Page 96 of A Petal in the Crown

In the glow of Alaric’s fire, Lea could see his eyes—eyes so black, not a scrap of color remained in his irises. She shivered.

“You’re surprised she’d work with me, aren’t you? The true king of Desia? The most powerful Fae in the world?” His volume grew as he spoke, his voice coated with a bitter edge, and Lea gripped her sword, preparing for him to strike. “You’ve always underestimated me,” he continued, his tone laced with venom. “You, Gray.” He paused. “My mother…”

Alaric snapped his fingers, and Eudora waved a hand in front of her. A haze of fog spread through the air, and Genevieve appeared out of thinair, her hands bound and her eyes wide with fear. Blood coated her face and dress, and her mouth was gagged with a thick, once-white cloth.

“How naïve do you think I am?” Alaric roared, throwing his hands to the side and sending flames shooting into the ground at his feet. “Did you think I’d fall for your little plan? Your pathetic trap?” He enunciated each word, thePpopping in a way that felt like an explosion. He gestured to his mother. “Like this bitch would ever give up on her perfect, golden son?”

Lea’s body buzzed, her feet urging her to run, to find a way to reach Genevieve and cut her free, but she couldn’t move. Could barely even breathe.

Eudora smirked, twisting a finger in the air, and Genevieve’s arms were wrenched backward. She cried out in pain, her words muffled by the gag in her mouth.

“She deserves what’s coming to her. Just as you do,” Alaric sneered, pointing at his mother while staring Lea down. “And your death will be all the sweeter, knowing you played right into my hands.”

Chapter 62

Thomas

Lea hadn't been gone for more than ten minutes before a rumbling in the distance alerted Thomas that something was coming. He’d barely had time to pull Emma away from the portal and into the relative safety of the darkness before royal soldiers descended upon the woods—hundreds of men in blood-red uniforms—maybe more—marching through the wood in the direction Lea had gone.

Gripping his sword, Thomas channeled the power he’d infused inside that would alert those with weapons he'd enchanted back at the castle. He pushed his magic down the thread, hoping the swords in the generals' hands would vibrate and alert them that it was time. That they were needed.

Thomas’s stomach twisted into knots as he waited, sending the warning again and again, praying he’d used enough power. He’d never had the opportunity to test the weapons at this distance before, or anywhere near it. But he had confidence that it would work. Ithadto. Without the help of their army, they were as good as dead.

As more soldiers stormed the forest, Thomas carried Emma’s still, nearly lifeless body to hide, moving within the shadows until he found a hollowed out fallen tree. Crouching down, he tucked her safely inside, the rough, dark bark shielding her from sight except for a small sliverof her torso. It was the best he could hope to find here in the Wicked Wood, where the trees were narrow and spindly, many too small to hide a full-grown human.

Thankfully, Emma was tiny, just slim enough for him to slide her into place. He tucked foliage over the opening, wet, macerated leaves and branches that covered most of the hold, then gripped his sword in his muddy hand. There was nothing left to do but watch, and wait.

A bright light flashed overhead, fire spreading through the sky and raining down as far as he could see. It illuminated the woods in a way that reminded him of monsters from his childhood nightmares—long, twisted arms reaching out for him from the darkness. Reaching for Emma. He pushed away the thought, focusing on peering over the log to watch the royal army.

In the distance, a group of soldiers branched off from the others, scattering through the trees. The more soldiers that arrived, the more they spread out, inching closer and closer to Emma’s hiding spot.

Thomas’s skin buzzed with worry, his breaths short and sharp, but he stayed put, crouched down with his sword in his hand. He couldn’t move her—not without being seen—and even if he did, there was no guarantee he’d find a better place to hide her. He ducked down lower, every sense on edge as he prayed they would stay away.

The clash of swords rang out, and the sound of battle spread like a disease—cries of pain, clashes of shields, and the pounding of horses’ hooves against the ground echoing throughout the forest.

Thomas let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. It had worked—their soldiers had arrived. He was sure of it as the fighting spread and the roar grew louder. His shoulders sagged in relief.

With the army fighting against Alaric’s and Emma tethered to the other side, they had a chance. Lea had a chance. If their army could keep the royal soldiers from reaching her and Alaric… A breeze kissed hischeek, interrupting his thoughts. He leaned into it, savoring the warmth it carried in the now cool night. The touch slid to his shoulder, and he swore he felt a squeeze.

A twig snapped behind him, cutting through the air at the exact moment he heard a ghost of a voice whisper, “Behind you!”

Thomas spun around, his heart racing as a battalion of soldiers approached—at least fifteen men with swords in hand and a dark, blank look in their eyes. Eyes focused directly on him.

Chapter 63

Gray

Gray’s heart pounded, its rhythm growing faster with every passing minute. Obsidian navigated through the dark as though he’d been born to run at night, effortlessly dodging trees and racing through the forest, not even hesitating as they reached the border of the Wicked Wood. He charged forward as if his own life depended on it.

“Keep going, boy,” Gray urged, feeling Obsidian’s muscles strain beneath his thighs as he moved at a speed Gray had never seen before.

"An hour south," the soldier had said. But Gray didn’t have an hour. He had no idea how long time had been frozen for him, how far of a head start Lea had gotten before Henry’s magic had worn off.

His storm clouds followed close behind them, rain splattering the ground and lightning flashing overhead, striking the long, spiny branches of the dead trees in the Wicked Wood. Small fires caught, then quickly extinguished, lighting his way. With as much strength as he could find, he urged his storm forward, mixing it with the rain already falling, hoping it would slow Lea’s progress. If he could just reach her before she got to Alaric, everything would be okay. Ithadto be. They were stronger together.

Rage bubbled within Gray’s chest, but he forced it down, unwilling to get lost in hurt and anger. His focus was singular: find Lea as quickly as possible. Everything else could wait.

In the distance, the sound of fighting reached him. Obsidian’s ears perked up, and his gallop somehow quickened. Gray’s heart sank, adrenaline making him feel as if his skin was buzzing. Was he too late? Had Lea already reached Alaric?

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