was unexpected. “A mortal?”

Kyron said nothing. He didn’t confirm or deny, but the silence spoke for itself.

Maelan let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Well. That explains a lot.”

Kyron shot him a dry look. “Does it?”

Maelan shrugged, smirking. “It explains your softness.”

Kyron looked as if Maelan had struck him; the words were a physical blow.

They walked for a few more steps before Maelan glanced at him again. “You ever met him?”

“No,” Kyron said bluntly.

Maelan studied him for a moment, then nodded. He didn’t press; some silences weren’t meant to be filled. Before he could say anything else, the surrounding air stilled. Maelan’s body tensed. His hand drifted toward his weapon, but Kyron’s grip caught his wrist before he could draw it.

“Don’t,” Kyron warned Maelan.

Maelan’s eyes flicked to his. “You feel it too?”

Kyron didn’t look away from the trees ahead. “Of course I do.”

The presence lingered, just out of sight. All the surrounding sounds had muted; the breeze was gone, the scents from the city and flowers disappeared. It was bleak despite the sun shining down on them. Maelan watched as his breath drifted into cold puffs before them. Kyron kept his hands by his side as he waited, and Maelan followed his lead. A few long moments passed before their senses were overloaded. The scents of the Tuatha court flooded back in as the sounds of people chatting, merchants murmuring, and birdsong rang loudly. The sun was warm, and the breeze was gentle again.

Maelan exhaled. “You can’t tell me that was nothing.”

“It’s the Guardian's eye; it watches over the court. It was watching us.” Kyron stepped forward, resuming their walk as if nothing had happened. “Come on. We’re getting off the streets, we’re going to see my mother.”

Suddenly, an enormous wolf slammed into Kyron, knocking him off his feet and into the bushes. Maelan started forward in alarm, but Kyron burst into laughter, grabbing the wolf’s thick fur and flipping him over his shoulder. Mid-air, the wolf twisted, bones reshaping, fur giving way to flesh. He landed hard, howling with laughter.

Maelan froze, confused, eyes wide.

“Gods damn you, Conall,” Kyron wheezed through gasps.

“You should have seen your face,” Conall said, grinning as he pushed his silver hair from his gold-flecked blue eyes. A long scar carved down one side of his cheek, harsh against his smooth skin.

He looked from Kyron to Maelan. “Who’s this?”

Kyron rose, brushing grass from his shoulders. “A friend.”

The moment settled, and Conall’s expression changed. The humor drained from his face, replaced by frustration. “You vanished without a word; patrols were sent to bring you back, but you were already entangled with the Circles.”