Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King #2)

The past sank into me in that dark, bottomless water until I was a part of it.

I stood in a castle, opposite a young woman. She was shorter than me, with dark hair, copper skin, and piercing yellow eyes. She was the sun—I felt her warmth even in the cold corridor as we walked together.

Ayris. My younger sister.

Light came through arched windows, catching dust particles that fell onto green woolen carpets. “Oh no,” Ayris said, looking up at me. “There’s a bruise under your eye.”

I shrugged. “Training.”

“With Brutus, no doubt. Only a fool would mark up your face before coronation.” Her eyes rose to my head. “How does it feel—wearing the crown?”

I reached into my hair and touched something cool, its weight firm. “Like providence.”

When we got to the gilded door at the end of the corridor, the guards opened it. One of them was young, a boy my own age of seventeen. He had green eyes—and not one, but two bruises upon his face. He winked at Ayris, then me. “Good luck, Taxus.”

“Nitwit,” my sister muttered beneath her breath.

The doors opened to a cathedral. Stained glass caught the light, turning gray stones a brilliant spectrum of color. Violet, green, pink, red, burgundy, blue. The colors danced before my eyes, so bright and beautiful I wanted to catch them—put them in my pocket.

Lords and ladies stood around me as I took my seat in my late father’s chair. The one forged of old, bent trees. “Long live Taxus,” came my court’s jubilant call. “Long live the Shepherd King.”

Elspeth.

Elspeth.

Elspeth!

I opened my eyes to darkness. Someone called to me, an oily voice. The longer he called, the more desperate his tone became.

I tried to swim toward the sound of his voice, but the water—the net of memories—held me fast. I could not move, could not speak.

Could not get out.