Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

DACRE

Nyra released the string, and the arrow shot through the air, narrowly missing her target.

She was getting better.

“Watch your breathing,” I said as she reached for another arrow. “Steady it.”

She nodded and notched another.

In my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of movement. Kai was walking toward us, his expression so dark that I could almost see the black swirls of his magic trailing behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He nodded his head to the side, clearly not wanting Nyra to overhear whatever it was he had to say.

I glanced at her, but she was busy staring at the target.

“Davian intercepted a missive. It’s from your grandmother.”

“What?” I pushed off the wall and faced him fully.

“I have no idea how, but he’s asking for you.” Kai looked over his shoulder and my stomach tensed. “He’s demanding your presence.”

I straightened and checked over my daggers instinctively. “Take Nyra back to her room.”

He nodded and looked back over at her.

“Keep her with Wren.”

“What’s going on?” Nyra asked, holding her bow loosely in her hands.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I need to meet with my father. Kai’s going to take you back to your room.”

“I’m capable of getting there myself. I think I’ve finally figured out parts of this city.” She smiled and my chest ached.

“Just do me a favor this once and let him take you.”

Her shoulders straightened at my words, but she nodded once as she slipped her bow onto her back.

I had no idea what my father could have intercepted from my grandmother, but I knew it couldn’t be good. My grandmother never sent word to me.

I came to her.

That was our agreement.

I had been doing it for years behind my father’s back and dread filled my stomach at the thought of him knowing.

“I’ll be back.”

“He’s at his house.” Kai winced as he spoke the words. He knew how much I hated going back there.

I nodded once, and I didn’t wait for either of them to say goodbye. I turned on my heel and stormed out of the training grounds, my mind racing with a million different thoughts.

Whatever my father found, I couldn’t let it escalate into something that could threaten my allegiance to the rebellion or my allegiance to my father.

Unfortunately, those two things weren’t the same.

My power slithered through my veins, and I could feel its restless energy, yearning to be unleashed.

My feet dragged along the pavement, each step heavier than the last as I neared our house. My heart raced, knowing the confrontation that awaited me. It had been a long time since I truly feared my father, but I could feel that familiar apprehension creeping into me now.

The orange glow of flames danced on the window, casting eerie shadows in the dimly lit room. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and raised my hand to knock on the heavy wooden door. My fist tapped gently against the surface, but my heart was beating so loud, I was sure he could hear it from inside.

“Come in.” The sound of his voice, deep and familiar, echoed through the door. I hesitated for a moment before finally pushing it open and stepping inside.

The scent of bourbon and old books filled the air as I crossed the threshold.

As I stood in the living room, dust particles swirled around me in the firelight. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, and the faint smell of my father’s soap still lingered in the air. This house had once been filled with laughter and love, but now it felt empty and haunting. Avoiding the family photos on the mantel, I faced my father.

It was just me and him, surrounded by the ghosts of our pasts we both tried to avoid.

He lounged in a worn leather armchair, his long legs crossed and one ankle resting on the opposite knee. A crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid dangled from his fingertips as he took a slow sip.

He gestured toward the cluttered kitchen table, where an unfolded parchment sat among half-empty mugs and scattered papers. “I have something for you,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

The delicate handwriting on the parchment was a familiar sight to me, and my heart raced as I looked away from it and back to my father.

“What’s that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“That’s what I want to know too.” His weathered hands, covered in calluses and scars, gently traced the rim of the glass as he spoke. “But it’s not addressed to me. It’s addressed to my son.”

His eyes narrowed, following my every breath, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he carefully observed me.

“What does it say?” I asked carefully.

He gestured with the glass on the table as he spoke, the dark liquid swirling inside. “You should read it,” he said, his voice low and hesitant. “I don’t think I can do it justice.”

Something was wrong, very wrong.

I knew my grandmother wouldn’t have sent a missive unless she felt it was dire, and now it was in the hands of my father.

With cautious steps, I made my way to the table, keeping a careful eye on my father’s stern expression. As I reached for the parchment, I willed my fingers not to tremble.

The words, written in my grandmother’s delicate cursive, were short and to the point. But their impact was like a heavy blow to my chest, crushing everything inside me.

My vision blurred as I read and reread each line, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

The king’s soldiers are scouring every inch of the city, searching for her.

She is no longer hiding in the safety of the castle walls.

We both know who she is, Dacre, and you must protect her.

Protect her at all costs.

Everything inside me recoiled at her words.

Nyra.

I scanned over her words once more. She had to be wrong. Nyra wasn’t the princess of Marmoris.

She was a girl who barely had power; she had been locked in the dungeons under the palace itself; she had been on the run.

Everything came to a halt as the truth crashed into me, stealing my breath.

She was a liar.

Nyra had been hiding in the streets since the raid. She had said that she hadn’t been able to get out before then.

I remembered her from the raid. I had seen her even though I couldn’t completely place her through all the chaos.

She had lived her life in the palace because that was her home.

The truths started tumbling out before me. Clicking into place.

The lack of her power, the way she feared going on the bridge more than I’d ever seen another, the scars that stretched so far over her back that they wrapped around her stomach.

She told me that it had been her father.

What she didn’t say was that it was the king.

I tore my gaze away from the page in front of me and looked up at my father. His eyes were fixed on me, but he tried to appear nonchalant as he leaned back against the chair. I could feel his silent scrutiny weighing on me. “What is this?”

My father’s gaze didn’t falter. “That, my son, is a letter from your grandmother,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Care to let me in on who she’s referring to?”

I stared at the parchment, feeling a heavy weight settling onto my chest. “I have no idea.”

“You’re a great leader, Dacre.” My father stood and set his glass down on the table before me. “You’ll make a great commander of this rebellion one day or of this kingdom if we ever defeat the king. Read that parchment again. I think you’ll find the truth lying in its pages.”

I pressed my lips together as I studied him. “Which is?”

“Don’t be daft, Dacre.” He ran his hand along his sword that sat on the table before us. “You think I wasn’t aware that you’ve had communications with your grandmother even though I forbid it? Do you really think I didn’t have eyes on you when you took that girl there who you’ve spent more time training in your bed than you have in combat?”

My heart pounded in my chest as I felt a wave of betrayal wash over me. He had been watching me.

“She’s all we have left of Mom,” I retorted, my voice shaking with anger and confusion. “You can thank her for half of that intel I deliver to you.”

My father’s expression remained impassive, like stone. “That’s the part I can accept. I’ve made up my own excuses for you in my head.” He tapped his fingers against his temple. “But the princess?”

I shook my head as I searched his eyes. “I had no idea who she was.”

His eyes narrowed, studying me carefully. “You were never suspicious of her?”

“I was.” I was honest as my heart raced. “But the thought of her being the princess never crossed my mind. I thought she was a traitor, just using our rebellion as an escape from a life she didn’t want.”

I hesitated, my mind racing as I tried to find the right words as I tried to find the truth.

“It would appear you were right about that. The little bitch is a traitor indeed.” My father’s face curled into a sneer. “She’s been living in our city. You brought her here when you should have left her behind to rot in that dungeon, and now the daughter of that wicked king knows things that we have been protecting most of our lives.”

He walked over to the mantle and picked up a framed photo of my mother, his fingers tracing over the glass.

“Bring her to me.”

A chill ran down my spine as I watched my father’s eyes narrow on my mother’s photo.

“What are you going to do to her?”

There was a flicker of anger in his eyes as he brought them to meet mine. “Don’t make me repeat myself, son. Bring her to me now.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the truth pressing down on me. I owed my father loyalty, but all I could think about was Nyra.

Fuck.That wasn’t even her real name.

“Tonight, Dacre.” He moved toward me, and with a firm grip on the back of my neck, he pulled me close until our foreheads touched. “She is the key to it all.”

I nodded once, and without another word, I left in search of the princess.