Page 179 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

But it was not cries of joy that gathered at the gates. Nor gratitude in the eyes of those fleeing their homes as charred skeletons and ashes of once was laid in the dragon’s wake. No.

When the front of the legion broke into formations at the wooden wall and front gate as high as redwood trees, Alynthian guardsmen waited. Arrows notched, aiming at the sea of Dragons in battle-black leathers and darkened cloaks.

Stay here.Garrik’s eyes shifted to Alora.

No. I’m coming with you.

Alora—

I’m coming. I won’t say it again.Alora nudged Storm, riding past him by a few feet.

Garrik restrained his frustration and trotted beside her, glaring in warning. Against his better judgment, he said nothing, and pulled in front.

Ahead, muffled shouts mixed with carnage, and shrieks rose over the fortifications. He pushed to see through the eyes of one of his captains at the front gates, just as he had with Thalon for Aiden, and Dragons parted at each of Ghost’s steps.

Draven, commander of the Nightfall wolves, was shouting up the wall when Garrik arrived at the front.

A male stood in the middle of the crowd atop their towering wall. All eyes looked to him, waiting. A leader, perhaps.

Shouting at soot and blood-covered faces, Draven lazily waited. His horse stomped the dirt in anticipation. “What happened here?”

“Alynthia doesn’t help outsiders. Leave.” It was a burly, brown-eyed male, standing behind younglings of various species, all with weapons fixed to the murderous multitude below.

“Clearly you didn’t hear me. I said,what happened here?”

Garrik’s focus shifted to the younglings, some not even tall enough to climb a saddle. Something stirred inside him. Iceshards peppered his veins as sheer rage built and threatened to explode at the sight. His anger, barely restrained, covered his face, and he had to squeeze his fist on his thigh to keep it contained.

It did not help that he was still on edge from his drunken nightmares the night before. He felt like he could level a mountain and might actually do so. Especially if the prick-in-charge continued with this shit.

Brown-eyes stood behind the young, using them as a shield. Perhaps a poor tactic—younglings burned soft spots into hearts, preventing attacks or out of sheer stupidity. But against all delusion, he was still the Savage Prince.

In what realm would rumor of his merciless brutality not have traveled there?

Knowing exactly who he was … what he did, despite the ages of those in his wake. Sometimes because of. To drive fear. He was coined the name for reasons far more barbarous than burning down cities and imprisoning his own kind.

They were not known as the Blood Years for his charming smirk.

Garrik’s insides churned at the memories. He had killed younglings before. When he was not himself, the mind of who he was made to be. The mind of another. When he could not control it. And because he was to be who he once was, this placed him in a rather difficult position. It infuriated him enough that shadows threatened to burst and kill the older males for their lack of balls and sheer incompetence. His own father had not even sent him off to the training camps until stirrups reached his chest.

But this city was not Ravens or his enemy. He must remember that. They were not trained to be warriors. These were his subjects. Living their lives in whatever delusional form of peace they could conjure. Living on borrowed time, hidden by wards, protected by legends.

What would he have to do to keep up the ruse? To keep them protected. If they would not cooperate, if they would not heed his warnings and obey his orders, he would be forced to show them what the Savage Prince would do without hesitation.Kill a few to save the many.

Garrik curled his lip, flashing his teeth.

Could his Dragons see the slight tremble in his hand? How his boots pushed harder in the stirrups? He quickly glanced at Alora, who appeared as sick as he felt. Even with the exquisite, otherworldly radiance that always settled on her porcelain skin and hair, he could see the distress. Her enchanting, pleading eyes seemed to interpret every one of his thoughts.

Her quivering smile brought him a sense of peace, only for a moment. Would she still smile after what she would witness today?

Would any of them?

Garrik faintly smiled back before facing Alynthia’s walls. Ghost stomped heavily into the dirt and shook her neck, mane slapping against her as a shimmer gleamed from her head in the sunlight.

Garrik nudged his heels, patting her neck, whispering ‘good girl’ as she advanced forward through the parting crowd of Dragons. Their weapons drawn; coy grins on their faces when he passed. They reveled in the excitement, despite what these types of encounters could come to. Everyone had to play the part.

Time for him to play, too.

Facial bones ached as they transformed under his tanned skin, pulling it tight to a somewhat painful stretch. Shifting into pointed lines on his cheeks, sharp eyes took shape. Smooth teeth sharpened, the edges knife-like to the touch as he scraped his tongue along them.

---