Page 67 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
As we passed under the archway into the Village of Life, he tugged me forward just as a petite woman with caramel-colored curls and golden skin stepped into view, her wide smile radiating warmth.
“This is Alma,” Caldrius introduced. “Alma, this is Theadora, Hyrax’s—”
“Oh, I know who she is!” Alma interrupted, rushing forward to clasp my hands in hers. She bowed her head and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
“Gods, you don’t have to do that!” I exclaimed, trying to free my hands.
Alma smiled up at me through dark lashes, her lips quirking playfully. Keeping one hand clasped around mine, she gently tugged me forward. “Nonsense! We’re honored to have you here, Theadora. Allow me to show you our home.”
As Alma led me through the village, she pointed out the tall, colorful buildings, their stone facades painted with stunning murals of flowers, animals, and idyllic landscapes. She introduced me to every soulwe passed, and each bowed to kiss my knuckles despite my protests. Vendors insisted I sample their baked goods, while children darted between us, plucking flowers from nearby gardens to weave into my hair.
“This one too!” a little girl called, tugging at the fabric of my skirt. She held up a dandelion, reaching to add it to the growing crown atop my head.
Alma laughed, scooping the girl into her arms. “That’s a weed, Amalia! The princess doesn’t want weeds in her hair.”
Amalia’s pout deepened, her lower lip trembling in the unmistakable prelude to a tantrum. Alma sighed, bracing herself.
“Nonsense!” I said quickly, plucking the dandelion from Amalia’s small fingers and tucking it behind my ear. “It’s beautiful.”
Amalia’s eyes widened in surprise before she squealed with delight, clapping her hands. “Pretty!”
I laughed, turning to Alma. “Is she yours?”
Amalia’s pale skin and light eyes bore little resemblance to Alma’s golden complexion, though their hair colors weren’t entirely dissimilar. Still, their differences were striking enough to make me curious.
“Oh no,” Alma replied, setting Amalia down. The child immediately darted back to a patch of dandelions, giggling. “Amalia arrived a few months ago. She died of a fever. Her parents are still in the Mortal Realm.”
“So, who takes care of her?”
Alma tilted her head at me, a surprised smile on her face and her eyes dancing. “We all do, of course. This is the Underworld. Here, we’re all family.”
After what felt like hours playing with the children in the Village of Life, Caldrius and I found ourselves on a hill overlooking the bustling village below. I sprawled back in the grass, letting the soft strands thread through my fingertips, while he sat nearby, one arm draped casually over his raised knee.
“This isn’t at all what I expected,” I said for the second time that night.
The wind tickled my cheeks, carrying the faint scent of flowers mixed with the earthy undertones of the grass beneath me. From below, the sounds of the village floated up to us—snippets of laughter and the distant strumming of lutes. Overhead, the stars stretched endlessly, their light glinting down on the two of us.
Caldrius glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m not surprised.”
“It’s nothing like anyone in the Mortal Realm would imagine,” I continued.
He let out a low chuckle. “I doubt the Mortal Realm’s views of the Underworld have changed much since I was alive.”
I rolled to my side and propped my head on my hand to see him better. He wasn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed on the horizon, lost somewhere I couldn’t follow.
“Can you blame them?” I asked, breaking the silence. I had intended to stop asking him about the past, at least for a little while, but somehow we always found ourselves back here. In the place where he always seemed to know more than he was willing to tell me. “Hyrax tried to enslave the Mortal Realm.”
Caldrius turned then, his dark eyes meeting mine with unsettling intensity as he pivoted to face me fully. “You still don’t trust him.”
“I don’t see why I should.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he remained silent. Then he spoke, his voice laced with frustration. “Has it ever occurred to you that everythingyou know about the Underworld—about Hyrax—is nothing more than a story crafted by frightened Mortals to justify their own ignorance?”
The sharpness in his words caught me off guard. I sat up fully, blonde hair spilling haphazardly over my shoulders. Caldrius’s gaze flicked to the strands, softening as if he regretted his outburst.
“I know what Hyrax is capable of,” I shot back.
"You know what hewascapable of. Do you not think people can change? Surely, you must admit that the Hyrax you’ve met is not the monster your realm has painted him to be.”
