Crown On My Head

chapter 63

Terrors Peak Lacey

The tent was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a few lanterns that cast long, trembling shadows across the map spread out on the table in front of me. The air was thick with tension, heavy enough that it felt like every breath took extra effort. Around the table, the lords—now generals by necessity—spoke in low, urgent voices, their words laced with a desperation they tried hard to mask. I could see it in their eyes, though: the fear, the doubt, the knowledge that we were hopelessly outnumbered.

I sat at the head of the table, my fingers tracing the edges of the map absently. The room felt stifling, the smell of damp earth and something metallic—fear, maybe—hanging in the air. Outside, the camp was eerily quiet, the usual bustle of soldiers preparing for battle replaced by an uneasy stillness that pressed in on all sides. The sky had darkened too early, the clouds hanging low and heavy, as if the world itself was bracing for what was to come.

The lords were arguing now, their voices rising and falling in the cramped space. Ambushes, last stands, desperate manoeuvres—none of them could hide the despair in their words. We were outnumbered, and we all knew it.

The tent flap rustled, and Simon stepped inside. In human form, he was imposing, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. But there was something different about him tonight. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a tension that made him seem smaller somehow. His eyes, normally so sharp and focused, were clouded with doubt as he walked toward me.

“Lacey,” he began, his voice low, strained. I looked up, frowning as I saw the fear etched into every line of his face. “I... I’m not sure I can do this.”

“What do you mean, Simon?” I asked, concerned about knotting in my chest.

He glanced around the table, at the lords who had paused their heated discussion to listen, then back to me. His gaze was filled with a vulnerability I’d rarely seen in him. “I’m afraid, Lacey. Afraid that if I take my true form in battle, I might lose control. What if I harm our own? What if I… destroy more than I save?”

His words hit me hard. The room, already suffocating with tension, seemed to grow colder, the lanterns flickering as if they too sensed the gravity of his confession. The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their own doubts mirrored in Simon’s fear.

I could feel the weight of the moment, the crushing realisation that we were all teetering on the edge of something far bigger than any of us. Outside, the camp was silent, every soldier grappling with their own fears in the darkness, knowing that dawn might bring their end.

I stood up, walking over to Simon, and placed a hand on his arm. I looked up into his eyes, trying to cut through the darkness that had settled there. “Simon, you’ve been with us through everything. You are more than your fear, more than the power you hold. We need you. I need you. We’re all afraid of what might happen, but we can’t let that fear stop us.”

Simon’s gaze softened, but I could still see the doubt lingering behind his eyes. He nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

I returned to my seat, looking at the lord once more. Their faces were still shadowed with uncertainty, but they watched me now with a mixture of respect and fragile hope. I could feel the weight of leadership pressing down on me, the expectations, the fear—both mine and theirs.

“We fight for our people, for each other,” I said, my voice steady despite the rapid beat of my heart. “No one knows what tomorrow will bring, but we do know this: we stand together. Simon, you are part of that. We trust you.”

The room was silent, my words hanging in the air like a prayer. Outside, the wind began to pick up, rustling through the trees and flapping against the tent. The night was growing darker, more ominous, but I could sense a small spark of resolve beginning to take hold within the group.