Page 183 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

Garrik coldly stepped over the dead one, uncaring as he prowled beside the next and held up his hand again. “Beg harder.”

A throat shredding scream. “Please, Your Highness, please have mercy. I’ll do anything.ANYTHING!”

Crack.

“No!”

Garrik considered for a moment, watching the male shatter, crawling across the bloody dirt to his sons whose lives flashed before his eyes in an instant. Watched as he extended his mangled arms to his brown-eyed daughter whose fate was not yet determined. Considered as the male worsened his pain inthe act ofreachingfor his faelings against all warnings from his body to remain still.

But Garrik still needed to play the part. Magnelis would never be satisfied if his son—an heir—showed an inch of mercy. Magnelis never showed him any, either.

He looked at the male with nightmares in his own and released the last tether of his mercy. “I am not convinced.”

His wrist twisted.

Crack.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.Alora’s mind chanted, over and over. Blazing palms scratched against tree bark as she stumbled, knocking her shoulders into trunks before bouncing to the next, keeping herself upright.

Most of the fires had burned down, leaving heavy smoke choking the air and burning inside her lungs, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t breathe anyway.

Alora’s eyes watered with each resistant breath. Charred pine and burning flesh tore inside her nose as she finally heaved against a tree. Better to vomit there than wait until she returned to camp.

It wasn’t real.

It looked real,feltreal.

The cracking of bones. The twisting of younglings’ necks. The iron taste heavy in the air. The deep agony and loss as each one fell to the dirt. How could she be expected to go to war when this sent her hurling through the forest, secretly emptying her stomach just to calm her fiery nerves and nearly molten legs?

She saw them again. Their faces as Death twisted their necks.

It wasn’t real.

Alora held back the churning in her gut, afraid she’d vomit again.

She couldn’t stay there anymore.

The forest floor spun as she pushed off the tree and ran.

Ran, hurdling over fallen logs and ducking under branches until the sun’s rays illuminated the road to Alynthia. She ran past soldiers on their way to the front gates, on leave for the evening. Ran past sentries who parted in time for her wind to catch their hair. Ran until the camp’s white tents appeared and she crossed through the shield.

Swerving—stumbling—through the maze, her feet carrying her to the middle until her tent came into view.

Someone called her name. Someone’s rushed footsteps followed her, but she didn’t care.

Black boots stormed across the inside of her tent, and she leapt face-first into the soft pillows. Gripping one to her face, Alora wailed, uncaring if anyone could hear.

The guardsmen, the younglings, the female …Him. That distant and cold look in his eyes like he wasn’t there anymore. Her friend was not there.

Friend? Oh Alora, how stupid can you be?Kaine’s voice snickered like a dagger to the heart.

He’d been there at the wall, too. Mocking her as she lifted her head high atop Storm. Mocking how she could entertain the idea of ever being strong enough. Intimidating and ever present. Laughing at how she could foolishly believe she could ride by royalty’s side. How she could believe herself to be one of his—a revered and feared Dragon.

Kaine’s voice twisted the dagger.You’re weak. Pathetic. Look at you.

The tent grew blistering-hot. A prickling, burning intensity flushed through her body. Flames threatening to burst from a metal container. She was too hot; it cascaded across her skin like a blazing wildfire.

Heart beating faster, Alora felt the tent spinning as scorching tears flooded onto the furs and hissed as their heat impacted something cooler.

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