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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DAX

“ I ’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill her,” Dax repeated through clenched teeth, shoving his way through the panicked guests. The ground trembled with fury, a deep rumble rising from the bowels of the earth. They’d blown up the palace. Not entirely, but enough to shatter windows, knock over furniture, punch holes through walls, scatter shards across banquet tables, and bring down a balcony. Enough to send half the guests fleeing in terror, while the other half, foolishly curious, gathered by the windows to gape at the chaos outside.

Dax was going to kill Irene.

People fled in all directions, screaming in fear, while Dax, jaw clenched, searched the crowd for the prince. If he didn’t find him soon, his heart would give out. And it would be her fault. Every bit of this mess, his entire cursed life, was because of her. The moment she showed up, everything fell apart. She was the spark, and he was the powder. He should have stopped her when she was right in front of him. Another explosion roared, and this time part of the roof collapsed. Dax shoved aside a group of nobles standing beneath it just in time. Damn it. His eyes locked on a royal guard, Bill, who was stuffing his face with pastries by one of the banquet tables, completely oblivious to the panic around him. Dax stormed toward him, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him off his feet, making him choke on a mouthful of cake. “Where’s the prince?” Dax shouted. Bill swallowed hard. “With Jill! Jill the guard!” he stuttered. Dax narrowed his eyes. Where the hell was Jill? “Go find him!” he barked, dragging Bill through the crowd.

“Ah, there he is!” Bill pointed toward a nearby divan, where Jill sat calmly next to a pile of fallen debris, chatting with a nobleman who had handed him his purple wig. “Where’s the prince?” Dax demanded.

“Oh, Captain! I was instructed to tell you—the library’s been breached,” Jill said calmly.

Dax ran a hand down his face. He was going to lose his mind. “And the prince?”

“With the commander,” Jill replied. Just then, Commander Roderick appeared, running toward them, covered in dust and sweat. “What the hell are you idiots doing here? Where’s the prince?!” he roared.

Dax understood. “They’ve kidnapped him,” he said bitterly. “They snuck into the palace disguised as a circus troupe, took the prince, and stole the maps.” Roderick’s face turned red with fury. His chest heaved, and a vein pulsed dangerously on his forehead as he shouted orders, cursing at the guards. Dax bolted out of the palace, Roderick and a group of soldiers hot on his heels. He knew where to go. He knew exactly who to find. Irene had just made it painfully clear. She was after the sapphire. He ripped the reins from a young squire and leapt onto the horse’s back. Without hesitation, he raced after them. Behind him, Roderick and the others followed. As he neared the bridge leading to the slums, Dax spotted a carriage speeding away in the distance. He urged his horse forward, closing the distance. The carriage came to an abrupt stop. Dax slowed, jumping off his horse, and Roderick caught up moments later. The two men exchanged a glance, drawing their swords as they approached the carriage cautiously. Roderick slammed his fist into the carriage, his face twisted with fury. There was no sign of Irene, her crew, or the prince. Only sacks. “Where are they?!” Roderick shouted, his voice hoarse with fury. “Search every street, every filthy alley of these slums! Tear apart every brothel, tavern, and house! I want their heads on every damn wall of this city! If one of those bastards so much as steps outside for air, I want them brought to me in chains!” Dax opened one of the sacks and plunged his hand inside, only to pull out a fistful of sand, but then he remembered. He’d seen them at the slum port days ago, loading their ship. “They’re at the port! Follow me!” he shouted, galloping toward the grimy docks, with the others close behind. When they reached the port, Dax jumped off. A second empty carriage sat in front of their ship. They had to be on board. They were trapped now. He gestured toward the ship, and Roderick followed. As they approached, Dax noticed a shadow in the cabin, a figure standing with its back turned, one hand resting on the ship’s wheel. Roderick motioned for a soldier to approach. The young guard stepped onto the deck, and announced, “By order of the crown, you are under arrest! Surrender with your hands raised, or face execution!” Nothing moved except the sails, swaying gently in the breeze. The silence was suffocating. Dax’s chest tightened. The guard, nervous, repeated, “Surrender, now!” He took another step forward, his foot landing on a slightly raised plank.

And then, the world held its breath. No sound. Only the tense rise and fall of breaths. The fire came before the sound. Dax saw the explosion before he heard it, his pupils catching the blaze as it swallowed the guard whole and flung his burning body skyward.

Time seemed to slow, as if mocking them—Look at yourselves. You’ve been outplayed*.* Then came the deafening roar, the piercing screams. The blast rang in Dax’s skull as he was thrown violently to the ground. Coughing, disoriented, Dax staggered to his feet. He grabbed Roderick by the shoulders, shaking him roughly. “What’s the fastest ship in the royal fleet?!”

“This is no time—what the hell are you talking about?!” Roderick barked, but Dax cut him off. “Answer me!” “The StormBreaker! Why?” Roderick snapped. “Where is it now?”

Dax demanded urgently. “Port Royal!” “That is the ship they're using to escape!” Dax roared, over the noise. Roderick stumbled back, stunned by the revelation. Wasting no time,

Dax barked orders to the soldiers and mounted his horse once more. Irene’s plan wasn’t just bold, it was genius. They were using the king's own ship to steal his son and the maps.