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The group remained unmoved. Camp was completely silent save for the crackling of wood within fires.

Alora stared—horrified—at Thalon, who dropped to his knees and rested his head in his hands.

The shield had fallen.

Seconds after Garrik’s shield fell, Thalon unleashed a magic so bold Alora wondered how he could wield such unearthly power. Static energy surged through the air before the bitter taste of metal invaded her mouth. And if that wasn’t enough to recognize what was falling over camp, the sudden thrumming and tingling sensation that rushed through her body was.

Another shield.

How was that possible?

Fingertips still prickling, Alora massaged them, turning to Thalon.

He twisted the silver ring that Garrik had given him on his finger, then whipped his head to Jade and Eldacar, then to Alora, with agonizing distress and harsh decisions crowding his golden eyes.

“Alert the generals. No one leaves the border. We are protected from the outside.” Those troubled, golden eyes scanned each one of them. Still, he twisted that ring. “Prepare to portal in two nightfalls. Garrik’s ring will protect us mere days, no longer.”

Jade shakingly rose to her feet, aided by Eldacar. “The High King. You think he’s coming?”

Thalon nodded, slow and precise.

A brutal curse burst from Jade’s lips.

Alora’s body suddenly felt cold and about to buckle, like a massive wall of ice had collapsed around her. Not for fear of the hell-storm that would be unleashed from the High King, but something deep inside had shaken so viciously, she was unsure if it could ever be restored.

Before she knew what she was saying, Alora blurted, “We have to get him.”

Three sets of eyes stared at her in silence.

Why weren’t they grabbing weapons and storming camp, preparing to lay siege to Galdheir? She didn’t understand. Couldn’t leave him. Couldn’t pretend he was simply lost.

So, she said it again in fear that she may have spoken too softly, “We have to save him.”

Thalon was the one to speak, stepping toward her deliberately. “He’s forbidden it.”

“He’s not here,” she snapped, feeling her palms threaten to ignite. “You’re in command.” Alora flashed her piercing glare from Thalon to Jade to Eldacar. “We can’t just leave him there to die!”

Warm, tattooed hands cupped her shoulders as she felt scorching, daunting tears begin to fall.

Thalon’s eyes seemed to be replaying a terrible memory, as if he were hearing screams and seeing living nightmares surrounding them. He blinked, shaking his head with a heavy, final sigh. “I know how you’re feeling. But our High Prince has given an order, and we must follow it. Garrik knows far more than we ever will. To go against him could prove catastrophic to the future of Elysian.”

“And what of his future?Who’s going to protect him?” The words sounded like someone else shrieking them, not her.

Thalon tilted his head at Jade and Eldacar, giving them the gentle, breathy order. “Go. Alert camp.” They left and Thalon continued to grasp Alora’s shoulders. “We have to trust he knows what’s best.”

“That’s bullshit,” she growled, wiping a tear from her cheek with a violent swipe.

Warm arms pulled her into a gentle, benevolent embrace, and her legs almost buckled at the overwhelming surge of protection within it. “I know. And just as you hate him for it … I do, too.”

There wasa high possibility their High Prince wouldn’t return.

That fact covered every general’s face in crippling anguish seated around the war tent. Since dusk the previous night, they gathered for a series of briefings, barely resting a minute to eat, to sleep. Discussing—arguing—preparing. Continuing, no matter the circumstance. No matter the cost. A free Elysian required their sacrifice until their dying breaths. Until Magnelis was in a grave.

Only then could they collapse and shatter and break.

To mourn those lost.

To rebuild a new life without them.