Page 55 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

Locane’s words hit like daggers, digging in deep in the way he does so well. I close my eyes and turn around, opening them again with fury etched across my face.

“Do you feel powerful now, Ellya? You hold all the cards. Please, take us away from here.”

Locane walks towards me slowly, hesitating before wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes the apology against my skin, and I begin to crumble, instantly wrapping my arms around him in return. He whispers another apology into my neck before pulling away with a gentle expression. He brings his lips to mine, kissing me softly, affectionately.

I pull my face back to his for another tender kiss, but a faint whizz catches my attention before a light prick sticks in my neck. I reach up a shaking hand, pulling out a small dart as another one whizzes past my head, narrowly missing Locane’s forehead when he sags in my arms—his energy finally fully drained. I look down at the small dart in my hand.

A small gasp escapes my lips when the golden light powering my spools of magic within me dim, making it impossible to summon any of my magic.

Iron.

Loud footsteps, hoofbeats, and clanging armor barrel down the largest road leading to the city, heading straight towards us. I turn in horror to see royal guards wearing the same black and silver of the ones we saw outside of the small village. Locane had told methey were Brhadirian guards, but seeing them march towards us now with the golden crest of a dual faced sun on their gleaming silver armor, the crushing knowledge that these are Quinndohsi royal guards weighs me down.

Just another lie.

“Well, Locane, if you aren’t even able to hold onto a glamour anymore, I’m not sure the iron dart is necessary. You lookterrible,“ the largest of the guards says. Terror grips me when I see that it’s the exact same one from the village that threw a lasso of fire and yelled for us to stop.

With the large mans dark features—so similar to Locane’s—how had I ever believed he was anything but a Quinndohsi guard?

Locane musters enough strength to right himself again, and I clutch onto him tightly. “And you look as much the lapdog as you always have, Kraeston,” he says back without fear.

Of course, they know each other.

This Kraeston laughs before reaching a hand to me. I recoil away, leaning further into Locane. Kraeston’s brows knit together while he extends his hand further to me.

“Come, Princess. There is nothing to fear. Your Nana and the king will be so relieved to see that you’re alright.” His aura exudes kindness, and the energy he is giving off could only be described as bright.

Locane squeezes me, his face painted with intense adoration before kissing me again. I’m frozen as I process the royal guard’s words.

Princess.

Kraeston narrows his eyes with confusion as he watches us kiss and takes in how we hold each other.

“Princess?” I breathe shakily, my voice barely audible when Locane pulls his mouth from mine.

Alarm covers Kraeston’s dark eyes as he studies Locane and I further. Kraeston’s wide eyes search my frightened and confused demeanor and dart back and forth between us with suspicion. Finally, his face shows clarity and he releases a pained sigh.

I turn to Locane, incredulity coating my face. “Princess?” I ask again, louder, but still I don’t let go of him.

Kraeston runs a massive hand riddled with burn scars down his face. “Fuck,” he breathes before taking a deep breath and turning towards one of the horsemen.

There are twelve guards total, including Kraeston. All of them are staring at us with gaping mouths. Some appear confused, others amused as they shake their heads in clear disbelief.

Kraeston turns back to Locane. “What have you done, old friend?”

“The iron for him?” a timid sounding guard asks Kraeston, holding out another dart.

Kraeston shakes his head. “No. He’s still got hold of her. He’s too drained to do anything more,” he whispers under his breath, but I hear him all the same.

Locane still has hold of my mind, despite the iron coursing through my system. I shouldn’t be surprised that his manipulations aren’t over. I nearly left with him. And still I can’t bring myself to unwind my arm from around his waist.

“Go and warn them,” Kraeston tells a horseman wearily. He stops him short with a hand on his arm before saying quietly, “Warn him verbally first.”

The guard nods and turns on his horse, knocking his heels into its hind and making it take off at a gallop.

I don’t know what’s going on. What’s left of my pride won’t let me admit that any more than I already have in front of these men about to take us captive. Whatever is happening with being called ‘princess’ must be some kind of mistake.