Page 144 of Reign

That was when it dawned on me. Wolver’s lifeless body lay amid the blooms and candles, like a memorial.

On the far side of the vigil, Isobel and Billy both knelt in prayer. Isobel lifted her gaze to meet mine, and her pointed ears twitched quickly—as if trying to communicate an unspoken message. Mabina kept her distance, watching the scenes of despair from the fireplace. Her penetrating stare was unwavering, even as we walked through the hall.

“Come,” Fitzroy whispered, ushering me to the far side to kneel beside Billy.

“Awake, please. Sleep no more,” Regina murmured over Wolver’s body. “How could I not have foreseen this?” She looked upward, her tear-streaked face blotched and glistening with grief. “I’m a servant to the gods, and yet they didn’t forewarn me of this travesty.”

Regina appeared frailer than before, as if grief had aged her overnight.

Her guttural cries rang through the hall. Recoiling at the harrowing display, I prayed for a miracle.

“Elizebeth,” Billy called, “there must be an incantation in the grimoire that can shift the sands of time?”

“I’ve tried every spell,” Elizebeth stated, still thumbing through the book. “I fear it cannot be undone.”

“Wesan gan.” Be gone, Regina snapped with a flick of her wrist, sending Elizebeth hurtling through the air.

She flew backward until colliding with the stone wall beside the fireplace, collapsing into a heap on the hearth. No one ran to aid her—not even Mabina, who was within reach of the whimpering witch.

Fear flooded me, filling my lungs until I could only take short, shallow gasps. It felt like drowning—like I’d been aboard a ship sailing toward promised lands, only for it to capsize before reaching the shore.

Now I was treading dangerous waters.

I reached for Fitzroy, clutching at his arm, hoping his reassuring touch might anchor me before I was set adrift.

He took my hand, his thumb slowly smoothing my palm. Though his face didn’t betray any emotion, I felt small tremors in his fingertips.

Fitzroy was scared, and that utterly terrified me.

An excruciating groan echoed through the hall as Elizebeth heaved herself onto all fours, speckling the straw beneath her in blood.

Her auburn hair draped like a veil across her face, but I didn’t need to see her expression to grasp the depth of her injuries—each labored breath rattled in her chest, as though she were made of broken glass.

In a single movement, she rose to her unsteady feet and strode back toward the shrine. Holding her bleeding head high, she knelt beside Isobel while managing to maintain her composure.

“My brother is to blame for this,” Regina hissed as she stroked Wolver’s emotionless face.

“That crown’s my gods-given birthright—my duty—the reason I was born.” Her voice grew louder with every word. “I’m aware that my own father saw me as a fragile and feeble woman. That’s why he chose my brother as his heir instead of me. He failed to see that I’ve the belly and the brains of a king—a king of Lyonesse, no less.”

All eyes followed the hysterical Regina as she stood.

Her wild, violet gaze pierced through the curtain of silver hair streaked across her face.

With one trembling hand on the hilt of her sword, she paced the hall—seething with rage.

“These mortal tyrants should fear my wrath,” she muttered, her face twisting into a malevolent snarl I’d never seen her wear.

Approaching Fitzroy, Regina unsheathed her sword, holding the pointy tip toward him.

“Nephew,” she said, still edging the blade closer. “How long will it take for you to prepare your army?”

Fitzroy neither cowered nor looked threatened by the weapon she held dangerously close to his throat.

“A few days,” he replied calmly.

Regina nodded, lowering her sword. “You’ve tonight, tomorrow, and then I want your men ready for war.”

“Your bidding’s my honor, Your Highness,” Fitzroy replied with a bow.