Page 25 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Murmurs broke out, soft and fearful, and hands were quickly raised to trace ancient sigils of protection in the air. Prayers slipped past trembling lips.

A wyverian, here among them? Surely it meant something. Surely it was a sign.

An omen.

And if the boy truly was a warlock... then the gods had spoken.

Kage rolled his eyes.

‘I’m not a warlock, sire!’ the boy shrieked, struggling against the hands that held him, desperately trying to reach Bryn.

‘Why brand him as such?’ Bryn asked, voice calm but sharp. ‘Haven’t ya known this lad all yer lives?’

‘They’ve been glamouring themselves, sire,’ one of the men restraining the boy said, a tremor in his tone.

‘King Fannar’s been travelling da villages, warning us.

They killed da Acherons in their own keep.

They’ve claimed drakonian lands. What’s to stop them from doing da same to us?

’ The crowd murmured their agreement, fear woven into every syllable.

‘What ya say may well be true,’ Bryn replied with a slow nod. ‘But none of that proves this boy is one of them.’ He tipped his chin towards the trembling youth. ‘What makes ya so certain?’

‘He was muttering strange words,’ Caldwell interjected smoothly, stepping forward like a shadow with too much confidence. ‘And his eyes flashed purple.’

Gasps erupted from the villagers. Prayers began to spill from mouths, frantic and garbled, like charms tossed against the wind.

‘And ya saw this with yer own eyes, did ya, Caldwell?’ Bryn asked, gaze steady. He noticed the slight twitch of Caldwell’s mouth, the way the commander resisted the urge to sneer. He didn’t like being questioned, especially not in front of his flock.

‘Are ya calling me a liar, Bryn Wynter?’ Caldwell hissed, his icy eyes narrowing like a wolf ready to strike.

The air grew heavy. Bryn knew all too well how the village hung on the commander’s every word. His proclamations were law. His suspicions, prophecy. Only King Fannar held the power to overrule him outright, and even then, not without effort.

Though Bryn was crown prince, he did not yet wear the mantle of rule. And Caldwell, Caldwell commanded the soldiers, the squares, and the people’s fear.

Bryn had warned his father. Had whispered the truth of what Caldwell was. But the man was their finest blade. A necessary evil. And soldiers, like wolves, followed the scent of power.

Bryn stepped forward, his boots crunching softly in the snow, and as expected, Kage shadowed him like a second thought given form.

A few voices rose from the gathered crowd, warning their prince to keep his distance, lest the accused boy unleash some dark incantation.

Bryn doubted the lad could manage much, not with two burly men holding him firm.

‘If he truly were a warlock,’ Bryn mused aloud, letting the weight of his words settle over the onlookers, ‘would he not have already overpowered us?’ He turned to glance at Kage, curious for the wyverian’s insight.

Odd, how only hours ago this man had been little more than a ghost locked away behind a door.

Now he stood beside Bryn like a harbinger of fate, real and quietly imposing.

‘Perhaps they’ve orders,’ Caldwell interjected, his voice raised to carry across the square like a war drum. ‘Orders to die if captured. To remain concealed at all costs. ’

‘Burn him!’ someone bellowed from within the crowd, a single voice sharp with fear. And like wildfire, the cry spread. Unease at first, then agreement swelling until those hesitant were drowned beneath the louder shouts. ‘Da King has ordered a witch hunt!’

‘No!’ the girl rushed forward, her voice frayed with desperation. But she was quickly seized by the guards and dragged back, her cries muffled by the clamour.

‘We could… lock him away, for now,’ Bryn offered, though even as he spoke, the words tasted hollow. Keeping a warlock in the castle would do little to guarantee safety, if indeed the boy was one.

‘Burn him!’ they roared, louder now, a tide of rage and terror impossible to silence.

Bryn turned his attention to the accused. The boy’s face was streaked with tears, his pleas for mercy lost beneath the cacophony. King Fannar had made the command clear: report all suspicions. Detain the accused. But the line between suspicion and proof was perilously thin.

And Caldwell…well, Caldwell had already decided the boy’s fate. Perhaps the crowd had too.

‘Don’t do it,’ Kage said, close enough for their arms to almost brush. His voice was low, sharp as a blade sheathed in silk. ‘No matter what he turns out to be, his death will be the spark they need for a massacre.’

‘Me people aren’t like that,’ Bryn replied, jaw tight with conviction.

‘Frightened people are,’ Kage said simply, his gaze fixed ahead.

Bryn hesitated, caught in a snare of doubt. ‘What do I do?’

‘Let him go,’ came Kage’s answer, resolute and cold. His eyes shifted to Caldwell, glinting like flint against steel. ‘And stop him .’

‘But if he is a warlock…’

‘It changes nothing.’

Bryn’s breath misted before him as he shook his head. ‘He could hurt someone. Kill one of ours. Me father… We need to be certain there are no witches in our land.’

‘If you kill him without proof,’ Kage’s tone darkened, a quiet thunder curling in his words, ‘you’ll open the gates to slaughter.’

Already, villagers were gathering wood, the makings of a pyre growing at the centre of the square. Bryn watched them, his heart a pendulum swinging between fear and reason. He couldn’t allow them to burn the boy, not without proof.

Drawing a long, slender blade from his belt, one typically used to skin rodents with surgical precision, he stepped forward. Caldwell moved to block his path.

‘Step aside,’ Bryn commanded. And to the surprise of all, the commander obeyed, parting like a reluctant shadow to let the prince through.

Bryn approached the trembling boy, the tip of his knife pressed gently to the lad’s throat.

‘Transform,’ he said, voice calm but firm. ‘If yer a warlock, drop da glamour. If not…’

‘Ya’ll cut me throat?’ the boy snapped, defiance flashing behind tear-streaked cheeks.

Bryn faltered. There was something in the lad’s eyes.

Not fear, not malice, but fury. Raw and betrayed.

‘I’ve lived here all me life. And now ya turn yer backs on me!

I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not a warlock.

’ He spat at Bryn’s feet. The crowd hissed, anger blooming anew like frostfire.

‘Go on, then. Burn me, Prince Bryn Wynter. Let me soul haunt ya until da day ya die.’

‘He’s cursed him!’ Caldwell roared, arms raised as if to summon the gods themselves .

‘No, he hasn’t—’ Bryn began, only to be wrenched backwards, guards surrounding him like a living shield.

‘Protect da prince!’ Caldwell bellowed, spit spraying from his mouth like venom.

But as Bryn met the commander’s eyes, he found no fear there, only a glimmer of amusement, cruel and satisfied.

The chants rose like a storm gathering strength—warlock, warlock, warlock—echoing across the square as the wolverians gave voice to their fear.

The two guards dragged the boy across the snow-dusted cobbles to the crude stake hastily erected at the square’s centre.

Ropes coiled around him, binding him tight to the wooden post, the knots pulled with grim finality. All that remained was the order.

Caldwell stood poised to deliver it.

Bryn stood motionless, rooted to the earth, a statue carved from conflict.

Anger crackled beneath his skin like lightning trapped in bone, but fear wound tightly around his ribs.

The people were baying for blood, hungry for justice, or perhaps just for something to blame.

But this… this felt wrong. The air was thick with uncertainty, and still they wished to set flame to it.

Do what is right for da people . His father’s words haunted him like a ghost at his shoulder.

A prince now, and a king in the making. His duty was to shield the pack, to uphold the safety of the many.

Yet this boy, bound and weeping at the stake, was his people too.

And to forsake him for fear alone... was that truly what it meant to lead?

Caldwell’s voice shattered the silence like a blade.

‘Burn him.’

Bryn inhaled sharply as the world tilted, the weight of his inaction pressing against his chest. Around him, the cries swelled in triumph.

‘And bring me his sista!’ Caldwell snapped, venom lacing his tone.

‘She’ll confess before da night is out.’ With a sharp gesture, he turned and strode away, self-satisfaction carved across his face.

Behind him, the girl was dragged screaming through the snow, her voice tearing through the air. Raw, desperate, and utterly powerless.

Bryn could feel Kage’s stare burning into him.

Dark eyes ablaze with fury, sharp as daggers for the silence he had allowed.

The jubilant cries had faded, replaced by a dreadful stillness, as though death itself had arrived to bear witness to the horror unfolding in the square.

One by one, heads turned to the pyre, faces bathed in flickering amber as the flames rose higher, reflecting fire in once-blue eyes.

Bryn surged forward, shoving wolverians aside with frantic desperation, Kage’s voice trailing behind him, calling his name. He reached the base of the stake just as the fire roared to life, devouring the boy who thrashed and screamed in mortal agony.

‘Water! We need water!’ Bryn shouted, spinning round to plead for help.

But no one moved.

The crowd had stilled, spellbound by the spectacle, as though some collective trance held them captive. Bryn turned back slowly, lifting his gaze to the pyre, and the broken figure writhing within it.

‘What have I done…’ The words slipped from his lips in a haunted whisper, just as Kage arrived silently at his side.

Together, prince and warrior stood beneath a night sky that seemed to mourn with them, watching as the boy was consumed by flame. His screams echoed long after his voice had gone, a sorrowful chorus that would never quite leave the stones beneath their feet.

Even after the crowd dispersed, after the last ember had faded and the scent of burning flesh was replaced by cold ash, Bryn remained. Knees buckling, he sank to the ground where the boy had stood.

He wept not as a prince, nor as a wolverian, but as a soul unmoored by guilt.

‘What have I done,’ he whispered, again and again, long into the unforgiving night.