The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(58)

“Your presence hallowed it,” Severn whispered powerfully, his voice becoming stronger as his will crushed against hers.

“I pray the Fountain will curse you,” Kathryn said, but with less violence and passion.

“It already has, for your sake,” the king said. He slowly knelt in front of her, still clinging to her arm, and grunted in pain at the maneuver. “Do not weep, fair lady. Your eyes were made to love. Love me.”

His words caused a shudder of magic.

“I hate you. I cannot . . . I could never—”

“Your lips were not meant to scorn,” he said soothingly. “Teach them to rescue instead. Only you can rescue me, my lady. Only you can tame the boar. If you cannot forgive me, then destroy me.” He jerked free the knife from his belt and pulled her closer to him, so close her skirts rustled against his crouching knee. He planted the blade in her hand and closed her fingers around the hilt. “Take this blade and have your revenge.” With his free hand, he tugged loose his tunic strings and exposed his chest. “Sheath it here,” he said, tapping his heart. “End my suffering and your confinement. Rid the world of this savage beast. Nay! Do not hesitate! Look at me! You hold power over my life or death. It was loving you that drove me to my worst. Tame me or finish me. I would just as soon go over the falls this morning than spend another moment seeing such hate in your eyes.”

The king was using up all his magic. Owen sensed the vast dam giving way, the force of the flood insinuating Severn’s thoughts into Kathryn’s mind. Owen gritted his teeth. If he had been closer, his magic would have prevented the king’s from working against her.

Her will melted before such power, and the king’s dagger dropped from her hand and clattered onto the cobbles.

Severn’s voice was thick with triumph. “Take up my dagger. Or take me.”

Her shoulders slumped with despair. “I will not kill you. Though you deserve it.”

He shook his head. “Then do it with your words. Tell me to leap into the river, and I will.”

Owen wished she would look over at him. If he could have caught her gaze for a moment, he would have nodded violently. Yes! He did not believe the king would willingly destroy himself. This was a ruse, a deception, a way of conquering her heart. This was unlike any battlefield Severn had faced before.

“Did I not tell you earlier to jump into the river?” she asked tremulously.

“You were insulting me. Bid me the command now, and I will do it.”

The fiery look on the widow’s face was passing with the rising sun. Birds were chirping playfully from trees nearby. It was such a strange scene to witness.

She wiped tears on the back of her hand. Owen noticed that the king’s hand had slowly traced down her arm and was now nestled in hers. The magic was ebbing, but the spell was done.

“I wish I knew your heart,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’ve already confessed it with my tongue. Will you forgive me, Kathryn? Will you be my queen?”

“That you will know later. Cannot a widow be permitted to grieve?”

“You’ve been a widow these many years,” he said ardently. “Put aside your grief. Accept what is yours by right. All that I have, I give to thee. This heart. My crown. Take this ring from me. Say you are mine.”

He quickly withdrew a ring from a pouch at his belt. It was all planned. Owen stared at the king, so shrewd and cunning. His heart ached for Kathryn, who had never truly been given a chance or a choice. He saw the tenderness in her eyes. The castle had been breached. She would relent at last.

Unless Owen could stop it before the wedding.

“I will take it,” she said, accepting the ring. Owen noticed the other guards gawking at the scene, some in disbelief and some with impressed amazement.

The king strained and started to rise, wincing with pain. Kathryn’s expression softened with sympathy and she took his arm to help him up. She did not loosen her grip on his arm once he had come to standing.

Severn bent his head, looking at the ring in her hand. “Put it on.”

Owen glanced back at the gate and saw that Etayne and the boy had vanished. When he looked back, Kathryn was admiring the ring on her finger, the gold band winking in the light.

She looked up timidly at the king’s face, and he saw her heart in her eyes. All the hate and anguish was gone. She rested her cheek against Severn’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Let us pay our respects to the Fountain’s offering,” Severn said. He nodded to the soldiers to hoist up the boats, and started marching toward the end of the dock. Kathryn glanced back at her dead husband once more before the guards lifted the boat cradling his body. Her expression was no longer wounded. It was as if the grief had left her.

Owen watched Severn’s slow walk alongside Kathryn as they followed unhurriedly behind the guards. His heart simmered with fury at what the king had done and how he had wooed her. His lips twisted in resentment and defiance.

Severn may have won the lady. But he would not keep her long.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


The White King




The palace corridor resounded with the thunder of Owen’s boots as he walked firmly and purposefully to the throne room. Servants steered away from him, and his path was marked by the muted whispers that followed him. The Duke of Westmarch had returned to Kingfountain, summoned by the king because of all the treasons in the realm. There were rumors in the palace that the young man from Tatton Hall had had another dream. When Owen reached the main doors leading into the throne room, he saw it was packed to nearly overflowing.