Ezra
Ezra stood at the heart of the battlefield, surrounded by the grim aftermath of their victory. His men cheered, their voices echoing against the blood-soaked earth, but to him, the celebration felt hollow. Balaric's corpse still lay where it had fallen, a testament to the brutal clash, yet Ezra's thoughts were far from the battlefield, far from the rebellion they had fought so hard to push forward.
He couldn't shake Giovanna's words—the ice in her tone, the disdain in her eyes. She had changed, hardened into something he barely recognized, and it gnawed at him. Her accusations rang in his ears, louder than the shouts of his soldiers. You didn't ask me, Ezra. You didn't consider what I wanted.
A soldier approached him, face alight with triumph. "Captain! We've done it! They've fled—what's left of them anyway. Richard's forces are crumbling."
Ezra gave a curt nod, his face stony. "Good. Regroup and tend to the wounded."
The soldier hesitated, glancing at the leader he so admired. "You should rest too. You've earned it."
But Ezra couldn't bear to stay. Without another word, he turned and strode away, ignoring the calls of his men. He needed space—needed air to think, to breathe. The battlefield felt suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
He wandered into the woods bordering the field, his boots crunching against the fallen leaves and twigs. The canopy above cast dappled shadows on the forest floor, the sounds of the battle fading behind him. His mind churned, replaying the confrontation with Giovanna over and over.
She didn't even care.
The woman he had loved, the princess he had idolized, had dismissed everything he had fought for. He had built this rebellion in her name, spilled blood and sacrificed so much, only to find that she had no desire to reclaim what was hers. She had looked at him like a stranger, her words cutting deeper than any blade.
"Damn it," he muttered, slamming a fist into a nearby tree. The bark bit into his knuckles, but he welcomed the pain—it was easier than thinking about the truth.
As he paced through the forest, his foot caught on something solid buried beneath the dirt. He stumbled, cursing, and looked down. A corner of a leather-bound book protruded from the ground, its edges worn and weathered by time. Ezra crouched, curiosity momentarily overpowering his anger. With careful hands, he unearthed it, brushing away the dirt.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was the same book—the one he had read back in 2024, before his inexplicable transfer to this world and time. The cover was unmistakable: black leather embossed with a faintly glowing sigil he had never understood. He ran his fingers over it, his pulse quickening. How is this possible?
He sat against a tree, opening the book with trembling hands. The pages were yellowed and fragile, but the text was legible. At first, it was just as he remembered: the chronicles of a distant kingdom, the rise of a tyrant, the fall of a princess. The story of Richard's rise to power and Giovanna's exile. It was the very history he had stepped into, the one he thought he understood.
But then he turned the page, and everything changed.
The words began to differ from what he remembered. The text described events that had never happened—or perhaps had yet to happen. It spoke of the rebellion succeeding but tearing itself apart from within. It detailed a betrayal within Ezra's ranks, a conspiracy that would unravel everything they had fought for. And at the heart of it all was Giovanna—not as a queen or a savior, but as the orchestrator of the chaos, wielding power in ways Ezra could scarcely comprehend.
Ezra's hands shook as he turned page after page. The book seemed alive, its words shifting as if written in real-time. It chronicled his every decision, his every misstep, and the consequences yet to come. It was as though the book was rewriting itself, adapting to his presence.
Then he came to a final, chilling line before the pages turned blank:
"The rebellion's greatest mistake was its belief in a savior who had already abandoned them."
A wave of dizziness washed over him, the words blurring on the page. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. The book slipped from his hands, landing softly in the dirt as his vision dimmed.
His last thought before unconsciousness took him was a question he couldn't answer: Was this history, or was it prophecy?
Darkness closed in, and Ezra's world faded to black.
YOU ARE READING
The rejected crown (book 1)
Historical Fiction"How can I choose between my heart and my duty when loving you feels like the only truth I know?" The throne is empty, and the realm is crumbling. A princess must prove her right to rule, but can she survive a kingdom that doubts her? A witch, once...
