Page 152 of Reign

Fitzroy guided Greyclaw toward the shoreline, where the wyvern slammed his talons into the sands and came to a sudden halt. With swords drawn, the men advanced cautiously onto the beach, many gasping at the sight of the enormous beast.

Fitzroy dismounted first, making his presence known, pausing the onslaught of arrows.

Once it was safer, he turned to help me down, followed by Billy. I gripped Fitzroy’s arm tightly, while Billy clung to my cloak as the howling wind lashed against us, whipping my veil around my face and momentarily blinding me.

“I’m nervous,” I whispered into Fitzroy’s ear.

He turned, eyes squinted as grains of sand flicked through the air.

“I’ll protect you,” he assured me.

Our faces were so close I could have kissed him—and perhaps I might have, if I wasn’t aware of the ever-growing audience gathering on the shore.

“Wait here while I address the men,” Fitzroy ordered.

I released his arm and watched as he marched inland, head held high, posture exuding authority—while Billy and I stayed at a safe distance.

“Men,” Fitzroy bellowed, his voice overpowering the roar of the waves.

He raised his purple palms, commanding the attention of well over one thousand soldiers. As Fitzroy revealed his wizardry, some men seemed shocked, while others looked relieved.

“No longer will I hide who I truly am,” he avowed. “My allegiance isn’t tied to crest or crown—I pledge my loyalty to the people.”

Faint murmurs rippled through the throng as the weight of Fitzroy’s confession hung heavy in the salty air.

“The King has deceived you all,” he continued, his voice growing more impassioned. “No longer will I be an accomplice in his falsehoods. He knows that this war cannot be won without magic, yet he lets men fall in battle, hoping their deaths will stoke the fires of hatred for the Silver Witch. No longer will the men of Lyonesse march blindly through the darkest of wars with no light in sight.”

Lowering his hands, Fitzroy stepped closer to the assembled soldiers.

“Stand with me—not as your ruler or as my subjects, but as equals. In Lyonesse, no man or woman, magical or mortal, shall live in fear. Together, we’ll destroy the Silver Witch and restore our kingdom to its former greatness. Prosperity will return. Plentiful days are ahead. Let this be our final fight—for our families, our friends, for Lyonesse!”

After Fitzroy’s speech, Billy buried himself deeper within the folds of my cloak while I held my breath, fearful the men might charge down the beach, swords drawn, to execute the traitor and his companions.

A soldier stepped forward and paused, his long coat fluttering on the breeze as he stared at Fitzroy.

Suddenly, he thumped his clenched fist into his chest. “For Lyonesse,” he said, bowing his head to his liege.

One by one, the sea of men followed suit, lowering their heads as they pledged their fealty to Fitzroy.

“For Lyonesse!” they roared, the sound of their allegiance growing louder as more joined the cry.

Fitzroy unsheathed his sword and thrust it skyward. “If anyone opposes fighting for harmony, step forward now or flee to the Walled City like a coward. I won’t tolerate dissent in Cambas.”

A handful of men bolted from the blackened sands, their silhouettes vanishing as they raced inland—no doubt to spread word of the magical bastard orchestrating a mutiny. Among those remaining, several gripped their hilts tightly, determination wild in their eyes as if ready to slay the crown’s betrayer.

Then, one man broke from the ranks, slashing his sword ferociously as he charged at Fitzroy.

Fitzroy raised his weapon, though it soon proved unnecessary. Acting on instinct, I recalled the spell Regina had cast on Elizebeth—the one that had hurled her across the Great Hall.

“Wesan gan.” Be gone, I commanded, flicking my hand toward the attacker.

A spark of light cracked through the rain, colliding with the man. He soared through the air, spinning before falling onto his own sword. His whimpers were almost lost in the winds as he bled out on the beach. No one went to help, and those who’d moments before seemed eager to duel Fitzroy now lowered their weapons, choosing survival over pride.

Gasps rippled through the men as they turned their attention to me. Whether they were startled by my spellcasting or recognizing me from the smithy was unclear.

I scanned the faces on the beach and spotted a few familiar ones—including Godwin. His fingertips traced the gnarly mementos that magic had carved into his cheek. He wasn’t rallying like the others, nor did he protest—he was rooted in place, observing the commander he admired and the soldier he worked beside.

I wondered how he felt, discovering we both bore magical blood—the thing he hated.