The Shadow Princess (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 6)

And the horses. Wow! I was horse crazy there too. I’ve been riding horses since I could walk, and I spent all my free time among them. My parents always joked they should’ve built a bedroom for me in the palace barn.

Oh, how I miss that life, I realize.

My real life.

I missed all of it so much now that I know I haven’t had it.

I now understand and suppose I must be grateful to Bastien for making me see this.

Bastien.

A sudden surge of emotions rockets through me, forceful enough that I break free of whatever spell he froze me with. I shake off its clutches and am free to move again.

But the feelings are so complicated, swirling in my head, my gut, and my heart, they make me weak. I drop to the couch, crossing my arms over my stomach, and lean forward to rock as I try to process everything.

All my memories of Bastien rush forward, first in a warm wave of love and security. He was my childhood protector and friend. Handsome, funny, and mischievous. Generous and thoughtful. Strong and brave.

Sexy… oh gods, the things we shared in bed. The things he did to me, and I did to him, and…

I can access and flip through a thousand memories of us together, but I don’t need to.

I simply know there was a time when we had been madly in love. Anyone who knew us had no doubt we were soul mates. We had our parents’ blessing to marry, and we had planned to grow old together.

He was simply the other half of my heart. My eyes lift to take him in.

Bastien watches me carefully, a muscle ticking at the corner of his jaw that indicates he’s tense.

I mean… I know that about him. When he’s uptight, which isn’t all that often, he grits his teeth and that tiny muscle jumps.

But… the warm feelings slowly recede like a tide being pulled back. My most recent memories of him fill my mind, turn my blood cold, and blacken the recesses of my heart.

Running through tunnels under the palace with Bastien. My parents, dead… murdered by Ferelith. Kestevayne had been overtaken. Bastien and I escaped, and we were able to meet up with a few members of the Clairmont Conclave who also managed to flee the palace.

Over the next several weeks, we were on the run and reunited with many citizens and soldiers loyal to my family. My supporters gathered in secret places hidden under cloaks of magic. We rallied, and we planned. Weeks went by while strategies were made for war with the usurper, Ferelith Haramish. We would regain Kestevayne.

Troubling news kept filtering to us that Ferelith was using powerful blood magic, which was absolutely prohibited in Vyronas. We couldn’t fight her with it and faced moral dilemmas never presented to us before.

Bastien worried constantly for my safety, for Ferelith needed me dead. I imagine the sacrifice of my blood would give her powers we couldn’t even imagine. The Conclave worried because if I died, Kestevayne would be lost.

A plan was ultimately hatched by the Conclave to move me to safety until they could amass enough forces to retake Kestevayne. It was a plan I would not agree to, and we were in stasis.

Every ruling family had a Conclave—an appointed group of advisors. They descended directly from daemons who practiced druid mysticism and are known as the Scrinia. Their line of citizens are powerful in magic and supposedly wise in all ways. While rulers didn’t have to always agree with their Conclave, they did listen to them carefully and almost always took their advice.

I wasn’t having any of it, though.

I refused to be separated from either Bastien or Vyronas, despite the immense danger from a crazed sorceress amped up on blood magic. I was the ruler of Vyronas now, and I was in charge.

Except… I wasn’t.

I focus in on the very last memory I have before beginning my new life.

“How long have I been here?” I ask, my voice shaking with more emotions than I can name.

Bastien doesn’t answer, but Kieran does. “Seven years.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing under my breath. I bury my face in my hands, and my stomach churns as I recall my last memory of Bastien.

We walked together, hand in hand, in a small apple grove. We’d settled into a camp at the base of the Rosethorn Mountains and cloaked the entire area under a protection spell held firmly in place by the Conclave and bolstered by a large ley line running through it.

Bastien had stood by my side in agreement with my decision to stay in Vyronas. His father, Graeme, was the commandant of the military, and Bastien was a high-ranking officer under him. The Dunne name carried clout. The Conclave had been stepping lightly around us. While they are respected, they are but one-third of the ruling equation.