Page 81 of The Prince's Curse

An image of another boy collapsing in a bloody heap before his aunt’s axes flickered before his eyes, and Haldric swallowed down sudden bile. “Wait.”

Fendrel and Benjin both turned to him, their expressions surprised.

“Your Majesty?” Fendrel asked. “We shouldn’t delay. The longer we wait to attack, the more time we give them to bolster their position.”

Haldric took a deep breath. His gaze still on the rebels, he shook his head. “Enough blood has been spilled today on the Grand Magus’ account. I won’t add any more—not if there’s another way.” He turned to Fendrel, squaring his shoulders as sudden certainty filled him. “Marshal, order your men to prepare to accept prisoners. I’m going to offer them a chance to surrender in exchange for leniency.”

Fendrel’s eyes widened. “Your Majesty, I must strongly protest. These traitors don’t deserve your mercy. They attacked the palace, threatened your life and the lives of my men.”

“After initially attempting to spare them by removing them from the fight,” Haldric countered. He raised a hand to forestall Fendrel’s rebuttal. “I understand your reservations, Marshal, and I am not excusing their violence.” He met Benjin’s pale gaze, bolstered by the quiet support he found there. “However, I am also not excusing the part I and the rest of the nobility played in driving the people to such desperation that they’d follow someone like Dexil in his misguided coup. Let this mercy be the first small step toward reconciliation.”

His lips tightening, Fendrel gave a reluctant nod. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Haldric relished the comforting hand Benjin rested on his back as he stepped forward and shouted down the corridor, “This is your king speaking! We have retaken the rest of the palace. I will give you this one chance to surrender. Drop your weapons, and I swear that your lives will be spared.”

A chaotic murmur of voices erupted after his pronouncement. He held his breath while he waited, willing the rebels to see reason. As if sensing his anxiety, Benjin stepped closer, letting Haldric lean into his warmth.

Eventually, a woman’s voice shouted back, “We’re no fools! Honeyed words don’t change the facts. We both know how this ends.”

“I told you, Your Majesty,” Fendrel murmured, hefting his sword and shield shimmering with soulflame. “It’s no use attempting to reason with them.”

Haldric gritted his teeth, helpless anger flooding him. So much pain, so much death, and for what? For one man’s flawed vision of Ilthabard’s future?

It can’t end like this—I refuse.

“Whether you like it not, your coup has failed, the rest of your comrades captured or killed! You can either take your chances with this suicidal last stand…or you can trust me at my word and walk out of here alive. It’s your call.”

Silence answered him. Haldric’s heart fell. So much for surrender.

“It’s all right, Hal.” Benjin clasped Haldric’s hand and squeezed. “You gave them a chance. It’s not your fault if they refuse to take it.”

Haldric knew Benjin was right. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d failed some crucial test. He turned to Fendrel, preparing to give the order to attack, when a sudden clatter reverberated from the nearby hall.

Benjin sucked in a breath. “They’re…they’re throwing down their weapons!”

Haldric whirled, hope flaring in his chest when he confirmed it with his own eyes. His gaze fastened on the boy at the far end just in time to see the sword drop from his shaking fingers to join the others discarded on the stone tiles.

Fighting a triumphant grin, Haldric gestured to the stunned marshal. “Have your men begin rounding up the prisoners.”

Fendrel managed a shaky salute. “At once, Your Majesty.”

Haldric watched with Benjin at his side as the royal guards moved forward. The battle hadn’t been without casualties, and Haldric suspected today’s scars would linger for quite some time. Yet, the worst of it was over. They had won.

The week following the failed coup and King Roland’s death passed in a chaotic blur. For his treason against the kingdom and suspected murder of the king, Grand Magus Dexil was sentenced to execution.

Benjin refused to attend, claiming that no matter what Dexil might’ve done, he couldn’t bring himself to watch. Haldric wished he had the same privilege. His initial hatred for the Grand Magus had since dulled to numbness. All he wanted now was to forget about this nightmare and put it behind him.

As the new king, however, he had little choice but to attend.

Watching the man he’d looked up to his entire life, who in many ways had been like an uncle to him, march across the courtyard in chains and have his head fitted into a slab of wood brought him nothing but sorrow.

“Any last words?” Haldric asked, straining to keep his face a composed mask.

Dexil’s violet eyes were as bright as ever when he twisted his head to regard Haldric. “I tried to help the people of Ilthabard. I failed. Promise me you won’t repeat the mistakes of the past—that you will put your people first.”

Haldric knew he didn’t owe the Grand Magus anything. The man had betrayed him, almost killed him. Even so, he found his heart heavy as he whispered, “I swear to you that I will do all in my power to make a difference—to make things better for all of Ilthabard. But I will do it therightway, not through bloodshed.”

Dexil offered him a sad smile. “I pray to the Goddess you will be the king that Ilthabard needs.” His violet eyes slid shut, a serene expression stealing over his face. “Goodbye, my boy.”

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