Chapter 72 Elowen
ELOWEN
The smoke burns my eyes.
It stings and chokes—thick and acrid—filling my lungs with every breath until I can barely see or think. Tears stream down my cheeks and I scrub at them with the sleeve of my robe, blinking hard, forcing my vision to clear.
But when it does, my heart nearly stops.
“No…” I whisper. “No, it can’t be…”
But it is. Standing before Theron and the Old King is a figure I know all too well—Grizalyn.
The witch who cursed me…the witch who cursed us all.
The witch who sent me on this path in the first place.
Fear claws up my spine, cold and sharp, but I don’t let it stop me. I don’t think about the King or the Court or the hundreds of eyes watching. I don’t think about what I’m risking.
I run.
Pushing through the last of the crowd, I throw myself forward and plant myself squarely between Theron and the witch, my arms out as though I can shield him from her.
“Leave him alone!” I cry.
My voice echoes in the vast hall, far louder than I expected, but I don’t care. I don’t care who hears me or what they think.
Before I can say anything else, the Old King speaks.
“What are you doing here, Grizalyn?” he demands, his voice trembling with fury. “I had you banished from my Court when you killed my son!”
Though he’s old, the King’s wrath is terrible to behold. His eyes glow with fury and he seems to grow larger as the Drake inside him expands.
Grizalyn only smiles.
“Why, I came to see the Lost Prince, of course,” she says lightly, her gaze sliding to Theron before settling on me. “And this little priestess.”
Her eyes flash with purple fire as they lock onto mine, and I feel her malice like a physical thing—like claws dragging down my skin. She leans forward slightly, peering into my face, and her smile widens.
“And my, my, look at those pretty green eyes… it appears she did her job.” Her voice turns almost playful, mocking. “I suppose such an innocent flower was simply too much to resist for your strapping grandson, your Majesty.”
“I don’t want to hear another word out of you!” the Old King growls. “Guards—arrest her!”
The guards surge forward…and then stop as Grizalyn lifts both hands in a lazy, almost bored gesture.
Everything freezes.
The guards halt mid-step, their spears suspended in the air. The crowd goes still, mouths open, eyes wide, and bodies locked in place like statues. Even the flickering torch flames seem to hesitate, their movement slowed to something unnatural.
Everyone is frozen except us—me, Theron, and Grizalyn.
A cold dread settles in my stomach.
“What do you want with us?” I demand, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it. “Haven’t you done enough? Can’t you just leave us alone?”
Her expression sharpens, the amusement draining away in an instant.
“No,” she snaps. “For I have a vendetta against the Royal Family that I have long sought to settle. And you, little priestess, have helped me to settle it.” Her lips curl. “I knew when I sent you to find the Lost Prince that you would be his downfall.”
“What?” My eyes go wide. “What are you talking about?”
“Elowen—what the fuck is she talking about?” Theron demands from behind me, his voice low and dangerous. “Did she really send you to find me?”
My stomach drops. Oh Goddess, why didn’t I tell him? Why didn’t I say something sooner?
“I—it’s true,” I admit, my voice coming out small and guilty. “But she never said anything about you being the Lost Prince! She just told me to find the Drake Shifter smith and… and offer myself to you. Back when—when she first cursed me along with the other girls.”
His silence behind me is worse than anything he could have said and when I look at him, I see betrayal on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands at last.
“I don’t know!” The words rush out of me, desperate and tangled. “I just thought—I was afraid you wouldn’t help me if you knew a witch sent me!”
The truth feels thin even as I say it, because the real reason is worse.
I forgot.
Somehow, in the days and nights I spent with him reveling in the way he looked at me and touched me and made me feel…
I forgot to be afraid of her. I no longer saw her as a threat.
I guess I thought after she stole the Grimoire that she’d achieved her objective and had no more interest in me or Theron.
What a fool I was.
“What do you want with us? With Theron?” I ask her, keeping my place between the two of them.
“Well, you see,” Grizalyn says, “When I first cast my killing spell, the prince—Theron here—was but a child. So innocent that the spell slid right off him, leaving him free to run.”
Her gaze flicks to the big Drake Shifter, her lips curving in something almost like admiration.
“So he got away. I searched for him for years but when I finally found him again…” Her smile sharpens.
“I discovered my magic still could not touch him. For though he had grown, he remained pure of heart—so very kind, so very careful with women. He refused to hurt them or take a woman’s innocence or do anything really that would sully his soul. It made him completely untouchable.”
A chill runs through me. Oh no…I think I know where this is going…
“And so,” she continues, “I sought a prophecy. I went to an ancient well, older than this kingdom, and I asked how he might be killed.” Her eyes gleam. “Would you like to know what it told me, after I slit a white ram’s throat and cast it into the black depths?”
“No,” I whisper.
But she speaks anyway.
“While innocence guards the royal flame,
No curse nor blade may stake its claim.
But when he plucks the flower fair,
The half-blood’s bloom—then death is there.”
My blood turns to ice. Me—I’m a half-blood. And I was innocent before Theron changed the color of my eyes.
Grizalyn smiles at me as she sees the recognition dawn on my face.
“And look at you… I do believe he’s plucked your flower at last, my dear.”
“No!” I cry, shaking my head desperately. “No, he hasn’t—”
“Oh yes,” she interrupts smoothly. “He has. Your eyes are green now, not blue.” Her gaze rakes over me, looking utterly satisfied. “And so at last… I may have my revenge upon the wretched Royal line.”
“Stop!” Theron’s voice cracks like a whip. “At least don’t kill the Old King,” he says, his tone rough, almost breaking. “Don’t kill…don’t kill my grandfather.”
The word hangs in the air. Grandfather.
I can feel the grief pouring off him—raw and new and overwhelming, even as the old man himself stands frozen just a few steps away.
Grizalyn laughs softly.
“Oh, never fear, my dear Prince,” she says. “I won’t touch a hair on his royal head. I won’t have to.”
Her smile turns cruel.
“He’ll die of grief when he realizes his long-lost grandson returned to him…only to be struck dead the very next minute.”
“No!” I exclaim. “You can’t—”
But she’s already lifting her hand and pointing one perfectly manicured finger at Theron.
“Heart that beats with dragon’s flame,
Answer now your deathless claim.
Life be stilled and fire undone,
Fall, lost Prince—the curse has won.”
“No!” I scream, lunging forward. But I slam into something invisible.
It’s like hitting a wall of glass—solid, unyielding, and humming with magic. I push against it, claw at it, try to go around it, through it—anything—but it won’t let me pass.
“Theron!” I cry.
But as the last echoing word of the witch’s spell falls silent, he drops.
His eyes roll back, his massive body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud.
“No!” I cry for a third time, and something gives in the magic shield keeping me from him.
I don’t know if I break through the barrier or if the witch lets me through—I don’t care. One moment I’m trapped, the next I’m at his side, falling to my knees so hard it jars my bones.
“Theron—Theron, come back to me!” My hands shake as I grab his face, patting his cheeks, then slapping them lightly. “Please—be all right. Please wake up!”
Nothing happens.
“Come on,” I whisper desperately. “Come on, please…”
I shake him, gripping his broad shoulders, trying to force life back into him.
“Come back to me!” I demand. “You have to come back.
But still nothing. He doesn’t respond and his huge body is dead weight under my hands.
My vision blurs again, but this time it isn’t from smoke.
“No, no, no…” I chant through my tears, still disbelieving. I press my ear to his chest and hear…nothing once again.
There’s no heartbeat…no breath…so sign of life at all.
Theron is dead.