The rejected crown (book 2)

Powerless

Jane

Jane's legs buckled beneath her. She hit the ground hard, the rough gravel scraping her hands and knees, but the sharp sting barely registered. Every step had been heavier than the last, her body trembling under the weight of exhaustion. Days had passed since she'd unleashed the storm of her fury. Days since the fire that had swallowed Richard's kingdom had consumed nearly all of her strength.

Her magic was gone now, its violent eruption leaving her hollow and vulnerable. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, the kind of ache that made her dizzy with each breath. Her vision blurred, and the dark forest around her seemed to close in, its shadows pressing closer.

She'd escaped the pyre. She'd destroyed half the castle. She'd killed hundreds. Yet here she was, reduced to nothing but flesh and bone, her power a distant memory.

The world tilted, and she fell forward into the dirt, her cheek pressing against the cold earth. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant caw of a crow were the only sounds.

So this is how it ends, she thought bitterly. Alone. Powerless. Forgotten.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the darkness claimed her.

The world returned in fragments.

First, warmth. A fire crackling nearby. The scent of something cooking-a stew, perhaps. Then, voices. Low and muffled, but unmistakably human.

Jane forced her heavy eyelids open, wincing at the light of the campfire. Her body protested every movement, but she managed to lift her head enough to survey her surroundings.

Tents. Men in armor. The royal crest emblazoned on shields propped against a nearby tree.

The royal army.

Her heart lurched. They'd found her.

"You're awake."

The voice was calm, familiar. Too familiar.

She turned her head slowly, her breath catching when she saw him. Sir Edweyn.

His dark hair was shorter than she remembered, cut in a careless yet manly way, but his sharp hazel-brown eyes hadn't changed. The same eyes that had once looked at her with warmth, with laughter. Now they were unreadable, watching her with a mix of caution and... something else.

"Edweyn," she rasped, her throat dry and cracked.

"You should rest," he said, ignoring the name. His tone was carefully neutral, his face a mask of indifference. But his hands betrayed him-clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, though it took nearly all the strength she had left. "What... what are you doing?"

"You passed out in the woods," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the fire. "One of my scouts found you. You're lucky it was us and not someone else."

The words stung, though she wasn't sure why.

"Lucky?" she murmured, her lips twisting into a weak smile. "Do you intend to finish what Richard started, then? Drag me back to the pyre?"

His jaw tightened. He took a step closer, crouching down to meet her eyes.

"You think I'd let them put you back on the pyre?" he asked softly, his voice low and dangerous. "After everything?"

Jane's breath caught. For a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw the truth in his expression-the anger, the pain, the relief. He was furious with her. But he was also... glad she was alive.

"What do you care?" she snapped, though her voice lacked the strength to match her defiance. "You're a witch hunter. A knight of Richard's court. Shouldn't you be chaining me up, parading me through the streets as a trophy?"

Edweyn's eyes hardened. "If I wanted you in chains, Jane, you'd already be in them."

The fire crackled between them, the tension thick and unyielding.

"Why am I here?" she asked finally, her voice quieter now.

"Because I gave the order," he replied. "And because..." He hesitated, the faintest flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "Because I couldn't leave you there to die."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lying beneath them. Jane looked away, the weight of her own guilt and anger pressing down on her.

"I didn't ask for your help," she muttered.

"No," he said, standing again. "But you needed it."

The sound of approaching footsteps cut through the silence, and a soldier stepped into the light of the fire.

"Sir Edweyn," the man said, saluting stiffly. "The others are asking what to do with her. Should we... secure her?"

Edweyn's gaze didn't leave Jane.

"No," he said firmly. "She's staying here. Unharmed."

The soldier hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, but nodded. "As you wish, sir."

When the man had gone, Edweyn turned back to Jane.

"You've made a mess of things," he said, his voice quieter now. "The castle. The city. The king's court. Everyone's looking for you, Jane."

"Good," she said, her lips curling into a faint smile.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"Maybe," she said, leaning back against the log behind her. "But not today."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire between them burned low, casting flickering shadows across their faces.

Finally, Edweyn broke the silence.

"Rest. You'll need your strength if you're going to survive this."

He turned to leave, but Jane's voice stopped him.

"Edweyn."

He paused, looking back at her.

"Why didn't you take me to the dungeons?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

His eyes met hers, and for the first time, there was no mask. Only honesty.

"Because I couldn't," he said simply.

And then he was gone, leaving her alone with the fire and the weight of what lay ahead.