Page 84 of In Rising Tides

Maybe he had misread Baelwyn’s arrival in the dungeons.

Although he wasn’t totally trusting of Warick. He knew his uncle wanted the throne, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do to get it.

The King continued to glare at Wilder, and Wilder glared right back.

“Your Majesty,” Baelwyn said, shifting just enough to block Wilder from the king’s gaze. “These are already contentious times?—“

A loud boom shook the room.

The floor beneath them shuddered. It sounded oddly like an explosion.

Red-and-orange lights flashed outside.

The scent of smoke laced the air.

Wilder stared with a sense of befuddlement. Had that been an explosion?

“What was that?” a guard whispered.

Another blast ripped apart the room, the force of it leveling the wall and the people next to it.

Wilder couldn’t hear.

A loud ringing pierced his head, interrupted by cracks of screaming.

His eyes burned from the smoke and the residue that permeated it.

It tasted like sap.

Oberon gripped the arms of his chair as the guards converged around the High King, their weapons drawn.

A third explosion ripped through the room, shattering the windows. Pieces of glass sliced through the air and embedded themselves in stone or flesh.

A coppery tang permeated his throat when Wilder inhaled.

He choked on dust as it filled his lungs.

Nobles fled as smoke poured through the blown-open hole in the wall.

Heat shimmering in the air blurred colors and textures together.

Wilder held his head as it pounded beneath his fingers. His hands still locked in the shackles that kept them together in front of him.

“Protect the King!” Warick’s voice boomed over the chaos.

A feminine voice screamed Wilder’s name, but he couldn’t figure out who or where it was coming from.

Everything sounded close and far away at the same time.

His equilibrium had been tipped, and it was a struggle to sit upright.

Prone on his knees, Wilder was nearly trampled as people fled.

A tall elf with gleaming black boots rushed past and, in his haste, knocked Wilder to the ground. Strong, calloused hands wrenched Wilder to his feet and shoved him roughly backward.

For a moment, Wilder thought it had been a guard. But the hands left his chest and did not fasten him to another body.

He was free.