Page 38 of Tears of Ruin

I lay on a dirt-packed road, a majestic castle right in front of us. Its towering stone walls stretched high into the stormy sky, their weathered surfaces bearing the scars of time.

Heavy iron gates loomed ahead, reinforced with thick wooden beams, the kind built to withstand war. A sprawling courtyard lay just beyond, partially obscured by the mist curling at the base of the walls, hinting at the secrets locked within.

Richard got to his feet and glanced around, his face growing pale.

“Where are we?” I grunted, my side still hurting as I managed to get up. “Is this the outside of Winterhaven?”

Slowly, Richard shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

From his look alone, and now the dread in his voice, this wasn’t good. “Then where are we, Richard?” I didn’t like the knot forming in my stomach and wanted it to go away.

I knew I should’ve crawled back in bed.

Richard took a cautious step forward, his gaze flicking around, his eyes wide, his mouth dropped open slightly. “How can this be?”

“What?” I yanked on his arm, trying to get his attention. He barely looked at me before continuing to glance around. “You’re scaring me.”

His gaze immediately found mine, his features softening a fraction. But I saw the fear swimming in his eyes. “We’re standing in front of Wellington Castle… My home.”

The last two words were spoken with such pain, such agony, I knew this wasn’t going to be a joyous homecoming. Richard had come to mean the world to me, had healed me in ways I never thought possible. He’d stood by my side, patient and caring, coaxing out the man buried under a lifetime of pain.

But it was his pain at the forefront right now, and if there was anything I could do to ease the agony clear in his eyes, I would help to fight whatever battles he was about to face.

Even if I was scared out of my mind. Richard was worth it, because my fight had been worth it to him. Swallowing, I turned to face the gate, wondering what horrors lay beyond them.

Chapter Ten

Richard

This wasn’t where we were supposed to come out. I’d specifically thought of Winterhaven when I’d created the shimmer. I hadn’t wanted to fight the demon with Noam there, let alone a diner full of human witnesses.

So how had I ended up standing in front of my childhood home? It was a place I never wanted to visit again.

The closest I’d ever come was visiting the graves of those I held dear to my heart. It was where I’d been the night Kyson had been killed, wallowing in the guilt that constantly threatened to consume me.

My hands shook as I reached out and pushed the heavy iron gates open, the creak like a warning to retreat. To return to Winterhaven instead of facing the ghosts of my past.

The carnage I’d wrought six years ago.

“Richard?”

I heard Noam, heard the fear in his voice, and took his hand in mine, but my thoughts were forced to return to the night everything had changed.

I’d known something was wrong the moment I stepped into the kitchen. The aromatic scents of Matilda’s cooking were absent, replaced by a metallic bitterness that made my nose wrinkle. Not a single child was running around, no dogs barking for attention.

The dogs always ran to me when I was banished to the kitchen. My father, King Stephan, thought sending me there was punishment, to work as a lowly commoner. But I adored Matilda, the head cook, as well as the children and animals. They’d brought joy to my life where all my father had brought was pain.

Here, among people I considered more like my family than my own, I didn’t have to put up false pretenses, act like the future king my father was trying to beat me into being.

Here, I could be myself, love who I chose, not get hauled off by guards and shackled in the dungeon then whipped for my attraction to men.

“Choice?” My father sneered, dripping in every word. “You have no choice. Your life has been carefully planned from the moment of birth. Do you even realize how many men would kill to be in your position?”

“Then give it to them,” I argued. “You call it an honor, but to me, it’s a death sentence.”

He was across the room, his hand around my throat, pinning my back against the cold scrape of the wall. In that moment, he wanted to crush my windpipe. I could feel the desire in the flex of his fingers, in the curl of his lip, see the temptation in eyes brimming with malice.

My breaths were steady, even, my gaze daring him to try. I was no longer the boy who’d helplessly taken his beatings, and he knew it.

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