The Exiled Prince: Thorns of the Crown

e citadel of Westonia, and even the stone lions that flanked the palace gates seemed to grimace in

His health, once as firm as the roots of the Western Pines, had withered. His servants whispered of strange o

astern wing, a secret chamber held a flick

lendra

er body still bearing the strain of the noose that had not fulfilled its charge. A single flam

r like a discarded relic. He looked older-aged not by time, but by

red. "They believe you gone. E

lowly. "And yet... I am s

til the final breath. Had I

ul perish," she said with a weak smile. "Yo

frozen without you." Alendra's voice dropp

n hesi

kisses," she whispered. "Even knowing t

ie's beauty... it is a blade I cannot resist. Her whispers creep into my sleep. Sh

dy remained frail. "Then you must fight,

hed for her hand and held

lanked by red banners bearing the sigil of his bloodline-the twin silver hounds

prince, but his voice

f he hides in a whore's den or a foreign crypt. His head belongs to me." He stepped forward, voice low and sharp as a drawn sword. "T

Promises such as this were rare-dangerou

ned forward from the council table. "And wha

shall raze the lands that shelter him.

. Dressed in a flowing crimson gown that shimmered like bloo

aid. "Azeal clung to the ideals of a dying age. Zazeal un

eir alliance was deeper than blood-it was built on shared ambition,

his brow. His hands trembled violently, and his voice had grown slurred in recent weeks. But

. Sweet. Red. Laced

onto the bed beside him. "Ha

Alendra... I see her everywhere. I

Your grief weighs heavy. Co

esit

ipping through his hair. "You tru

he whispered.

yes resisted. A seed of clarity had been

e not

fitful sleep, she slipped from the room and fo

uspicious,"

ed. "Then i

e clean?"

ed. "But it wi

ng Thorian was fou

A pyre was built on the highest cliff. His a

gation was

silent at the funeral, the picture of a grieving son. But

of mourning, he a

g Zazeal Daema

southern reaches of the continent. His cloak was tattered. His face hidden benea

, starving townsfolk who looked through him as though

e of Arleth's Spine, beyond the Broken Hills, t

ors, and poets. But war, famine, and the death of its royal line had left

illage along its outski

hut. Her name was Mairell, a woman old enough to have forgotten vanity b

ith history," she had said while

ng but dust,"

makes fin

ot press

erbs, and learned the language of the Elyndori

of her patients and travelers

had no

had e

the north. Lords who taxed the sta

to this land l

the palace, Azeal felt the weight o

would not

st perhaps, it

-he needed