The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

Jabavé.

Mother of demons.

What do we do now?

The order to turn around and try to make it back to the ruins was on my lips when I spotted something in the dust cloud.

“Your Highness,” Sven said, impatient for an order.

Something blue. And black.

“A banner,” I called. “They’re ours!”

Shouts of relief erupted, but then we all saw the same thing as they galloped closer. Lances pointed, weapons drawn. There was no mistaking their intent as they charged toward us. They didn’t know who we were. We waved our arms, but they didn’t slow.

“Something white!” I yelled. By the time they realized who we were, at least one of us would be impaled. But there wasn’t a scrap of white among us to wave.

“Our cloaks,” Lia said, and then louder, “Our cloaks are Vendan!”

The saddle blankets we wore were woven in Vendan colors and patterns. As far as they were concerned, we were a barbarian squad. Who else would be out here?

“Shed the blankets!” I yelled.

The patrol slowed as if they were conferring, but their weapons were still aimed. When they were within shouting distance, we identified ourselves, with our hands in the air, as Dalbreck soldiers. They cautiously approached, then stopped six lengths away, still poised to run us through. I ordered everyone to dismount and to keep their hands in sight and off their weapons. I helped Lia down, then Sven and I stepped forward.

“You bloody fools,” Sven yelled. “Don’t you know your own prince when you see him?”

Between our grime and blood spattered clothes, I wouldn’t have expected anyone to recognize us.

The captain squinted. “Colonel Haverstrom? Sven?”

I heard a collective sigh from the others. My muscles went slack for the first time in weeks. We were almost home.

“That’s right, you knucklehead,” Sven said, his tone full of relief.

“And, as much as I look like a stray dog, Prince Jaxon,” I added.

The captain looked at me strangely, then glanced at the soldiers on either side of him. He dismounted and stepped forward to meet me. His expression was grim.

“Captain Azia,” he said, introducing himself. “The entire Dalbreck army has been searching for you…”

Something about his expression was all wrong.

And then falling down on one knee, he added, “Your Majesty.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The moment stretched as long and fragile as spider silk blown taut in the wind. Longer. Impossible. Sven’s eyes watered. Tavish looked down. Orrin and Jeb exchanged a knowing glance. Even Kaden and Griz froze, though I wasn’t sure if they understood what the captain’s words meant. The young soldiers on either side of the captain looked confused. Even they hadn’t known. A fierce ache gripped my heart as everyone waited to see what Rafe would do. A cruel moment. But it was his and his alone to finish.

Your Majesty.

I only had a crescent view of Rafe’s face, but it was enough. He stared down at the captain as if he didn’t really see him. Only the clenching of his jaw, still streaked with dirt and blood, revealed anything. And the slow curling of his fist. Every small controlled gesture told me the news hit him hard—but he was well-trained. Prepared. Sven had probably been preparing him for this moment since he was a child. Rafe would do what was required of him, just as he had when he came to Morrighan to marry me. After two measured breaths, he nodded at the captain. “Then you’ve done your duty.”

A prince, in the turn of a moment and a few words, was now a king.

Rafe motioned for the captain to rise and said quietly, “When?”

It was only then that Sven put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder.