Page 63 of Taken By the Shadow Prince

He waves a hand through the air. “Relax. I’ll find a healer and be good as new. Where are you headed? Is everyone okay?”

“Not everyone.”People are dying as we speak. The words don’t need to be said out loud. “Going at them from above to see if that helps me,” I lie. What a lie. I sincerely doubt I’ll find anything that’ll cut down that many soldiers.

He nods. “Good luck. I’m going to find Auley. Have you seen him?”

“You’ll have to push your way to the front—but you’ll see him.”

Ellis cracks a grin. “Hard to miss him when he’s got weapons in his hands.”

I nod and turn, racing up the stairs. He’s right, though. There’s a reason they made Auley captain so young. There’s no beating him when it comes to a battle. Not one on one, at least.

Don’t know how he might fare against thousands.

That thought has me running up the steps even faster.

I’m racing up stairways and hallways and past the straggling few who have yet to make it downstairs, or to wherever Auley had them assigned.

That thought has me about to throw up.

There’s more than just the rebels at the front gates. There’s other entrances where people are fighting, dying, too. More rebels. So many rebels.

More than I would have ever thought possible.

So I don’t stop moving. I don’t slow my pace, even as I’m cursing myself for putting him in rooms so fucking high up, even as I’m praying that he’s actually there like I suspect he’ll be—because Armin never agreed to fight.

And afterwefought, I sincerely doubt he plans on helping.

Can’t say I blame him, either, but I can cross my fingers that he’ll take my begging and pleading and accept it.

I finally make it to his chambers.

It smells like him, and liquor, and the outdoors.

Because the balcony doors are open.

I run for them, push them open further and—

And he’s asleep, with two empty bottles of alcohol on the ground beside him and one that’s half full dangerously dangling from his fingers.

“Armin,” I whisper. There’s an urgency in my voice that I hope will wake him—but he’s drunk.

I snatch the liquor from him and dump it all over him.

He sputters and shoots up, black shadows surrounding him, ready to pounce.

It’s just me, he realizes.

The shadows are gone.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Armin asks.

“People are dying right now, Armin.”

“So they are.” He shrugs. “People die all the time. But look at that moon!” He gestures to it with a lazy hand and holds his hand out for the now mostly empty bottle I hold. “Can I have that, or will I have to go find another drink now that you’ve poured most of that all over me?”

“Armin,” I say, “Please. Can you just listen for a second?”

“I listen all the time,” he mumbles. “I love listening to you.”

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