“Tell me, Sir Finnian,” Darius continued, his voice now frighteningly calm. “Did you at least fulfill the other part of your mission? Did you slay the dragon?”
Finn’s blood ran cold. There it was. The question he had been dreading.
His fingers twitched at his sides, his throat going dry. He couldn’t betray Cedric. But neither could he bring himself to lie to his king—not outright. He had to choose his words very carefully.
“Your Majesty,” he said, keeping his tone even but respectful, “there was no dragon threat during my search for the princess.”
Darius froze. Then, ever so slowly, he turned. His hazel eyes locked onto Finn’s, more dangerous than Cedric’s eyes had ever been as a dragon.
“No dragon?” The words were quiet. Too quiet. “Are you telling me that not only did you fail to bring back Gwenna, but you also failed to eliminate the beast that has plagued our kingdom? I do believe you’re lying to your king, Sir Finnian.”
Shit. Finn’s mind raced. He could feel the noose tightening. “I found no evidence of any dragon attacks, Your Majesty,” he said carefully. “The village I came across, Duskridge, was prosperous. Perhaps the rumors were exaggerated?—”
“Enough.” Darius’s voice cracked through the chamber like a thunderclap. Finn flinched before he could stop himself, his instincts screaming at him to drop his hand to his sword hilt— no. No.
He forced himself still, spine rigid, though every muscle was strung tight.
Darius stepped forward. One step. Then another. And another.
“I want the exact location of Princess Gwenna and the dragon,” he said, each word cutting through the air like steel. “And I want it now. No more excuses, no more half-truths. Where is she?”
Finn’s heart pounded. He was trapped. He could not betray Gwenna. And he would not betray Cedric.
But to openly refuse the king’s command…
He swallowed hard. But Darius wasn’t really the king, was he? Cedric should be the one on the throne. Dragon or not, it was suddenly alarmingly clear that he was less of a monster than the current king.
“No.”
The throne room fell into a silence so deep Finn could hear his own heartbeat.
Darius stared at him, his expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. The stillness stretched into something stifling, a moment balanced on the knife’s edge between fury and calculation.
Then the king let out a quiet, humorless breath. “No?” He said it almost delicately, as if testing the weight of the word. Then he took a step forward.
Clearly not a word this man is used to hearing. Finn lifted his chin. “It means I’m not telling you where Princess Gwenna is.”
Darius was so still and quiet that Finn hoped for a moment he’d turned into a statue from shock. But then the king spoke, his voice like ice cracking over dark water. “Very well, Sir Finnian. If that is your choice, then you leave me no alternative.” He raised his voice, ringing with the power of authority. “Guards!”
The sound of steel rasping against leather filled the chamber as the King’s Guard stepped forward, their hands already on the hilts of their swords. At the same time, the great doors of the throne room burst open, and a flood of palace guards poured inside, boots striking hard against the stone.
Finn stiffened, barely keeping himself from reaching for Sunwrath. Damn it.
The king’s voice was like the crack of a whip. “Sir Finnian Brightmoor, I hereby charge you with treason against the crown. You will be taken to the dungeons to await justice for your crimes.”
Finn’s breath hitched. His thoughts reeled, grasping for sense, for a way to pull this back from the brink. He had given everything to Lunareth—his service, his loyalty, his very life. And now? Now he was branded a traitor?
The guards yanked Finn back, dragging him toward the doors. His boots scraped against the polished marble, but he refused to let them force his head down. He kept his gaze locked onto Darius until the last possible moment, searching for any hint of hesitation, any sign of reason.
There was none.
The king merely watched him go, calm now, as if everything had fallen neatly into place.
As Finn reached the threshold, Darius spoke one last time, his voice echoing like a death sentence.
“Sir Finnian, your stay in the dungeons can be very short or very long.” A pause, deliberate. Calculated. “It all depends on how quickly you decide to cooperate.”
The heavy doors slammed shut, cutting off Finn’s view of the king’s cold, satisfied smile.
