Page 44 of The Forbidden Dragon King
“Up.” War roughly hauls me to my feet.
I’m lightheaded, from shock, the iron, or my injuries.
War keeps a firm hand on me, dragging me stumbling through the destruction of Rune Forest.
I should be looking where we are going but I can hardly raise my head from my feet, or I will fall and trip. I have a feeling that War would let me be dragged along on my face if that happened.
The ranks of soldiers march on either side of me. If I’m being taken to my death, at least I get a parade.
Finally, I hear voices up ahead.
With difficulty, I blink through the rain and make out another glade, which is deeper in the forest. A large oak spreads its branches over blazing torches and a stone altar, which is shaped like a silver dragon with spread wings.
Dread coils in my guts.
The dragon looks like Tarquin.
The Draca Kingdom have laid claim to the oak glade, where I first learned my rune magic from the elders almost too long ago for me to remember now.
It’s the sacred heart of the forest.
My soul is shattered.
Yet if I’m to be executed as a fallen fae king, is there a better place to fail my people than this?
I sink into the pain of the memory and the burn of the iron around my wrists.
I deserve this. I haven’t kept my oath to avenge my family and the Shadow Fae.
Fear lies heavy and sick in my stomach.
There are only two people waiting underneath the oak, although they look like they were carved out of the same stone as the altar.
A hard faced Alpha in his fifties, who is dressed in gleaming armor and leathers, with a thin mouth and jutting jaw, stands with his hands behind his back and military posture like he’s never slouched in his life.
He has a bald head and cruel, amber eyes.
Maximinus, uncle to the Shadow Dragon King.
Next to him, stands the King himself.
Aurelius’ gaze is icy as it meets mine. Yet I still spark with that same connection that always betrays me.
Does Aurelius feel it too? Thisthingthat binds us as surely,painfully, as these manacles?
Aurelius’ golden hair tumbles over his face, which is asclean, as mine is stained with tears, mud, and ash. His uniform isn’t splattered with blood.
By the Shadow Gods, has he suffered for a single day in his golden life?
I shutter my own expression.
I may be tattered, manacled, and flightless but I won’t be broken.
“All this because I didn’t invite you to the party,” I force myself to taunt.
“This is the little bastard who you’ve tried for years to convince me is worthy of a throne, rather than the grave?” Maximinus sneers. “See? He’s never been more than a bandit, bringing chaos. You have a duty to establish peace, boy.”
“I understand, Uncle,” Aurelius replies.
