The War of Six Crowns: The Heir's Choice

Promises and Oaths

Callan struggled to breathe. Maybe the tolling bell, calling her to her death, made her nervous. Or maybe her corset was too tight. No, both. Definitely both. She peeked at her untouched food. Her stomach turned.

Quin entered, ignoring the squeals of protest from the elvish ladies in her bedroom. Blood drained from her face. What was he doing here? His eyes took in the spectacle she wore: layers and layers of flounces and lace, still technically her underwear.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" she asked.

"I am ready." He took her clammy hands into his own, searching her face. "We can still leave," he whispered in Nordian.

Callan laughed without joy, then realized what he'd said. Cold dread gripped her. She cleared her throat. "We?"

He frowned. "The oath, remember?"

"No." Who would think one word could stab at her heart? "You have to leave." Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Quin shook his head. "You can't make me without killing me."

He was sworn to her. If he stayed, they'd kill him by association. Callan shuddered at the thought.

One of the elvish ladies pulled Callan's hands out of Quin's and made her stretch her arms up. The silver dress floated over her head, obscuring her blurry vision for a moment.

When the elves finished pulling down her dress, Quin stepped closer and wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"I can't leave. Not now. Not ever."

Callan wanted to scream at him—cry, beg...anything—but it would be futile. Nothing could make him leave without breaking the oath. Unless...

Could it work?

It had to.

She lowered her arms, curling her fists when the elves squealed in outrage. She focused on Quin, a nearly impossible feat, given what she was about to do.

"I want you to go with the Saints. All the way to Sylmion."

He started to interrupt, but she held up her hand.

She drew a ragged breath. "I want you to wait for me there. I'll come after the wedding."

Color faded from Quin's cheeks until his pallor mirrored the first time they'd met. The first time she'd saved his life.

"No." His voice barely rose above a hoarse whisper. His hands dropped to her shoulders. "Don't do this."

Callan tried for another deep breath, but only managed a short gasp. "I command it."

He flinched as if she'd struck him. When he looked at her again, his face was a blank mask. His hands dropped to his sides.

Her throat constricted painfully. "Go!" she commanded with all the force she could muster.

Quin stared at her for a long time, but she held firm. She clenched her jaw against the new flood of tears and turned her back on him.

The slamming door rattled the windows.

No one commented when she started to cry.

"Your Majesty!" someone exclaimed.

Oh no. She couldn't let Aurek see her tears. As discretely as possible, she dabbed at her eyes and faced the door.

In it stood Eoin and her grandfather, whose face glowed with rage.

"You smuggled in the Nordians?" King Keill roared in Laris. The whole room fell silent.

Perfect. Callan was about to die, and two people she didn't want to upset were furious with her. The day just kept getting better and better.

Poor Callan. It must be a heartbreaking choice to send away your closest friends when you're planning to do something that's certain to get you killed. 

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