Page 131 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
“You are nothing to us,” Hyrax snarled, his voice like a death knell.
Shadows descended, curling unnaturally around the Dragon’s body. His screams were short-lived, swallowed by the black mist that writhed and consumed him. When the shadows dissipated, all that was left of the Dragon was muscle and bone—his skin stripped away like a cruelly discarded shell.
I pushed away from Caldrius’ lap, choking on bile as my stomach heaved violently. I vomited onto the floor in front of me, trembling as Caldrius reached for my hair, gently pulling it back from my face.
Hyrax turned, his movements sharp and violent, his gaze sweeping over the Mortals still in the room. “I am your ruler now,” he declared, his voice cold and unyielding. “Bow to me, or meet the same fate.”
One by one, they fell to their knees.
The Athenian guards, who had served the Dragon loyally, were the first to bow, their weapons clattering to the floor in surrender. Then came the resistance fighters, their heads lowering in silence.
The room held its breath, heavy with submission, until the soft scrape of boots broke the stillness.
Clay stood.
“No,” I croaked, my voice barely audible, too weak to carry across the vast ballroom. I reached for him, my fingers trembling, but Caldrius held me firmly in place.
If I had my powers, I would have forced him to his knees, forced him to do the thing he would never do on his own just to be sure that he would live through this night.
But I didn’t have my powers, and Clay was born to lead.
To protect.
To stand when no one else would.
Hyrax’s expression shifted, disdain curling his lips as he looked Clay over. “You must be the Dragon Prince I’ve been so hoping to meet,” he said, his tone mocking.
To my horror, Iris stepped forward next, rising slowly to stand beside Clay.
And then Rankor joined them.
My friends. My stupidly brave family.
“Kill them all,” Hyrax commanded, his voice as calm as if he were ordering wine.
A sob ripped through me, ravaging my body like a tempest. I shuddered in Caldrius’ grip, my chest heaving as my eyes burned, too dry now to produce anymore tears. “No, please,” I whimpered, the plea tearing from my throat.
“My liege!” Caldrius’ voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension in the room.
Hyrax turned, his eyes narrowing as if only just now realizing we were still there.
Caldrius rose to his feet, cradling me in his arms. “Your daughter is unwell,” he said, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “She needs rest. Perhaps we can delay this… punishment until after she recovers.”
Hyrax’s expression softened marginally as he rushed toward me, placing a hand against my clammy forehead. His touch burned like ice, and I flinched.
“She’s burning up,” Hyrax muttered, his voice low, but sharp with concern.
“She needs a healer,” Caldrius replied, his tone firm.
The two exchanged a long, silent look, unspoken words filling the space between them. Finally, Hyrax gave a curt nod. “Very well. I’ll deal with this myself. You see to it that she is cared for.
No.
I struggled weakly against Caldrius’ hold, my limbs too heavy to fight properly. He tightened his grip, pulling me closer to his chest.
“Don’t you think she would prefer to be present for the execution of those who stood against her father?” Caldrius reasoned, his voice smooth and calculated.
Hyrax paused, his gaze flicking to me. His obsidian eyes softened slightly, his lips pulling into something dangerously close to concern.
