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Lips trembled and Garrik wondered if it was from a memory spurred by Aiden’s condition. When finally Eldacar spoke, his voice cracked and hands quaked even though they had folded together atop his lap. “My apologies, sire.”

Garrik arched a brow.

“If I would’ve realized what Alora had planned?—”

“You are not to blame, Eldacar.” Garrik tossed the crystal against his lips, downing the contents whole. “You are needed tomorrow at the arena. I intend to see what Alora can do.” Then Garrik stood. “It has been a long day. Get some rest. I will meet you in the arena in the morning.” He walked to the door and held it open.

“Yes, sire.” But before leaving, Eldacar turned, and his face furrowed with something akin to concern. “Take care of yourself.” He paused, sheepishly lowering to an unnoticeable bow. “Do try to get some rest, too.”

Garrik forced a smile. “Go on. I will see you in the morning.”

Eldacar shifted on his feet, adjusting his jacket before walking through the open door.

Returning to his chair, Garrik slumped against his sore back before drawing his fingers to his temple once more. The dim candlelight danced shadows around the canvas; the heavy smell of smoke burned his nose. He inhaled, extending his lungs to release a substantial amount of burden weighing on his shoulders.

His fingers flexed, and shadows gently cascaded around them. Strength faltering the longer the night drudged on. He waved them until a bottle of amber liquid appeared in his palm. The night was too long to even care about finding a glass before he threw back the bottle and swallowed the smooth vanilla and oak burn of his usual escape.

He pulled it from his lips and rested it on his knee, watching bourbon slosh inside. The liquor the only music he needed.

With one last heavy sigh, the High Prince turned his head and stared at his swords leaning against his untouched bed.

Now then. Shall we visit an old friend?

Garrik laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

With little effort, his chair and swords were engulfed in swirling tendrils of darkness, thickened smoke, and deathly shadows. The small candle dimly lighting the room fought to stay aflame.

His swords disappeared.

Smoke and shadow lifted to the ceiling.

And The High Prince’s chair was empty, leaving an overturned bottle rolling on the dirt below and a dying candle sending spirals of smoke into the air.

Five flickering candles illuminated the High Prince. Yet, darkness still snuffed out the light enough that his face was cast in dancing shadows, making him all the more menacing.

He stood, armor traded for his tunic, waiting in the middle of his quarters. Back turned and sword drawn to his side as Jade and Alora entered. The blade’s edge was embedded intothe ground beside him. Smokeshadows created a veil of power around him, gently lifting from his body to the ceiling as dust swirled around his boots.

He breathed heavily, evident by the harsh rise and fall of his shoulders, and tossed a satchel onto his side table. Still, he kept his back turned as they stood square-shouldered in front of the tent entrance.

Alora knew.Of courseshe knew. Out of everything that happened, this moment was inevitable. The moment she dreaded all night. The time to have her punishment delivered.

The High Prince squeezed the hilt of his sword with a second bandaged hand.

That was new.

He turned, dragging the sword across dirt and animal pelts until he faced them.

Alora’s lungs refused to cooperate, anticipating something truly terrible when, at last, the High Prince broke the roaring silence.

“I have half the mind to wield this sword after your insolence today.” His hoarse voice exuded disappointment and wrath all the same, and she willed herself not to meet his cold, bloodthirsty eyes. “You disregarded those around you, disobeyed my orders. Your selfishness caused affliction and endangered this entire camp.”

Alora’s bones started to run away; her skin wanted to follow.

Squeezing the hilt until his veins bulged in his forearms, Garrik’s lips curled in silence. Smokeshadows whorled from his arms, the tendrils swirling down around the blade like they enticed him to pull it up and use it. His focus turned to the tendrils. With a deep breath, they retreated into his skin.

The High Prince stopped in front of Jade. Chest pushed out, an edge in his eyes as he looked down at his other bandagedhand and squeezed. “Your actions against one of our own will not go unpunished.”

Jade simply blinked as if it was all she could do. As if the source of her High Prince’s anger, her own doing, caught her by surprise.