Logan Burk kissed the princess of Lodellion. That night, he killed her father.
The morning of his betrothal, Logan Burk kissed the princess of Lodellion. That night, he killed her father.
He was thirteen—the only son of a general, home from a war he'd somehow survived, with a betrothal he hadn't asked for and a girl he'd loved since they were nine. A few moments in a corridor outside Nola Vanne's door took all of it.
The thing that looked out of King Osgar's eyes that night was not the king. And the man it answered to had been at the banquet hours before, watching from the high table with a face Logan's mind couldn't hold—and has never gotten back.
Exile hands him to the Severed: a guild old enough to remember what woke inside Osgar, and patient enough to spend a boy's whole life forging him into the answer to it. Their magic has a name. So does the price. To move unseen—to get close enough to kill the things wearing men's faces—Logan pulls the Shroud around himself, and every time he does, it takes something he loved. The color of Nola's dress at her brother's coronation. The sound of the Lodel bell. The joke his father told twice. He doesn't get to choose what it takes. And the memories worth keeping are running out.
Nine wizards have been bleeding the world for longer than anyone alive remembers. One of them saw a thirteen-year-old do a thing no one should walk away from—and let him.
Logan intends to find out why.
A Boy Who Killed a King opens the Shroud Chronicles—a slow-burning fantasy of grief, first love, and the cost of being made into a weapon.
