Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 20

The throne room is cold, empty, and dark. At this time of night, the rest of the castle is the same but slowly, whispers are spreading. Through the mouths of guards standing at their posts or those that are taking a late-night stroll to the kitchens in search of an unhealthy snack, word is spreading that the prince has returned.

Escaped—and returned.

Guards stand at the open doorway to the throne room, leaving Renit and myself to stand and wait for his father to arrive. The king was shaken from his slumber, judging by the startled face of the guard when he returned after summoning their leader. The king is not at all happy to be dealing with this at such a late hour.

I shift back and forth impatiently, waiting for the click of his leather boots with each heavy step. They don't come until I least expect them and it's not one pair but two. I expect Silas to be with him and my heart leaps into my throat until I turn around and spot a different face emerging with the king. Not someone I recognize.

Renit's brows furrow as he is also clouded by confusion. "That's Binx Declan," the prince whispers close to my ear. "He was serving in the war until now. I thought he was...dead."

"Apparently not," I whisper back, keeping my eyes low.

The king trudges up the stairs of the dais and plants himself on that looming throne. Without the crown, he is still intimidating. The dark ink traveling up to his neck and seemingly choking the base of his throat, the unstartled frown at the sight of his son suddenly returned. The king's eyes are drooped with exhaustion and his long, dark hair is pulled back behind his head—leaving only two strands to frame his face.

I used to think Renit and his father looked exactly the same. Their similarities stop beyond the dark hair, tanned skin, and warrior's frame.

Renit straightens his spine as Binx stops at the foot of the dais and turns to face us. He doesn't smile either, no one is smiling in this room as we stand to face each other. Yet, I give him a nod of welcome—of return. A thank you for serving in a war that will not be won on either side.

To my surprise, he acknowledges my gesture with a nod back and a slight lift of the corner of his mouth. A smile. I'm getting off to a better start with Binx than I ever did with Renit. One person won't hate me—that's a tally I need to start.

"My son," the king begins with his rough voice. "You have returned."

Renit clears his throat, yet whatever is lodged in there doesn't release. He can't speak. This is my chance. "Your Highness, I will regret to inform you that the prince was injured," I blurt. From the corner of my eye, I watch the prince's stare snap over to me but he doesn't move to stop what else I might have to say. "It would be wise if he were tended to by a healer."

The king scratches at his chin. Binx's hand drifts to his sword lazily as his eyes shift between me and the prince. There's no way for me to discern his features or what he may be thinking. Neither of us know why he is here in the first place.

In the two months I've been here, I've never seen him. He's not as intimidating as the princes, he's shorter, stockier, but compared to hundreds of years of training, doesn't have as much bulk. Binx has a guard's mass. Strong but not over doing it.

Not only does his mass lack in comparison to the princes but the intimidation on their faces does not present itself with Binx. He's almost innocent looking—a button nose, plum shaded eyes that are wide with curiosity, and short brunette curls that barely extend past his scalp.

No, I have never seen him before. But he's standing at the king's side for a reason and already, I'm wary of what hides underneath his skin. Unless he's not that strong and holds no secrets of witches.