Chapter 22: Dashiell's POV

Dashiell's POV

I was on my knees again, and for once I did not mind.

Her No had gone through me the way it had in the banquet hall.

It went down the spine and into the legs, and every muscle I owned had folded.

I could breathe.

I could turn my head.

I could not stand, and neither could anyone else.

I was smiling at a white wolf the size of a horse.

Then I saw the man standing behind Fenn.

He was one of Honora's riders, a thick-necked man I had seen on the Council road.

A gray silver-iron band was locked around his throat.

Honora had planned for this.

She had fitted her own men with collars that would not let a royal's voice into their bodies.

The knife in his hand was already against Fenn's skin.

A thin red line had opened beneath the blade.

"Nobody move," the man said, quite loudly, and every kneeling head on the field turned.

Fenn's eyes found mine.

His face was gray under the bandages.

He did not make a sound, and that frightened me more than a scream would have.

On the dais, Honora lifted her head.

She was on her knees on the stone, with her hair come loose.

She was smiling again.

"Elowen," she called, in a perfectly pleasant voice. "My dear, I think you'll want to release us now."

The white wolf turned its great head.

Elowen's eyes, grey as winter, went to Fenn.

"The boy has a minute," Honora said. "Let the field up.

"Take your hands off the seat, and say in front of every Alpha that you walked away.

"Then he goes home to his stove."

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