Page 36 of Shattered Crown

“You tried to use me,” Silas said, tears burning in his eyes. “Chain me to your ambitions.”

“Ambition requires sacrifice.” Thomas's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something less severe than his usual scowl. “Perhaps I chose the wrong sacrifices.” He coughed, a wet rattle in his chest. His fingers loosened, then tightened again, as if struggling between control and surrender.

“You both chose wrongly,” Thorne declared, power gathering around him like storm clouds. “Thinking forest magic could be bound by human ambition.”

Sebastian's brands flared brighter. “Still so righteous, guardian? Still believing love conquers all?” He gestured to the fallen king. “I simply... accelerated his plans.”

“Enough family theatrics,” Sebastian continued, moving toward the bleeding monarch. “Time to finish what was started.”

“No,” Silas said, rising. He planted himself between Sebastian and his fallen father. “He was wrong, but you're mad.”

Steel rang as Diana appeared at his side, sword drawn and eyes hard. “Stand down, Blackthorn,” she commanded. “The king lives. Blood crimes will be judged in court, not decided on battlefields.”

Thorne moved to flank Silas, his transformed presence making reality warp. “Your shadow magic cannot stand against unified purpose,” he told Sebastian. “You have no allies here now.”

Sebastian's face twisted with fury. His brands seethed, the magic around him buckling the air, but soldiers loyal to Diana rallied behind her. The attempted coup unraveled before his eyes.

“This isn't over,” Sebastian snarled, hatred burning in his gaze as it swept from Thorne to Silas. “The shadows have long memories.”

For a long moment, the battlefield hung between breaths. Then Sebastian spat a curse in a language older than stone and vanished into shadow, leaving the shattered court behind.

Silas knelt again by his father's side as healers pressed close. The king's breath was shallow but stubborn, his body fighting to cling to life with the same determination he'd displayed on a thousand battlefields.

“You survived,” Thomas whispered, his vision clearing slightly. “Against my plan. Against Sebastian's ambition.” His gaze fixed on Silas with something approaching respect, though calculation still lurked beneath. “Perhaps I underestimated what defiance might achieve.”

Silas gripped his father's bloodied hand, feeling the heavy knot of grief, anger, and bitter recognition twisting tighter inside him. This was no deathbed reconciliation—merely acknowledgment from one adversary to another.

Above them, Diana straightened from her defensive stance. She surveyed the battlefield with a soldier's sharpness, then turned to the nearest guards.

“Secure the king,” she ordered, her voice carrying easily across the ruined clearing. “Get him to the healers' hall. Post loyal sentries at his side. He is to be tended, not coddled.”

The guards moved swiftly under her command, lifting the king with careful hands. Thomas's gaze never left Silas’s until he was borne away between the broken trees.

The last remnants of the magical shield cracked and fell apart.

Silas turned and ran to Thorne, catching him as his form flickered between solid and shadow. They clung to each other amid the devastation, both changed beyond repair. Thorne’s essence felt stretched thin, fragile beneath Silas’s touch.

“Stay with me,” Silas begged, pressing their foreheads together.

“Always,” Thorne whispered, though his voice was strained, distant.

Around them, the corrupted magic began to bleed away, and the royal forest shuddered toward healing. But their moment of relief shattered when Diana approached again, her face grim.

“The Eldergrove is under attack,” she said. “They struck while Thorne was here.”

Before they could process this, a messenger arrived.

“From Nathaniel Ashworth,” it said. “He offers sanctuary and answers.”

Silas looked at Thorne, at the devastation around them, at the forces already mobilizing for greater conflict. They had prevented one war only to ignite another, its shape twisted beyond recognition.

“What now?” he asked, though he already knew. There was no going back, no simple choices left.

Thorne's hand found his, solid despite everything. “Now,” he said, “we fight for the world we glimpsed. The one worth saving.”

Thunder rolled in the distance, though the sky remained clear. Change was coming, inevitable as storm winds. The Hunt had ended, but something far greater had begun.

Taking a deep breath, Silas squared his shoulders and faced the uncertain future. Whatever came next, they would meet it together. The alternative was unthinkable.

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