Page 122 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
The ground trembled beneath the weight of two armies colliding, the force of it rattling through my chest. Fire rained down in molten streams as Clay dove from the heavens, his massive wings cutting through the sky, his flames consuming the enemy in searing waves. The air filled with acrid smoke and the metallic tang of blood, stinging my nose and burning my throat.
The sound was pure chaos.
Steel met steel with shrieking ferocity, the clash of blades ringing out like thunder. Screams of pain and rage mingled with the guttural cries of men fighting for survival. Horses reared and whinnied in panic, their hooves striking the ground with desperate force.
And above it all, Clay’s roars reverberated through the battlefield, primal and unrelenting.
It wasn’t just noise. It was carnage given a voice.
I clung to the sight of him, a fiery beacon in the chaos, his golden scales gleaming as he unleashed destruction from the skies. But even his immense power couldn’t drown out the horrors below—soldiers falling beneath the weight of axes, arrows finding their marks, and bodies crumpling into the dirt, never to rise again.
Beside me, Iris’s sharp eyes flickered across the battlefield, her blade steady in her hand as if she thrived in this chaos. “Don’t freeze up,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “Focus. Stay sharp.”
My pulsethundered in my ears, and my fingers tightened on the reins of my horse. “How do you do this?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the cacophony.
She didn’t look at me right away. When she did, her expression was unreadable. “You don’t think about it. Just move. Fight. Survive.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of her words anchoring me as the battle surged around us. This wasn’t just war. This was survival—messy, brutal, and unforgiving.
And if we didn’t move soon, it would devour us whole.
I hesitated, and Iris must have sensed it because, for the first time, her voice softened. “Thea.”
I turned toward her, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to say something. Something important.
“Promise me everyone we love will get through this,” I pleaded.
She went still.
I saw the battle reflected in her eyes—the blood, the bodies, the fire raining from above. I saw the weight of everything she had lost. Everything she had suffered.
And I saw the moment she realized she couldn’t lie to me.
Her silence was heavier than any reassurance could have been.
At last, she spoke, her voice quieter than before. “I can’t do that.”
A lump formed in my throat.
Before I could respond, she straightened and nudged me toward my horse. “Come on. Get ready.”
In front of us, a path was forming, a narrow space traveling from our position to the palace.
I swung myself into the saddle, the leather cold beneath my fingers. Iris followed, pulling herself atop her mount with practiced ease. Around us, the other members of the Order formed a sharp V formation, their movements precise. Iris and I remained at the center.
She turned to me one last time.
“Follow me,” she instructed, her voice steady and authoritative. “No magic, unless your life depends on it. Stay alert. And try to stay alive.”
It was the closest thing to I still care about you I was going to get.
With that, she spurred her horse forward, and we surged down the hill into the chaos of war.
Chapter Thirty Five
There was so. Much. Blood.
It coated the ground, squishing under the hooves of my horse. It splattered through the air, warm and sticky as it struck my face. It dripped down my hands, staining my skin where my blade had sliced through enemies.
