Page 119 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
“He’s acting like a madman,” Rankor rumbled as Elaina moved to tend a gash on his arm, her hands steady and focused. “More than usual, anyway.”
I stared at the table, the weight of Rankor’s words settling uneasily in my gut. When I finally lifted my eyes, they locked with Camilla’s. The same horrid realization flickered in her gaze, and she gave me a subtle nod.
“No one told him,” I breathed, the resignation in my voice palpable. “It’s Pasnia. She’s at the castle.”
Clay straightened, gaze sweeping over me as his mind worked out what I was suggestion. His expression darkened. “She’s infecting him with madness.”
An eerie silence, thick with tension and fear, fell over the room.
“That’s... not good,” Rankor muttered.
“Believe me,” Camilla murmured, her voice low and haunted. “It’s worse than you could imagine.”
Iris’ glare shot toward Camilla, but for once, she said nothing. There was no time for bickering, not with the fate of the Mortal Realm teetering on the edge.
“Did you find the book?” Kent asked quietly, his voice tense.
I shook my head. Even if Nikolai had started looking right after we left, there was no time to hope for it. “We have to go into this without it.”
“And what?” Camilla asked sharply, her frustration bubbling over. “Just pray she doesn’t have it already?”
Elaina reached for her, attempting to calm her, but Camilla shrugged her off. “Am I the only one who thinks this feels like a trap?”
“You would know,” Iris snapped, her words cutting like a blade.
Clay shot Iris a warning glare, and she turned away, rolling her eyes heavily.
Camilla was right, though, even if Iris didn’t want to admit it. Even if none of us wanted to believe it. Pasnia wasn’t bothering to hide her involvement—she was practically daring us to come for her. A trap seemed inevitable.
And a Goddess wouldn’t lay a trap unless she was confident she could catch her prey.
“Trap or not,” Clay said firmly, his tone brooking no argument, “we can’t just let our people die. If we stay here, they’ll come for us, anyway.”
The room fell into a tense silence as we collectively took a moment to breathe, steeling ourselves for the inevitable battle ahead.
I’d known this was coming, but somehow I still thought we’d have more time.
I stared at each of my friends in turn, taking in every detail of their somber faces as if it was the last time I would see them.
“What’s your command, Your Grace?” Kent asked, his voice polished and formal.
“Majesty,” I corrected instinctively, the word slipping from my lips before I could stop it.
The room turned toward me, confusion etched across their faces. Even Clay, who had so naturally taken command, frowned in surprise.
“You’re officially fighting for a new king,” I said, my voice resolute.
The revolution had begun.
Clay was our Dragon now.
The weight of my words settled over the room like a heavy shroud. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then a grin tugged at Rankor’s lips, followed by Iris’ knowing smirk. Even Kent gave a slight, satisfied nod.
“Long live the king,” Iris quipped, her voice tinged with dark amusement.
Clay ordered Camilla to get the civilians settled and Elaina to tend to the injured before leading Iris, Rankor, and me outside. Rankor brought us to a grizzled man with thick, carrot-colored curls. His polished armor bore the scars of countless battles, and he greeted Clay and me with deep bows as we approached.
“This is Commander Harland,” Rankor introduced. “I’ve placed him in charge of logistics and troop movements.”
