“Do you really want to be stuffed into the pantry when that thing gets hungry again?”

Apparently not, because the entire kitchen staff starts to scramble out of the tiny space.

The bunkers aren’t far from the kitchens, so we get to them fairly quickly. It takes me banging on the metal trapdoors and using my status as princess to get the guards to open up for the kitchen staff, something I will certainly not be forgetting if ever I become queen, but eventually everyone makes it down into the dank but roomy bunker.

I search for my husband, but of course he’s not down here. Anxiety rattles my chest when I realize he’s probably out defending the city.

Evander.

I’d seen the determination in his eyes when he decided to train with his magic. I’ve witnessed how intent he’s been on learning how to protect Cecilia and me.

My heart falls through my gut.

Evander has made significant gains in his magic, but these creatures are at another level entirely.

And what they did to the soldiers’ armor…

I’m going to be sick.

“Collins,” I say, planting a kiss on Cecilia’s forehead before placing my daughter into his arms. He takes her, rather reluctantly, and she immediately starts screaming.

Then, before the guards can register whether they have the authority to stop me, I climb out of the bunker and run for the training room.

When I arrive, my sword is glinting in the sunlight, begging to be bloodied.

CHAPTER 73

EVANDER

This is it. This is when I die.

I started training too late. Realized too late. Perhaps if I hadn’t spent so many years with my face in a bottle, chasing after females I cared nothing for, perhaps then I would have gotten to live for Ellie. Live for Cecilia.

I just have to pray the Fates won’t punish them for my lack of preparation.

I struggle against the wyvern’s tail as it squeezes the breath out of me, but it’s no use.

The wyvern, its mouth dripping with venom, attacks.

I brace, whether for pain or an instantaneous death, I’m not sure.

But death does not come.

The wyvern’s maw halts just inches from my face. It soon begins writhing, though its tail remains wrapped around me. I struggle to free myself, but its flailing tosses me about, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Black spots pepper my vision, but not enough that I don’t glimpse what saved me, if just for a moment.

A tangle of vines wraps itself around the wyvern’s neck, crushing its windpipe, wringing tighter the more it struggles.

And across the hall is my father, the King of Dwellen, staring up at the creature with delight burning in his eyes as he slowly kills my would-be murderer.

My father advances, his kingly robes whirling around him as he extends his hand.

Then squeezes.

There’s a sickening crunch as the thorns shear through flesh, separating the wyvern’s head from its body.

The head falls, jaw still agape in shock. It plunges toward me, but the limb of a tree slams into it, volleying it across the room.

The tail securing me loosens, my lungs gasping for breath as I fight my way out of its clutches.

I go to stand, to dust myself off and make myself less of a target for the insults that are surely coming, but before I can, a hand extends toward me.

I glance up at my father, unsure, but he nods and I take his hand. He pulls me to my feet. Where I expect mockery in his face, I find none.

“You fought valiantly,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. “There aren’t many who would take on a beast of that size on their own. Few who would survive once a creature like that got them into its own territory.”

“Well, I don’t know that I had much of a choice,” I say.

My father frowns. “There is always a choice.”

I figure this is the point when my father will say something akin to, “You surprised me, boy. I would have expected you to run with your tail tucked between your legs,” or, “Had you applied yourself at the Academy you might not have needed to be rescued like a child.”

But he says none of these things. Instead, he studies me and says, “Your brother would have been proud of you.”

My throat tightens, my mouth hanging open, but no words come out.

“Dust yourself off, son.” My father nods toward the courtyard, where shrieks still rise to the sky. “We have a city to protect.”

We run to the courtyard, my father’s armor clanking around him. I try to cut toward my and Ellie’s quarters, but my father informs me that Ellie and Cecilia have already reached the bunker, much to my relief. My heart aches to go to them, but I can’t very well leave the city undefended while my family is safe.

On the way, my father murmurs concern that I have very little by way of armor on, but he doesn’t encourage me to turn back.

There’s no wasting time, not when these awful creatures are descending upon us.

“That Azrael wishes to punish me for refusing to ally with him,” my father says as we hurry.

“You refused him?” I ask, a bit shocked. I would have thought that, had Azrael offered my father the power of a host of Others at his disposal, the king would have gladly accepted and claimed his duty was to his people, not the rest of Alondria.

My father grunts. “I’ll be dead before I support an illegitimate sitting on a throne.”

Ah. So it seems my father hasn’t been overcome with some drastic personality change, after all.

Well, at least this feels like familiar footing again.

On the way, I grab an abandoned sword from the rubble and sheath it. The blood on its hilt stains my palm.

We reach the courtyard, the steps of which lead down to the closed South Gate. Residents crowd around the gates, begging to be let in, thinking the castle will provide them shelter.