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Chapter Twenty Three

C lay landed in a clearing outside the palace, and I kept my back to him as he shifted and dressed. I focused on the familiar silhouette of the castle in the distance. It looked exactly the same as it had before we left—its spires cutting into the grey sky—but somehow, everything felt different.

Wrong.

Every breeze that brushed my cheek carried with it a shiver of unease, like the wind itself whispered a warning I couldn’t quite hear.

“Come on,” Clay said softly, stepping forward and taking my hand.

His fingers entwined with mine, and his thumb traced soothing circles across the back of my hand. It was a thoughtless gesture—one I doubted he even realized he was doing—but it pulled me out of my haze of dread, forcing me back to reality.

He was engaged. I was engaged.

As much as I enjoyed that feeling of his hand in mine, I would never have more of him than that.

Clay tugged me gently forward, oblivious to the knot of unease tangling itself in my chest. We hurried through the palace halls, his grip firm, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The courts people, on the other hand, weren’t as distracted.

They stared openly at our intertwined hands, eyes widening, whispers curling through the corridors like smoke.

We were most certainly not in Tenebris any longer and the people of this country wouldn’t be as unphased by us walking the line between friendship and something... more.

“Clay.” I dug my heels in, tugging on his hand to stop him.

He turned to me, brow furrowed, as though only now realizing I’d been dragging my feet. His fingers remained tight around mine—unyielding, as if he couldn’t let go.

“Maybe you should talk to your father alone.”

The suggestion seemed to catch him off guard. His frown deepened, suspicion clouding his golden eyes.

“This is a matter for House Zion, don’t you think?” I kept my voice low but firm with unspoken meaning. We can’t share everything with him.

No one could know what I’d told Clay. Not about Hyrax. Not about the prophecy. And certainly not about my ability to cross the Veil. His father would only see it as another reason to be rid of me. It was far too dangerous.

And besides, I needed a reason to get away from Clay for a little. I had a plan, one that he would most certainly not approve of.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, his grip loosening as he stepped back. “You’re right.”

Relief washed over me—too soon.

“Promise me you’ll go to your rooms and stay there,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Until we know what he wants, we can’t be sure you’re safe.”

Oh, my poor, worried prince. I bit back a smile, though my chest tightened at the sight of him—tired and worn, but still trying to carry the weight of the world. If only you knew.

If Hyrax had wanted to hurt me, he’d had a thousand opportunities over the past year. For all his devious games, his cryptic words, and his secrets, Hyrax had never done me harm. If this was part of the God's plan, I had to believe I could handle it.

I clasped my hands together to hide the tremor in my fingers and forced a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry,” I teased lightly, though my voice shook just a bit. “I smell like a Dragon. I’m going straight to my rooms for a bath.”

He studied me for a beat longer than I would’ve liked, as though he could see right through me, as if he could sense my unease. Then, finally, he nodded.

“Good,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

I turned quickly, hurrying down the hall before his concern could morph into suspicion. My pulse pounded in my ears as I rounded the corner, slipping into the shadows of the corridor.

I lied to him.

Again.

I didn’t have a choice, though. There was one more thing I had to do—one more secret I wasn’t ready to share.

Not yet.

I shivered against the chill in the air, forcing myself to take a steadying breath. It was hard to tell if the cold was truly biting into my skin or if the weight of what I was about to do had my nerves on edge.

I never thought I’d stand here again—outside the palace dungeons, chewing my lip, trying to summon the courage to step inside.

It was almost painful to admit, but once again, I needed Camilla .

The woman who had spent months trying to kill me. The woman responsible for Lorelai’s death and the trauma that still haunted Iris. Of all the people in all the realms, she was quite possibly the last I wanted to speak to. But, as much as I hated it, she might also be the only one with answers.

After all, she’d been the one to unearth that damned prophecy about the daughter of Hyrax lowering the Veil.

I’d wanted to dismiss it. I'd wanted to believe I could ignore it.

I couldn’t anymore, though. I had to face the fact that the prophecy might be real if I wanted to find a way to break it.

“Can I help you, Lady Moore?”

The guard at the door frowned as he took in my appearance. My leather attire—dirty from travel, far too battle-worn for someone of my station—only deepened his confusion. In Athenia’s courts, women didn’t dress like this. Not ever.

I should have changed. I’d surely just sparked a hundred rumors about the ill-dressed Hyraxian Descendant skulking into the dungeons. The Dragon would hear of it by morning.

But that was tomorrow’s problem.

“I’m here to see a prisoner,” I said, keeping my voice even.

The guard tilted his head, fiery red hair flopping over his ears. He knew exactly which prisoner I meant. He shifted awkwardly, crimson spreading across his cheeks. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Lady Moore.”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion.”

“The Dragon hasn’t granted her leave for visitors.”

Ah. There it was. The protest I’d expected.

The Dragon’s command had been clear: no visitors, no exceptions. He had given me permission to see her once—months ago, but clearly that exception had long since expired.

Time to play my first card.

“I’m a Councilwoman,” I reminded him. “Would you defy me? ”

He stiffened, jaw tightening. I watched his jaw work, watched him avoid a question that demanded an answer. Even if that answer was that he had to listen to the Dragon’s orders, as a Councilwoman he was still a lower station than me. He had to answer me.

So why wasn’t he?

His eyes darted toward the hall beyond the door and his fingers twitched. That’s when I realized it. The twitch of his fingers betrayed him. He wasn’t just following orders. He was hiding something.

“What’s your name?” I asked sharply, trying to peer over his shoulder into the prison.

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Gertrand, my lady.”

“Gertrand.” I let his name hang in the air like a weight. “Why are you trying to stop me?”

Still, he said nothing. The silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding.

Fine, if my status wasn’t enough to convince him to let me in, then I would have to move onto my next play.

It was all a bit... ironic. The palace dungeon guards, selected for their ability to contain the kingdom’s worst enemies, were widely respected for their strength and power. Yet here I stood, nearly a year after I had been locked in those very cells, and Gertrand couldn’t stop me.

Not anymore.

I didn’t even raise my hand. My magic surged forward in a single breath, sending him stumbling back as the heavy door blasted open with a resounding crash.

I stepped inside, forcing my movements to stay slow. Deliberate. My boots echoed on the stone as I approached the last cell on the left—the one I knew far too well.

And then I saw her .

Camilla lay crumpled in the corner, a shriveled figure soaked in blood and filth.

Gods.

Her sun-kissed skin had gone pale, the fragile blue of her veins visible beneath its surface.

She faced me, one arm outstretched, as though she had reached for help that never came.

Bruises mottled her skin—handprints circling her forearms like shackles.

If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought her dead.

The stench of festering wounds hit me, sharp and nauseating. I slapped a hand over my mouth, bile rising as my chest tightened in fury.

They brutalized Camilla until she now laid there helplessly.

Beaten .

Bloodied .

Gods knew what else.

Shock and confusion rolled through me, strong enough to make my knees weak.

Then disgust.

Then utter, overpowering rage.

Magic filled me, flowing easily from that deep place in my gut into every inch in my body. It consumed me until I felt more like shimmering energy than I did corporeal.

I spun toward the entrance, locking eyes with Gertrand, who stood at attention—still and silent. For all his bravado, even he flinched when my magic flared.

“What in all of creation happened to her?” I shouted.

Gertrand sighed, infuriatingly casual. “She is a prisoner, my lady.”

My chest rose and fell heavily as I worked to breathe through the inevitable explosion building in me. I knew that if I let it out, that if this mass of pure power escaped me, the entire castle would crumble around me .

“She is a prisoner,” I repeated, voice like death. As though that excused it. As though that made this acceptable.

“Who did this?”

“I cannot say,” he replied, avoiding my gaze.

Dark laughter spilled from my lips, low and humorless.

The Dragon.

“He’s been here?” I didn’t need to specify who I meant.

“He sends visitors. That’s all I can say. I am sworn to his service.”

He deserved to die in the most painful brutal manner possible. For Camilla. For me. For all the women who had fell victim to his brutality. The Dragon had to pay.

I turned back to Camilla’s cell. She hadn’t moved—not an inch.

“Let me in.”

Gertrand hesitated. I shot him a glare that left no room for argument, and he waved a hand with a resigned pinch of his brows. The glass barrier vanished.

I stepped inside and rushed to Camilla’s side, pressing my palm to her forehead. Her skin burned under my touch, heat radiating from every infected wound. She wouldn’t survive much longer like this.

If she died, I wouldn’t get the answers I needed.

I turned back to Gertrand, my voice firm, cold. “No one else sees her.”

“My lady, I cannot—”

“Gertrand.” I rose to my feet, still feeling that raw power in every part of me as I brushed the dust from my knees and stalked past him toward the dungeon door. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

He nodded, fists clenched.

“And you know what I’ve done?”

Another nod.

I stepped into the torchlight, letting just the smallest bit of that power escape.

I let it rattle the door behind me. Let it knock over some of the beds in the empty cells.

I even let it squeeze gently against his heart, just the tiniest bit, just enough to cause that heart to skip a beat, just enough to let him know how easy it was for me.

His face paled as he rubbed his chest with one hand.

“Then you know that on the day I arrived in this kingdom, I stood at the center of an earthquakeI caused.You know I killed an entire room of people without lifting a finger. And you know that I am the only being to ever survive the bite of a Hydraxan.”

Gertrand swallowed hard, the bob in his throat rocking.

I paused at the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder. My voice dropped, seething with quiet menace.

“Tell me, Gertrand. Are you more afraid of what the Dragon will say to you, or what I will do to you if another hair on her head is touched?”

His head dropped, his silence answer enough.

The door slammed shut behind me as I left, stomping through the castle without caring who saw me or what they thought. That magic still pulsed wildly in me and a single thought echoed in my head.

Camilla wouldn’t survive in that dungeon.

Which meant I would have to break her out.

And I was going to need some help to get her out successfully.