Page 109 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
The lacertians dropped Maximus face down on the floor. One of them held him down, preventing him from writhing out of his bindings. He lifted his head to glare at them, but his attention caught on the front of the room.
A cloaked figure sat upon a massive throne made of twisted roots and branches. The hood obscured their face in shadow, only revealing a triumphant smile. Both feet were planted firmly on the ground, legs set apart in a wide, strong stance. As they watched the minions arrange all five of their prisoners, they raised their hands and steepled their fingers. “You have done well, my minions.”
Maximus shifted his shoulders, trying and failing to throw off the minion holding him. He turned his head to the side, searching the room for his friends.
Delilah had been captured in a net. She squirmed and tried to wriggle her way out of it, but only succeeded in twisting herself up more thoroughly.
Angelica knelt on the ground, skirts puffed around her, remaining poised even as she was bound and gagged. She didn’t spare the evil mage on his throne a single glance, choosing instead to glare at the ceiling.
Fitz had regained consciousness but had lost his glasses somewhere. He blinked repeatedly and squinted so narrowly that his eyes almost disappeared in his face. He probably could only see vague shapes and colors and couldn’t seem to find the speaker.
Only Trey remained unconscious, his face pressed to the cold, black floor.
The Lord of Grimnight sighed in exasperation. “Why did you knock him out?”
The orc shrugged. “He’s their strongest fighter.”
Angelica scoffed behind her gag.
“Yes, but I want him to witness my triumph! What’s the point if he’s not even awake?” The Lord of Grimnight moved his head from side-to-side, searching the room for something. The hood seemed to interfere with his vision, and he had to tilt it back for a better view. “And where is my apprentice? Everyone should have arrived by now—”
Soft footsteps cut off the mage’s grumbles as the final player entered the stage.
Maximus looked over his shoulder, glaring at the newcomer. The apprentice wore a cloak like their master’s. The ends flared and fluttered with each step, adding a dramatic air to their entrance.
Angelica perked up at the sight of them, trying to say something behind her gag. It sounded like “You motherfucker”, but that couldn’t be right, because Angelica never swore.
“Finally,” the Lord of Grimnight said. “Now we can begin.” He took a deep breath to launch into his victory speech.
The apprentice ignored him. There was something familiar about the way they moved, their silhouette under the cloak. It all clicked into place as they crouched nextto Trey.
“Will,” Maximus snarled. “You traitor, you’ve been working for him the whole time!” He’dknownthere was something off about the apprentice. Known they would lead Trey into trouble.
With no reason to hide their identity any longer, the apprentice slowly lowered their hood, revealing a shock of white hair and a face too pretty to be good. He briefly glanced at Maximus with his black-as-sin eyes before dismissing him and focusing on Trey again. He touched Trey’s chin, guiding his face up.
Trey’s eyes fluttered as he awoke. He looked up into the apprentice’s face, the man who had betrayed him, lied to him, pretended to be his lover. Then sighed softly, almost content, and whispered, “Wilde.”
“Your mission is done,” Wilde murmured. Although he spoke in a low whisper, his voice echoed through the room. He waved a hand over the ropes binding Trey’s wrists. They darkened and frayed, splitting apart in seconds. Taking Trey’s hand, he helped the other man stand.
Maximus watched silently, his words turning to burrs stuck in his throat. Why had Wilde untied Trey? Why had Trey taken his hand? Why was Trey cooperating, walking with Wilde toward the front of the room?
The Lord of Grimnight watched quietly as the apprentice and prince approached his throne. Then his lips spread into a wide, evil smile as he said, “Welcome home, son.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What was this ‘welcome home’ bullshit? I’d never stepped foot in the Grimnight Forest until this quest. Before the old man earned his title, we’d lived in a small manor house miles away from here. My memories of the house were fuzzy, mostly focused on the nursery or my bedroom. For more than half of my life, my home had been the castle at Bane.
But the old man and Wilde looked at me expectantly, and the other royal champions stared at me with a mix of hatred and horror, and my head still hurt from the orc’s fist smashing into it, andgods dammit—
I dropped to one knee, head bowed in a mockery of supplication. The stone floor rippled like it was underwater before falling into focus. “Old—Father,” I caught myself halfway through. My tongue felt swollen from giving someone else the title I’d reserved for Brendon for the past twelve years. Though the lingering aftertaste of blood hinted that I’d bitten it at some point.
The old man—Father—the Lord of Grimnight placed his hand on my shoulder. I flinched in surprise, and he tightened his grip to hold me in place. “You have done well in bringing the royal champions to me.”
“Trey?” Delilah’s voice broke, a breathy plea for me to refute his claim.
Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down. God, I hoped that was just emotion and not a concussion. “I have done everything you asked of me,” I said, quoting my practiced lines in a slow, measured tone, “and only ask in return that you allow me to watch what happens next.” I raised my head to look at him. From this angle, I could see most of his face beneath the cloak and caught the way a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“Of course, Treasure. You deserve to witness this grand finale.” He urged me to my feet and gestured for me to stand on the right side of his throne. Wilde took up a mirrored position on the left.
