19. Thorne

NINETEEN

THORNE

T he king was dumbfounded by Breya's desire to leave. After everything they'd been through, she wanted to go back to her little human village. It made no sense to him. He left the bedroom feeling more irritable than sad, but he knew in the back of his mind that the hurt would set in later.

He mumbled to himself as he paced the castle, unable to sit long enough to distract himself from the potential heartbreak. He eventually ended up in his office, wearing only his casual robe and underwear that he generally never left the king's quarters in.

Thorne told himself that he had to give her time. In the same way that he had asked her to give his people time and warm to her presence. He wanted to grovel to her in a way that was unspeakably pitiful. He wouldn't, of course, as he was the triumphant king of Savanna, but the mere thought made him realize just how dire the circumstances had become.

After shoveling down a plate of cream cheese bagels and a few black cups of coffee, there was a knock at the king's office door. His heart leaped for a moment.

"Come in," he grunted.

It was Sarielle. She held a piece of paper between her fingers, and her expression was ghostlike. She placed it on the desk without a word, then began to wring her hands together mournfully.

"I found this in Breya's room," she murmured.

Thorne snatched up the note and read it at record speed. His heart dropped like a boulder into a shallow pond.

"What is this?" he said, angrily waving out the sheet. "It's not finished."

He was shouting at her, but she did not flinch. It was all coming from a place of distress, and she likely knew that.

"I found the note in the queen's quarters, but her packed bags are still there. I had the guards search the castle and grounds but she is nowhere to be found."

Thorne snarled as he spoke, his fingers digging into the lip of his desk.

"Then search it again. And again!"

"There's more, My King."

Sarielle approached him and put something else on the desk, on top of the unfinished note. It was a feather, stark yellow with light brown inflections. Old and dead languages were etched into the quill and vane.

The king immediately knew who it belonged to. He fingered the feather, which ran the length of his thumb.

"Hannai uses this as a token," he said brusquely, then curled the feather into the palm of his hand. "The trusted witch of the Lion Council has my damn mate."

Hannai was one of the witches who was a part of the divination that located Breya as the king's fated mate. Cassia had summoned her skillset and spoke of her highly. She was renowned in the witch community for her bountiful red hair and stunning appearance, as well as a general unbothered nature that appealed to many of those in power.

Thorne had trusted her because he had trusted Cassia's opinion. How could she have been so easily fooled?

The king traveled alone to Hannai's hut. Like many of the witches in the shifter portion of Wildwoods, she thrived in nature and being on her own. There wasn't much societal pressure for witches and sorcerers to marry and reproduce. Many of them lived independent, quiet lives, relying solely on the comforts of the environment and their selected sisterly covens.

On that particular day, the heat had subsided. There wasn't much forest in Savanna, but a small collection that had been maintained belonged to the witches on the council. Thorne was sure there was some kind of sorcery involved, given the soft blankets of moss and tepid coolness among the canopy that really didn't coordinate with the Savanna climate.

He was draped in all black when he knocked on the door of the hut. It was slightly damp, too, a mist floating in the air. When Hannai answered, she was adorned in medieval-style attire that clung to her shapely figure. Her energy was lively.

Her eyes were blue sapphires, glistening and earnest, a joyful smile charming her lips.

Thorne was not fooled.

"My King, dear King!" she exclaimed. "What did I do to earn such a blessed visit?"

He cut a hand through the air and pushed against the door, forcing himself inside. Hannai did not panic but took a large step backward, her mouth twisted in feigned disorientation.

"I know she's here, Hannai," he growled at her. "Don't feed me any more of your lies. I know you have Breya. Hand her over now and your sentence will be softened."

Hannai was cooking something thick with garlic and black pepper spice. Thorne could see it out of the corner of his eye, simmering in a pastel green pot over the fireplace. The hut was rich with the scent of wild herbs, saffron, sandalwood, and incense, and his shifter nose picked up every smell. A twinge of doubt pricked through his mind.

"My King," she said, smiling. "I am not aware of what you speak of. Here, maybe sit and we…"

The king glowered, thinking Hannai was putting on some kind of performance. He took a step toward her, and she stumbled, falling awkwardly into the batwing chair that sat before the fireplace.

Out of instinct, he grabbed hold of the chair before it toppled over, then glanced down at the witch.

The sapphires had been extinguished. A gray milkiness took them over.

"Hannai? Tell me what's going on. I know you have Breya, so give up on this nonsense."

The witch's rosy countenance had gone ashen, reminding the king of the undead warriors he had squabbled with near the sorcerer's lair. Thorne was still holding onto the wings of the chair, an unsteadiness plaguing him, when Hannai lifted her head to meet his gaze.

He jumped backward, nearly tripping into the fireplace. He grabbed hold of the brick wall and caught his breath, unable to tear himself from the petrifying sight.

All of the blue in Hannai's eyes had disappeared. Her indifferent stare at him felt like looking into the eyes of a blind person.

Her expression remained inscrutable as she spoke a dry and lengthy soliloquy.

"You have been deceived, my dear King. The longer you darken my door, the more time Queen Cassia has to see her plans through. She has fooled you, and she has fooled you well. For she has been plotting against you, you see. She has used the sorcerer against you."

All scraps of uncertainty were squashed as Hannai, possessed by some unseen cosmic force, revealed the true colors of the Queen of Wyeberry. He listened closely, still standing cumbersomely against the wall of the hut. His heart was drumming into his ears.

"They left the feather to frame me," she said vacantly. "But it was Nyfain who took your beloved on the instruction of Cassia. They want you to look in the wrong direction. And here you are."

Whatever was wearing Hannai's face tried to smile. It was like trying to pull back the skin of a corpse long past the state of rigor mortis.

"Why?" he snapped back, settling himself against the wall. "Why would Cassia want Breya? And what does Nyfain get out of it?"

She continued talking, not having blinked in nearly a full minute.

"Nyfain was promised Breya's powers. He is drunk with the idea of control. And you see, Cassia isn't what she seems."

Thorne waited in the creepy silence, feeling one of his eyesstart to twitch.

"…Not what she seems?" he said carefully.

"Her kingdom is faltering, my dear Thorne. She has managed to conceal it from you and the rest of the Wildwoods, but the veil is starting to fall. The best solution in her mind is to unite the kingdoms, yours and hers. You see, though, Breya got in the way. Now she has her."

The king stood up from the wall. He took a brave step toward the bewitched woman and bent at the waist, staring at her. Someone or something was puppeting her, giving him all of the information he needed.

The pot over the fire started to boil over. Neither of them moved.

"And now she wants me to come see to them? To lure me in?" he asked.

Hannai nodded obnoxiously slowly.

"She has promises to keep to Nyfain and to her people. You will see when you leave. It is rather tragic down there."

Thorne stood, snatched up the oven gloves nearby, and then lifted the pot off and away from the flames. He set it down on the kitchen table and approached the door. He turned back to the witch reproachfully.

"Thank you," he said sternly. "Whoever you are."

Hannai, or the thing inside Hannai, did not try to smile. She sat staring, nostrils flaring pointlessly.

"You are very welcome," the voice whispered back. "Go get her."

Thorne left the hut and shifted to race back to the kingdom. He was going to gather his army and march toward the Wyeberry Kingdom before sundown.