Page 87 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
I let Caldrius lead the way, my breath coming in ragged gasps as we ran through the twisted landscape. The trees seemed to stretch endlessly, but finally, the darkness thinned, and we broke free from the cursed wood, stumbling into the open realm beyond. I staggered, clutching my side as I gasped for air.
Caldrius spun on me, his sword still dripping with black gore, his chest heaving from the fight. His eyes—dark, blazing, electric—locked onto mine before scanning over me. He gripped my shoulders tightly before spinning me to examine my backside for injuries.
"I'm fine!" I barked.
"You most certainly are not!" He released me, allowing me to turn back and face him. "You must be deranged to have gone in there alone and unprotected."
Not deranged. Desperate.
Similar enough, and yet entirely different.
“Explain what you were doing in there,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”
My pulse still roared in my ears, nearly drowning out his words but I straightened, stilled my trembling muscles, and met his gaze head-on.
“Looking for you!” I shot back, still trying to catch my breath, trying to ignore the way his own chest heaved, not with exertion but with the lingering concern he seemed to have felt for me.
“Why?”he roared.
I chewed on my lip, before placing my hands on my hips and forcing myself to stand to my full height. “I need your help.”
“You need my help?” He echoed, as if the words didn't seem to make sense, as if they were entirely illogical.
I swallowed as I nodded, a sudden breeze pulling my hair into the air.
“With what?” he snapped.
I hesitated, then finally said, “I want to steal the invisibility bangle from Hyrax.”
It had taken far less convincing than I’d expected to get Caldrius to help me on this mission. Before I knew it, he’d grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward Hyrax’s castle, his pace quick and unrelenting, seemingly unfazed by the blood still drying on our fingers.
Caldrius moved with purpose, cutting through the winding rock halls with such determined strides that I struggled to keep up. The castle twisted and turned around us like a maze, any hope of remembering the path evaporating with each step. Finally, we stopped in front of a massive set of wooden doors—easily twenty feet high—carved with intricate depictions of Hyrax and what I assumed was his wife, Pasnia.
Caldrius glanced over his shoulder, scanning the shadows to ensure we were alone. He pressed his ear to the door, listening intently as the silence stretched on, thick and heavy. Then, satisfied, he pushed the grand door open with a grunt and gestured for me to follow him into Hyrax’s bedchamber.
“What will he do if he finds us in here?” I whispered, myvoice barely audible.
“Less talking, more looking,” he muttered, already rummaging through the drawers of a chest against the far wall.
The room wasn’t what I expected. For a God’s private sanctuary, it was shockingly normal. Thick, rumpled obsidian sheets covered the massive, round bed, as though Hyrax had just risen from it. Weapons lined the wall—daggers, swords, maces—all perfectly displayed, except for the gap where his Bident should have been. I felt the empty spot with my fingers, a stark reminder that Hyrax’s greatest weapon remained locked in the Mortal Realm.
Near the hearth, faint embers cast a reddish glow over two upholstered chairs and a small table. A half-finished game of chess sat between them, frozen mid-battle. The strange domesticity of it unnerved me. This wasn’t the chamber of a monster—it was a place of quiet, perhaps even rest.
“You’re not looking,” Caldrius snapped, dragging me from my thoughts.
I shot him a glare but turned my attention to the vanity, where jars, scrolls, and oils sat scattered. “Where is Pasnia?” I asked, though I hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
Caldrius stilled. The tension in his shoulders was immediate, and when I turned, I saw the flicker of something troubled in his expression. “Her highness is preparing for the Eternal Slumber.”
I froze. “What does that mean?”
“She’s dying,” he said simply, his voice quieter than before.
“How?”
“She’s been ill for some time. Not even Gods can live forever. Keep looking.”
The weight of those words settled deep in my chest. Gods could die. The Eternal Slumber wasn’t just some poetic phrase—it was death. And if Pasnia, the Goddess of Madness, could die, then Hyrax could, too.
