Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)

by Rachel Gillig

The great hall was full of light, drenched in the aroma of herbs and butter-glazed foods—perfumes and wine. Laughter bounced against its ancient walls, and music tangled in tapestries, pirouetting around pillars and knotting itself in skirts.

I used a Maiden too long. Cold, unaware of the beating heart in my chest. Shut off. And yet Ayris was still the sun to me. Even in the wood, cold and gray with mist, her presence was a light, a warmth. I wanted her near me, for there are some things not even magic can erase.

“Neither Rowan nor Yew, but somewhere between. A pale tree in winter, neither red, gold, nor green. Black hides the bloodstain, but washes the realm. First of his name—King of the Elms.”

It was as if all of our lives, drawn in long, separate lines, had curved together. Curved so much that all of us had become interlocking circles. As if we had been destined together. Shepherded together.