Page 115 of Reign

I followed Fitzroy through the relentless drizzle, the rain soaking through my coat until it clung to my skin. Yet the weight of my drenched garments didn’t burden me more than my heavy heart. Raindrops pattered softly against the foliage, while the wind rustled the canopy of leaves above. I was thankful for the noises of nature, which masked my self-pitying sniffles.

Fitzroy guided me to a dark, rocky cave, its entrance hollowed out from weathered stone amid the swaying trees. He beckoned me forward, disappearing inside the pitch-black cavern. I followed, taking sanctuary from the rain beneath the gleaming stalactites.

“What are you looking for?” I whispered.

“A secret tunnel to the Isle,” Fitzroy replied, his voice echoing off the jagged walls.

“Really?”

Fitzroy tittered as he shook his head. “Of course not. Whenever I forget your astonishing lack of wit, you utter something that serves as a stark reminder of how truly idiotic you are.”

I didn’t retaliate. My self-loathing appreciated his insult.

“Fyre leoht wesan tou lædan leoht. Schew me what thou’me secan fowr oeniht.” Will-o’-the-wisps be my guiding light. Show me what I am searching for tonight, he intoned.

Fitzroy’s hands illuminated in a violet hue, but even his glowing palms couldn’t unveil the full scale of the vast cave. As drops of water rhythmically plinked against the sediment, I waited for the purpose of his incantation to manifest—but nothing happened.

With a resigned sigh, Fitzroy’s hands dimmed. “I tell him to stay, but he never listens,” he muttered under his breath.

“Who?” I asked.

“Greyclaw.”

I shook my head, not knowing what that meant. “Greyclaw?”

“My wyvern,” Fitzroy replied.

My breath hitched in my throat. “You own a wyvern?”

Fitzroy nodded. “Since the day I was born.” His tone was alarmingly nonchalant for someone mentioning their ownership of a magical creature. “He was a gift.”

“From whom?”

“My aunt.”

“Regina?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes as he stepped out of the cave, ignoring my shock.

I marched after him. “Don’t you find that unusual?”

Fitzroy shook his head, spraying me with the rainwater that soaked his hair. “Regina and my mother were well acquainted. Both attended the royal court for many years—even before my father legitimized me, Regina often visited my mother and me.”

“Why have you never mentioned this?”

“It’s unimportant,” Fitzroy muttered, indifferent. He climbed onto the trunk of a fallen tree and shielded his eyes from the drizzle with his hand.

A frustrated laugh escaped me. “Are you foolish? A woman banished from the kingdom gifted you a wyvern, and now you plan to ride it over to her Isle to negotiate peace talks. What if she hears prophecies like Emma, and has been planning this since the day you were born?”

Fitzroy leapt down from the trunk, stalking toward me until he loomed overhead. “Please don’t state the obvious like you were the first person to think it,” he snapped, peering down his nose at me. “Regina’s powerful beyond your comprehension. Every move she makes is calculated meticulously using her gifts.” He finished his humbling speech by raising a condescending eyebrow.

I nodded, agreeing with his words. For someone like me, naive to the vast possibilities of magic, Regina was unfathomably formidable.

“Why aren’t you rebutting?” Fitzroy asked. “Let me hazard a guess—you’re upset about the carpenter?”

“No,” I lied.

“If something troubles you, you can confide in me,” he said, taking my shoulder in his hand.