The Good Crown

Chapter 68

The pain from the gash on my arm was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. As the royal doctor stitched me up, I could barely register the sting of the needle. My father stood nearby, pacing with anger radiating off him in waves. His fury wasn't just about the wound or the rebellion. No, this was something deeper—a vindication of everything he'd ever warned me about.

"This is exactly why we do not mingle with the townsfolk," my father spat, his voice like ice. "I told you, Noah. I told you this program was a mistake, that they would only bring ruin to the kingdom."

I clenched my jaw, trying to tune him out, but his words cut through the haze in my mind. Every syllable felt like a hammer, driving the reality of today's events deeper into my soul.

"You allowed them into our academy, our sacred spaces," he continued, his face turning red with the effort of containing his anger. "And look at the result. Look at what they've done! They nearly took everything from us today. And that girl—" His voice sharpened, and I flinched, knowing who he meant. "She betrayed you, didn't she? The one you were so taken with."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep still as the doctor tied off the last of the stitches. My arm throbbed, but the wound on my pride ached more. I didn't want to think about Daniella, didn't want to let the image of her standing with a sword—my sword—directed at me replay in my mind. But it did, over and over, and each time, it twisted something inside of me.

"She wasn't—" I started to defend her, out of instinct more than reason, but I stopped. What was I even defending at this point? She had turned against me, against everything we had built together. My father was right, and that realization churned in my gut like poison.

"You see now," my father continued, his tone softening slightly but still sharp. "You see why we cannot trust them, why they belong in their place and we in ours. The townsfolk—those people—they are not like us, Noah. They will never be like us."

I nodded, my heart heavy. "I understand," I said, though my voice lacked the conviction he probably wanted to hear.

"Good." He stepped forward, his expression grim but satisfied. "This rebellion was a lesson, Noah. One I hope you take to heart. It's time to put this foolishness behind us."

As the doctor finished his work and began packing up his tools, I stood, the weight of my father's words settling on my shoulders. I felt conflicted, torn between the idealism that had driven me to start the program and the brutal reality I had just faced. Maybe my father was right. Maybe I had been wrong all along.

But there was still one thing I needed to understand. One question that gnawed at me, refusing to let me rest.

Why had Daniella done it? After everything we'd shared, after all the promises of change we'd spoken about together—why?

Without another word to my father, I turned and made my way out of the chamber. The palace was still in chaos, guards rushing to and fro, attending to the aftermath of the rebellion. But I barely noticed. My feet carried me through the grand halls, past the ornate doors and towering pillars, down into the dark, cold depths of the palace cellars.

The air was damp, and the smell of mildew clung to the stone walls. The sounds of muffled voices and clinking chains echoed faintly from deeper within, but I focused only on the cell ahead. Her cell.

Two guards stood outside, stationed to ensure none of the prisoners caused any further trouble. They gave me a quick, respectful nod as I approached, but I waved them off.

"Leave us," I commanded, my voice colder than I intended. They obeyed without question, leaving me alone in the dimly lit corridor.

I took a breath, steadying myself. Then I stepped into the cell.