Page 23 of The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom #3)

CHAPTER 23

VERENA

T he city had been restless for days.

It wasn’t something tangible, not something I could see, but I could feel it, a hum in the streets, a shift in the way people moved. Conversations were quieter, glances sharper, tension settling like dust in the air.

I had spent the last few days training, forcing my body through exhaustion, forcing my magic into submission. But no matter how hard I pushed myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming.

And I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

Dacre had been speaking with scouts more frequently, his patience thinner than usual, his fingers twitching toward his sword before he would draw back. I could feel it through the bond, through the way our magic curled around one another, restless and waiting.

War was coming faster than either of us wanted to admit, and when Dacre had left our room this morning to scout, I knew in my gut that we weren’t going to like what he found.

Now, as I walked toward the training grounds, panic flooded me. I hadn’t seen him since he’d been back. It was Wren who had told me that he had called a meeting, Wren whose features carried the same worry that I felt.

I walked into the cave that had started to feel like my second home, and it was already full.

Dacre stood near the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression hard as he surveyed the rebels before him. His grandmother stood at his side, silent and still, her silver eyes sharp beneath the torchlight.

To the right of the room, Liya leaned against the wall, her gaze flicking toward me as I entered.

The cave was filled with more rebels than I had ever seen in one place before. Several of the older members of the rebellion stood together, their postures stiff, their hands curled into fists at their sides. But others, the younger rebels, the ones who had grown up with Dacre, they stood closer to Dacre, their wary eyes watching the others.

A clear divide.

A divide that I had not noticed before now.

A murmur passed through the room as I moved toward Dacre. I felt the weight of their eyes settle upon me, some with hatred, some with open distrust, and others with apprehension.

But for the first time, I felt something else too.

Expectation.

The news of our union had spread through the rebellion like wildfire licking through a dry forest, and though I held no doubts about the choices we made, trepidation about their reactions gripped my throat.

They hadn’t accepted me as one of them, and I doubted that they ever would. But Dacre was the rebellion, and he always had been.

It didn’t matter that he had broken their trust, that he had betrayed them in some of their eyes, he was still one of them.

And now, he was a part of me.

Dacre exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he saw me. The mark that tethered us together burned once his eyes met mine, and I could feel his restlessness through our magic as I moved beside him.

His hand found mine, his fingers pressing against my palm, before he moved them higher, absently running them along my mark.

“Is everything okay?” I asked him quietly, and when he looked at me, I already knew the answer.

“You’re late.” His voice was low, a subtle thread of amusement woven beneath the seriousness of his tone.

I arched my brow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of my lips as I slowly slid my arms around his waist. “I didn’t realize this was a scheduled event.”

He let his arms fall, relaxing instantly before wrapping them around me and drawing me into his chest. “I was talking to her,” he said softly, before he nodded to his sister who had just settled at his side.

“Me?” Wren asked, her voice rising to a near shriek as she pointed at her own chest. “First of all, I’m not your errand boy. Second, you try telling Kai you need him for a meeting that you actually have no idea what the meeting is about when he’s in one of his moods.”

She was right. Kai had been particularly moody today, his temper simmering just beneath the surface as we trained, and he had pushed me harder than I anticipated.

So had Dacre’s grandmother.

“Where is he anyway?” Dacre’s eyes scanned the room as he peered over my head, looking for his friend.

“He just walked in,” Wren replied, her gaze fixed on her brother.

I glanced over my shoulder to catch sight of Kai striding into the chamber. His dark hair was wet and ruffled and his clothes were fresh. He had a look of determination etched on his face, a familiar expression I had come to realize he wore often, and he scanned the room until his gaze finally landed on Wren.

It didn’t take him long to reach us, or for him to move to Wren’s side.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “There was something I had to take care of.”

Dacre gave him a knowing nod. “Be prepared.”

“Always am,” Kai answered quickly, positioning himself with such protective intent that he nearly obscured Wren from the view of the rest of the room.

“What does that mean?” I asked, my eyes darting between the two of them.

Dacre, however, simply brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face before leaning down to plant a soft, lingering kiss at the corner of my mouth.

“Dacre.” I uttered his name as a gentle warning, yet his smile lingered against my lips, warm and teasing.

“Yes, wife?” he replied, his voice carrying a playful note.

A deep ache settled in my stomach, twisting with longing and unease. This was everything I wanted, him and me, entwined in each other’s arms, teasing and playing with one another, free from the burdens of the world. But even as a soft smile played on his lips, I could feel the tension twisting inside him and his magic humming with vigilance and poised to strike.

Around us, the room buzzed with a chorus of murmurs, like an unsettling symphony of ghosts that clawed at the edges of the dream I clung to desperately.

His lips remained pressed against mine, and I dug my hands into his back, my fingers trembling.

His lips then traveled to my ear, where he pressed another gentle kiss just below it, sending chills cascading across my skin.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he whispered softly, his arms tightening around me. I squeezed my eyes shut and let myself feel him, allowing his words to soothe over me. “You and me. Nothing else matters beyond that.”

He was right, I knew he was, but even as I held him against me, I couldn’t shake the unease that crept along my skin.

Dacre pulled back slightly, enough to peer into my eyes, searching for something intangible. Then he leaned down again, capturing my lips in a tender kiss before pulling away completely. I settled next to Wren, letting my shoulder press against hers, and Dacre stepped forward.

Dacre’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it when he finally spoke. “We’ve received word.”

The room fell into silence. A heavy pause as if we were all waiting for something to drop.

“Some of you have already heard whispering, but it’s true.” His voice did not waver. “They are true.”

He glanced back at me once, only for a moment.

“The king is preparing for something,” he continued. “And if we don’t make our move now, it may be too late.”

A low murmur spread through the room, but I could hardly hear any of them over the roar of my magic in my ears.

“What does that mean?” a man called out, someone I didn’t recognize. “What’s he preparing for?”

Dacre’s jaw tightened, but before he could speak again, Eiran stepped forward. “Word came from the city this morning. The city is burning.”

He looked to Dacre, and I was surprised when Dacre gave him a small nod. I glanced between them, unease prickling at my skin. Dacre had told me he once trusted Eiran like a brother, but not anymore.

And it was clear where Eiran’s loyalty had lain.

Why was he speaking now? Why was Dacre listening?

“The king has started raiding homes, dragging people from their beds in the dead of night. They’re being taken to the dungeons, or worse.” He exhaled sharply. “Bodies are hanging from the palace walls.”

A cold, sharp chill rippled through me, prickling my skin like icy needles. The walls seemed to close in, pressing against me, making the air feel dense and suffocating until my breaths came in short, shallow gasps.

The mark on my wrist burned as if it were aflame.

“He’s looking for me.” The words fell from my lips before I even realized I had spoken them.

A murmur rushed through the crowd, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying; I couldn’t focus on anything except the magic that moved inside me. Not just mine. Dacre’s was there too, it skated over my own, as if it were trying to calm it, calm me.

Eiran nodded once, his jaw tight. “And he’s willing to burn his own city to the ground to find you.”

I felt the shift before I saw it, the way the younger rebels stiffened, the way the older members exchanged glances, uncertain.

Dacre turned back to the room, his voice measured. “You all know what this means. What we’ve prepared for.”

There was another pause before another voice rang out. I couldn’t even tell where it came from. “Then maybe we should give her to him. Give the king what he wants.”

The words slammed into me, and for a moment, I didn’t breathe.

A pained grunt cut through the room. A boot scraped against the stone floor. Someone cursed under their breath.

Dacre’s magic lashed through the air, his body going rigid in front of me. I felt him, not just through the bond, but through the raw force of his fury, seeping into every inch of me. His rage curled like a living thing, wild and angry.

His voice was low, lethal. “Say that again.”

The room fell deathly still, and in that silence, I knew.

This was it. This was the moment they would either choose to fight with us—or against us.

I could feel him so clearly through our bond, as if his fingers were wrapping around mine. It wasn’t just a phantom touch, it was an anchor, a claim, a warning. His magic surged through the bond, slamming into mine like a shield.

Not her. The unspoken words vibrated through me, through the air between us, through the crackling tension of the room.

“If any of you think for a damn second that I would ever hand her over...” His voice shook with his anger. “Then you have forgotten exactly who the hell I am.”

The weight of him filled the room, his fury a tangible thing, pressing against every rebel who stood before him. A muscle in Dacre’s jaw flexed as his gaze swept the gathered rebels. “She is not a bargaining chip. She is not a pawn to be moved in your war. She is the war.”

Their gazes turned to me, and I forced myself to stand straighter beneath the weight of it.

Then, Eiran’s voice cut through the tension once again. “The king is moving fast.” He looked toward Dacre, then at me. “And if we don’t act now, he’ll force our hands before we’re ready.”

Dacre nodded as he dragged a hand through his hair, and I could feel it then, his desperation to keep me from the palace. To keep me from my father.

To keep me.

A ripple of unease spread through the room, the tension thickening like a storm about to break.

I looked across the room, and I spotted Dacre’s father for the first time. He stood stiff and unmoving near the far wall, but his silence was louder than anything else in the room.

And he was staring at Eiran with his eyes narrowed.

“You’re all worried about the wrong thing,” Eiran said, and his voice shook with desperation.

I turned back to him as he stepped farther into the room, farther in front of the entire rebellion. There was something about his posture, about the way his hands wrapped around his arms and his fingers dug into his skin that made my stomach tighten.

“Enlighten us then, Eiran,” Dacre’s father drawled, and everyone turned to look at him.

Eiran shifted on his feet, his fingers twitching. His gaze flickered toward Dacre for a brief second, before he looked at the gathered rebels. “You’re all sitting here debating whether or not she’s the real threat.” Finally, his gaze landed on me. “When the actual threat is already on the move.”

The air seemed to shift.

“The tithe is meant to fuel this kingdom, but the king is using it to drain it dry.” Eiran’s gaze burned into mine. “He’s starving us.”

It was as if poison had been injected into my veins, the venom coursing through me with a nauseating intensity. Each pulse was a drumbeat of discomfort, making my magic feel twisted and foreign beneath my skin. My stomach churned violently, threatening to expel its contents with every agonizing throb.

“The king is cutting off the kingdom’s lifeline,” Kai muttered, his expression darkening.

Dacre’s father looked to Kai, his mouth a hard line. “And he won’t stop until he has her back.”

The mark on my wrist continued to burn, but my body went numb. The blood flowing through my veins turned to icy rivulets, the frigid chill seeping out from my core and spreading like frost through my limbs.

I would not go back to my father. I would fight him; I would fight them all, but I would never go back to being in his cage.

I could hear muffled noises around me, though I couldn’t make out a thing they were saying. My vision blurred, edges softening and merging into one another, and in a desperate attempt to anchor myself, I grasped for something to hold on to. It landed on something solid, and I dug my fingers in hard.

“Verena.” The sound of my name was distant and distorted, as though I were submerged underwater and couldn’t get to the source.

I wasn’t sure how long it lasted. Whether it was a fleeting second or an eternity of moments strung together, I couldn’t be certain. But gradually, the world around me began to sharpen and come back into focus. I felt firm, reassuring hands gripping me, keeping me upright as I fought for each breath.

Dacre’s face slowly came into view, his eyes wide and brimming with concern.

“Breathe, Verena,” he urged gently, leaning down until his face was level with mine, his voice a lifeline amidst the chaos swirling in my mind.

I nodded weakly, trying desperately to quell the rising panic that was consuming me.

“No one is going to touch you.” The words spoken didn’t fall from Dacre’s lips, and I blinked as I turned my head toward the sound. My gaze landed on my own fingers, clenching Kai’s forearm with such intensity that I’d almost drawn blood. “We will never let him touch you again.”

His promise hung in the air, and I nodded slowly because I believed him.

If Kai had a choice, if Dacre did, neither of them would ever let my father near me again.

But it was the lack of choice, the iron grip of my fate, that caused my fear to still flow through my veins like a raging current. Even as my breath gradually steadied and my vision cleared, the dread remained.

“He won’t stop,” I said for them all to hear, shaking my head slowly, feeling the weight of their gazes settling on me. “No matter what you offer him, no matter what he takes, he will keep demanding more until there is nothing left of your rebellion except the memory of what you once fought for.”

Eiran took another step forward. His face was pale, his shoulders stiff, but his voice, his voice was steady.

“I’ve watched you all prepare for this war for years,” he said, his gaze sweeping the rebels. “I’ve watched you sharpen your blades and count your arrows. I’ve watched you rally behind the men who led you.” His eyes flicked to Dacre’s father then to his own father. I hadn’t even noticed his father behind him before that moment, but it was impossible to miss him now.

He stood there with a cane in his hand, bearing his weight on it for support, and he watched his son with a wary gaze. He had hunted me through the woods with Dacre’s father. He was the man that Dacre had attacked when we finally got free, and I didn’t trust him or his son.

“But what if I told you that we’ve been fighting the wrong war all along?”

Dacre’s father scoffed, shaking his head, but there was something in the set of his shoulders, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Eiran didn’t look at him. He looked at Dacre.

“Do you remember everything from that night?” Eiran’s voice was quieter now, but Dacre’s emotion raged through our bond.

His power pulsed against mine as if I were the only thing keeping his contained.

Eiran’s throat bobbed as he searched Dacre’s eyes, and I had never seen Eiran look so vulnerable before, so fearful. “The night of the palace raid.”

The room stilled, and Dacre said nothing. But his pulse, his breath, the bond between us tightened until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“You were trying to save your mother,” Eiran continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I was trying to save myself.”

A flicker of pain crossed Dacre’s face, and Wren gasped beside me, but I didn’t dare look away.

Eiran exhaled shakily, and his father moved, his steps unsteady as he used his cane to help him forward toward his son.

“Son.” His voice was hard, desperate, a warning.

But Eiran didn’t stop. “I saw what happened that night. I saw who killed her.”

Dacre’s breath hitched, and he took the smallest step back as if he had been hit.

Eiran glanced back at his father once before his voice cracked. “It wasn’t the king.”

A murmur rippled through the room, and Dacre’s father took a slow step forward, his expression darkening. “Careful with your next words, boy.”

Eiran’s gaze snapped to him, and for the first time, I saw it. The raw fury barely held in check, the guilt that was eating him alive.

“I watched your wife die,” Eiran whispered. “And I watched my father stand beside you all these years after he drove the blade through her chest.”

There was a beat of silence, a breath that seemed to be ripped from all our chests, then chaos.

Dacre’s father staggered back as if Eiran had struck him across the face. His breath shuddered, his fingers clenching at his sides.

“You’re lying.” His voice was low, rough, but there was something in it, something that cracked.

Eiran didn’t move. “I wish I was.”

Dacre’s father’s gaze snapped to Eiran’s father, Reed. “Tell him he’s lying.”

There was a tense, horrible silence before Reed, the man who had stood at Dacre’s father’s side for years, tightened his grip on his cane and slowly shook his head.

“I did what had to be done.”

Dacre’s father lunged, and the room erupted.

His hands slammed into Reed’s chest, knocking him backward, sending his cane clattering against the stone. Reed hit the ground hard, breath rushing from his lungs, his hands trembling as he tried to brace himself.

“You killed her?” Dacre’s father’s voice shook with fury. “You murdered my wife?”

The room was spiraling. The rebels were yelling, bodies shifting, some surging forward, others frozen in place.

Eiran’s father gasped for breath. “She was helping the enemy.”

Dacre’s father’s fist connected with his face. A sickening crack echoed through the cavern.

Then magic snapped through the air. A force so sharp and sudden it threw Dacre’s father backward. I gasped, feeling that power rush through me.

Dacre’s eyes were wild. His magic lashed out, curling through the room, the torches bending toward him as if they were drawn to his rage.

He was breathing too hard, his hands trembling at his sides, and I could taste his anger, feel it pulling my own magic through our tether.

“Dacre.” I reached for him, grasping his wrist. His pulse slammed against mine, his magic surging toward me, gripping onto me like a lifeline.

“Dacre,” I whispered his name again, pulling him back.

He gasped, his chest heaving, but he wouldn’t look at me. He was still looking at them.

Dacre’s father braced himself with his hands on his knees, his breath coming too fast, his fists still clenched.

“Why?” His voice cracked. A demand, a plea, an accusation all tangled into one.

Reed spat blood onto the stone floor, his lip curled in disgust. “Because she wasn’t fighting for us.” Then his chin lifted, and for the first time, his gaze cut directly to me. “She was fighting for her.”

The breath ripped from my lungs, and Dacre went deathly still. His body was coiled so tight, and I could feel the tremor in his magic, the barely contained violence waiting to be unleashed.

“What?” Dacre’s voice was raw, hoarse with disbelief.

Reed let out a bitter, rattling breath. “I saw her.” He wiped at his jaw, but his hands still trembled. “I saw her trying to get the princess out.”

The words struck like a blade. The princess.

Me.

I staggered back, my shoulder colliding with someone behind me as a memory slammed into me. A flicker of movement, a hand grasping mine, a voice whispering “Run.”

A voice I hadn’t recognized before. A voice that had been hers.

Dacre turned toward me, his breath shallow, his hands trembling at his sides. “Verena?—”

But I barely heard him because I remembered.

I remembered running. I remembered guards shouting, the palace halls blurring past me. I remembered a woman, dark hair, brown eyes with a hint of silver, her fingers tight around my wrist as she pulled me through the corridors, her voice low and urgent.

“You have to go. You have to get out.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my vision swimming. Dacre’s mother had saved me.

And she had died for it.

Eiran’s shaky voice drew me back, made me see what was right in front of me. “I didn’t understand it at the time,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I was just a kid, barely older than Verena. I thought we were there to kill the king. To end it.”

His eyes flicked to Dacre, and something broke in his expression.

“But your mother…she had her own mission.”

Dacre’s magic lashed out again, heat pulsing through the cavern, but it didn’t attack, it hovered.

Eiran swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides. “We were supposed to breach the palace and get to the throne room. But then—” He exhaled sharply, as if just saying the words burned. “She wasn’t with us anymore.”

Dacre’s hands curled into fists, and his father looked as if he wasn’t breathing.

“She wasn’t fighting,” Eiran continued, his voice gaining strength. “She wasn’t cutting down guards or leading rebels. She was running. Pulling someone behind her.”

His eyes flicked to me, and I felt the world tilt. I could barely breathe.

“She was getting the princess out.”

The words ripped through the room like a blade slicing through flesh. Murmurs rose from the rebels, some quiet gasps, others angry, disbelieving.

“You’re lying. She fought for this rebellion,” Dacre’s father snarled, but his voice shook. “She would never?—”

“She did,” Eiran cut him off, his voice raw. “I saw it. I saw her pull Verena through the halls, saw her shove her into the tunnels.”

He dragged in a ragged breath. “And my father saw it too.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking back to his father.

Dacre’s eyes narrowed. Dangerous. Out of control. “What?”

Eiran gritted his teeth.

“He tried to stop her. He tried to rip Verena from her hands, to use her against her father, but your mother fought him.” His gaze jumped around, his body shifting uncomfortably. “She wouldn’t let him through the doors, into the tunnels, and I saw him raise his sword and drive it into her chest.”

Dacre swayed. His breaths came too fast, too ragged. His hands trembled at his sides, his magic choking the air.

Someone cursed. Others moved, but it was Dacre’s father who I couldn’t take my eyes off of. His head snapped toward Reed, pure, unfiltered rage in his eyes. “You?—”

“I was fighting for our people. For this rebellion,” Reed spat, his voice shaking. “And she was a traitor.”

Dacre moved so fast the air cracked. He slipped from my hands and he shot past his father. He didn’t stop until he reached Reed’s side, until his fist collided with the man’s jaw.

Dacre’s chest heaved. His knuckles were slick with blood, but he didn’t stop. He slammed his fist into Reed again and again.

I could feel the storm raging inside him through our bond—grief, fury, betrayal.

Kai moved for his friend, for his brother, but Dacre’s father was already there. He pulled Dacre back, pulling him off Reed, and he whispered something to Dacre that none of the rest of us could hear.

A rough, wet cough rattled from Reed’s lips as he crumpled to the ground. Blood pooled beneath his nose, and his breaths came in short, wheezing gasps.

No one moved to help him. No one spoke. The rebels stared. Some with horrified realization. Others with pure rage.

“You…” Reed wheezed, his voice garbled. He spat more blood onto the ground. “I tell you how she betrayed us and you…”

“She was saving a child, you bastard.” Liya’s voice ripped through the silence, and when I turned toward her, her eyes were wild with fury.

She shoved herself away from the wall, stepping forward, her fingers curling like she wanted to wrap them around Reed’s throat herself.

“You call her a traitor?” she hissed, her own magic snapping through the air like static before a storm. “She was a mother, protecting a child, and you cut her down for it.”

Reed opened his mouth, but before he could speak, another voice rose from the crowd.

“She was one of us.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered rebels. A spark. A shift.

“She fought for us.” Someone else. Louder.

Dacre’s father hadn’t moved. His hands still fisted in his son’s shirt, holding him back, but his face was ashen. His gaze locked on to Reed as if he was looking at a stranger.

“You killed her.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t angry. They were ruined.

Reed’s lips parted. “She?—”

“You killed my wife.” Dacre’s father let go of his son without looking away from the man he had trusted for decades. His hands shook.

“She was trying to protect her from the king.” His voice sounded like gravel grinding together. Like it hurt him to say it, like he regretted the decisions he had made.

Reed’s gaze darted to the rebels. Some still stood in shock. Some were shaking their heads. Others…others looked away from him instead of meeting his gaze.

And that’s when he panicked.

“She was supposed to fight for us!” he snarled, scrambling to his feet. “For our cause! Not for the enemy?—”

Dacre’s father moved so fast, so violently, that I flinched. His hand wrapped around Reed’s throat before I even saw him move.

“You were my brother,” he growled, voice shaking. “And you slaughtered my wife.”

Reed gasped, clawing at his grip, but Dacre’s father’s rage had finally found its outlet.

This was the moment. The moment that shattered everything. Reed’s voice choked in his throat.

“I trusted you,” Dacre’s father whispered. “I built this rebellion with you. And all this time, you?—”

A raw, shuddering breath. Then, Reed’s next words were a death sentence.

“You are no brother of mine.” Reed was still gasping, still clawing at the hand around his throat, but no one moved to stop Dacre’s father.

Eiran stared at the ground, stared down at his father. He hadn’t moved since his confession, since he had ripped the truth from his chest and thrown it into the fire.

Dacre’s breath was still ragged, and I could feel his magic roiling, burning against mine through our bond, but his eyes were locked on Eiran.

“You were my friend,” Dacre rasped, his voice raw, shaking. Accusing.

Eiran’s throat bobbed. “I know.”

“I trusted you.”

A muscle in Eiran’s jaw ticked. “I know.”

Dacre took a single, sharp step forward. “Then why?”

Eiran finally looked at him, and I saw it. Not just guilt. Grief.

“I didn’t understand then,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I had seen was your mother’s betrayal, what my father told me. And I…” He exhaled sharply. “I could barely look at you without seeing what your mother had done. What my father had.”

Dacre shook his head, his magic snapping like a live wire. “And now?”

Eiran hesitated before his gaze flickered to me.

“Then you brought her here,” he said. “And I didn’t see it at first, didn’t recognize her.” He let out a slow, shaking breath. “And when I did, it was too late.”

I stiffened.

“That’s why my father sent me after her when she ran,” Eiran continued, his eyes locked on mine. “Why I went into those woods.”

My stomach dropped.

Oh gods.

The moment Eiran had found me, when I thought he had been there to help me, but he knew.

Dacre lunged, but Kai was there, shoving between them.

“Move,” Dacre growled, voice like shattered glass.

“No,” Kai snapped, shouldering him back, his hands wrapping around his friend. “Think, Dacre.”

Eiran’s hands shook. “I should have told you. I should have told you what I knew that night.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Dacre growled, looking past Kai who was still shoving him back.

Eiran’s jaw clenched. “Because I trusted my father, because I was a coward.”

His father let out a strangled sound from where Dacre’s father still held him pinned against the ground. “Eiran?—”

“I let him tell me who to be.” Eiran’s voice rose, cracking like thunder. “I let him tell me what to believe, what to do. I let him turn me into him.” His hands curled into fists. “And I regret all of it.”

Everyone was watching. Everyone held their breath.

“I know it’s too late to fix it,” he said quietly. “But I had to say it now. Because she’s the answer.” His throat bobbed. “Verena is the one who will end this war.”

A murmur rippled through the room before Dacre’s father moved. He dropped his grip on Reed, let him fall to the floor, and then he straightened.

Then he turned. His face was ashen, his hands shaking at his sides. His entire body seemed heavier. As if something had been ripped from his chest.

His voice was low, gravelly. “This rebellion was never meant for this.”

His shoulders dropped, and his gaze fell to me.

“My wife died fighting for you,” he said, his voice rough. “And I let her murderer stand by my side all this time.”

“You do not speak for this rebellion,” Reed growled from where he was trying to scramble to his feet. “You never did.”

But Dacre’s father didn’t look back at him, instead, he looked to his son, then past him to Wren, before he finally looked back to me.

“I have been wrong about a great many things.” His voice didn’t shake, not anymore. “And I was wrong about you.”

His words slammed into my chest.

“I was wrong about this rebellion.”

The mark on my wrist felt like it was going to burn me alive, but I didn’t dare look away from Dacre’s father. Not as he moved forward, not as he bent a knee.

A gasp ripped through the room as he pressed a fist to the ground and dropped his head slightly. “I will follow you into war.”

I didn’t breathe. I didn’t think anyone in the room did.

“And I will fight beside you until the king is dead.” He lifted his head slightly, his gaze burning into mine. “He has already taken too much, too much of you, too much of us, and we will not allow him to take any more.”

Then, one by one, the rebels began to kneel.

Some moved quickly, heads bowed without hesitation. Others faltered, exchanging wary glances, but still, they dropped to the ground.

They weren’t kneeling for fate.

They weren’t kneeling for a prophecy.

They were kneeling for a choice.

A choice to fight for us all, a choice to end this war.

I swallowed, my chest tight, full, burning. The weight of it, of all of it, pressed against my ribs, but I forced my shoulders back.

I took a step forward, toward Dacre’s father, toward all of them. Dacre moved to my side, his hand wrapping around mine, and I couldn’t look anywhere else as he brought my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to my mark, to our bond.

There was no hesitation left in me, no more wavering over what I would do.

I dropped to one knee, and Dacre’s father’s gaze snapped to mine.

Dacre’s fingers tightened around my wrist. The mark throbbed between us, pulsing unlike I had ever felt before.

“I will fight beside you.” My voice was steady. Strong. “Until the king is dead.”

The tides had turned.

And I knew when tomorrow dawned, we would march.

Tomorrow, my father would fall.