A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(55)

There is no other choice now.

I can all but hear the crowd suck in a breath. A pause, a hesitation.

A boy shouts from amid the melee. “Father!” he screams. Others are holding him back, but he jerks free and runs for the steps. “Father!”

“Luthas,” snaps Marshal Perry, and his voice is ragged. “Luthas, get back.”

“Rhen!” shouts Harper from somewhere distant. Her voice is so faint that I almost don’t hear her. “Rhen!”

I turn to find her fighting her way through the crowd, Zo at her back. The people rock and shove against her, but she’s fearless and gutsy and elbows her way past them. My heart lights with both relief and panic at the same time. Anyone could have a blade. Anyone could use her against me right here and now.

“Father!” shouts the boy.

“Luthas!”

One of my guards steps forward, his blade drawn.

I remember Grey at my side the last time we came to Silvermoon. I was speaking of the Royal Guard’s prowess in battle. It was once said that approaching the royal family was a good way to lose your head in the street.

I jerk my eyes away from Harper, and I jolt forward, toward the boy. “Hold!” I snap. “Hold!” But the crowd is too loud, the tension too palpable. The guard’s arm begins to fall.

I shove him away, throwing up an arm to deflect his blade. The sword falls against my bracer and skids off. The guard stares at me in shock.

The boy is on the ground, his arm up, his breath high and keening.

I look up, searching the crowd for Harper. As my eyes lift, the shouting around us changes. “It’s the princess!” they yell. “The princess full of promises.”

“Dustan!” I shout. “Find her!” But then I meet her eyes in the crowd—and just as suddenly, Harper disappears from view. My vision narrows with singular focus. I forget the Grand Marshal. I forget the people. I forget the war and the enchantress and the guards at my side.

I’m unaware of leaving the steps. I’m unaware of drawing my weapon. I’m in the thick of the crowd, shoving people away, resorting to my sword when they don’t move quickly enough.

“Release her!” I shout. “Do not touch her.” My rage burns the air around me, hot and thick. When I make it to Harper and Zo, they’re on the ground, but the men surrounding them fall back.

Zo seems uninjured, but she’s on one knee, her dagger up, blocking Harper. Harper’s dress is torn, a long rip from the shoulder into the bodice. A panel of the skirts hangs awkwardly in the dirt. Her dagger is gone. She’s got a swath of dirt across her scarred cheek, and she’s panting, clutching a hand to her side, but she’s trying to get to her feet.

I put out a hand to help her, but I want to bury this sword in the chest of every single man surrounding them. I want to do it twice.

Harper’s breath hitches, and my eyes lock on hers.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice wavers, belying her confidence. “I’m fine.” But then her weak leg gives way, and she begins to fall.

I catch her, pulling her against me. It’s only then that I realize she’s trembling.

We’ve caught the crowd in a moment of indecision. There’s still so much violent promise in the air. I can’t tell if the people are more alarmed at what I was about to do—or at what they were about to do. My guards are at my back, and to my surprise, Chesleigh has followed them down off the steps with weapons in hand.

I look at the men and women surrounding us. “You will let us pass,” I say. “Or I will execute every person who stands in our way.”

“Rhen,” Harper whispers against my armor.

“I mean every word,” I snap, and I must look deadly serious, because a few of the men shift and shuffle back a step. These aren’t soldiers. These are merchants and dockworkers. Weavers and butchers. Few of them are armed. Children stand among them.

They came with questions and accusations. They might have spit in Dustan’s face and shoved my guards, but they didn’t come for bloodshed.

I’m the one who almost brought it.

Dustan steps in front of me. His own sword is drawn. “Clear a path,” he says sharply.

They do.

“Rhen,” whispers Harper. Her fingers dig into my arm, and she tries to take a step, then stumbles. “Wait. I don’t—I don’t think I can walk. Just—just give me a minute—”

We do not have a minute. I sheathe my sword. “Hold on to me,” I say, and I draw her arm across my shoulder, then scoop her up into my arms. She’s so fiercely determined that I expect her to protest, but maybe she’s as shaken as I am, because her fractured breath trembles against my neck.

As we stride out of the courtyard, the shouted questions and accusations resume. I keep my eyes forward, my arms tight around Harper, striding all the way to the livery to fetch our horses. I want to be thinking of ways to resolve this, to earn back the respect of the people here. To build my army, to create a larger show of strength against the forces Grey is readying against me.

But instead, all I can think about is how I came here hoping to project a show of strength and purpose, and now this feels like a retreat.

I think of how my people almost died at my hand, when they simply came seeking hope and change.

I look down at Harper, and I think of what she did—what she stopped—and what she risked.