Chapter 25: The Lilyhop / Prince Lucien: The Threshold

We laid on the Lilypad side by side watching the clouds swimming in a gorgeous blue sky. I don’t think I had ever been so relaxed… though it seems Emma did not agree.

“When are we going to keep going?” she said propping herself on a elbow.

I turned to my side to respond as the Lilypad swayed softly. My response got lost in her blue eyes, I couldn’t help but give her a goofy smile.

“What are you smiling for the—the sun is already high, if we don’t hurry”

I put a finger on her lip momentarily.

“you’re new here so you don’t know me and my brother.” I paused as she tilted her head cutely in confusion. “My brother and I have a rule. We are allowed to lie to each other as people tend to do but… we must trust each other.”

“That doesn’t make any…” she started quietly before my finger stopped her again.

“The signal to that trust is simple. If one of us say Trust… then we side with each other without question.”

“What does this have to do with anything. and then wouldn’t you always assume the other is lying then, if you don’t say trust”

I ignored the first half of her question. “Trust has nothing to do with the truth.” I lay back down putting my hands behind my head fully relaxed.

“…”

I gave a big dramatic sigh “this is the fastest way to where we are going” I paused for emphasize. “Trust.”

***

While the wait was longer than I thought it’d be we soon got going.

The Lilypad started to move, at a leisurely pace.

I took a small pouch out of the picnic basket, and quickly tied it to my belt.

I slide towards the center of the pad and pulled Emma towards me.

She looked at me surprise as our shoulders bumped.

“its—its moving!”

“I told you, this is the fastest way, especially if we want to conserve our energy.”

Fast as a carriage now. we had to plant both our hands on the pad as it swayed this and that way. Our hands were close, as Emma stared as the trees and flower and wonders of the forest where going by, I could think of anything other than the fact that our pinkies were nearly touching.

“this—this is going pretty fast” she complained as her hair swung in the wind and the trees started to become blurs.

We moved forwards barely staying on top of the pad. The basket flew off. Before we the end came to view. The stream went underground.

“we—we’re going to crash!” Emma screamed but her words barely registered, her hand had found mine, and was gripping it tightly.

I couldn’t help it, I burst into laughter.

Then the Lilypad started to rise.

“what’s happening!” she asked just as the sky decided to come closer.

We flew straight over the tunnel “I never told you what this is called did I?” I shouted over the wind.

We landed a loud THUD resounded. But we merely bounce a few times on the lily pad.

As we stopped bouncing, I patted on the pad “this is a lilyhop our newest addition to the—”

My words turned into screams as we bounced again. Over the trees.

We landed once more, the pad flexing beneath us. Large lizards scattered in every direction, rotund bodies glinting gold as sunlight caught their scales. Each one looked like it had been dusted in crystallized honey, jewel-toned plates layered thick across their backs. A few paused mid-scurry, blinking at us with placid, drowsy eyes before ambling aside.

Emma cut off her scream. “Are we going to get off?” she shouted as we bounced again.

“Not yet,” I said quickly. “Oh. Sugarscales.” I leaned over the edge of the pad as one lumbered past, its loose scales catching the light. “Those are Sugarscales lizards, their scales are—well its in the name isn’t it.”

She stared at me bewildered.

At the base of one lizard’s belly, something small darted out and froze. A plump little mammal with caramel-colored fur and a twitching tail clung to the scales, its oversized front teeth already scraping at the loosened edges. Another dropped from a low branch above, landing neatly on the lizard’s back with practiced ease.

“and those” I began

Before I could continue, we launched into the air again.

***

Prince lucien

The cold from the dungeon still clung to Lucien’s skin when he took an unconscious step forward.

Jeremiah caught him by the shoulder. “Whoa there.”

The captain laughed, a rough bark that echoed off the stone. “Yes, she has that pull about her. You should have seen her in her infancy. The untested practically ran in.”

Heat crept up Lucien’s neck. He looked down and realized his bowl had tipped sometime during the exchange. Soup had spilled across the stones at his feet, already cooling in the mountain air.

Rowena tilted her head, curiosity undimmed. “Then what did it manifest as?”

Callum shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“We never found out,” the captain said. “Starved it out before it could.”

They turned back toward the rest of the group, boots crunching against gravel, voices already drifting to other concerns. Lucien followed, but the cold did not leave him. The dungeon’s presence lingered, pressing softly at the back of his thoughts. His mind knew the truth. It was contained. Empty. Finished.

Yet something deeper stirred. Not desire, but certainty. A quiet insistence beneath reason. As if whatever lay beyond the grate was necessary. As if crossing that threshold would settle something unfinished inside him. As if, somewhere beyond the dark, was the proof his crown required.

***

The path had begun to smooth out after the evening climb, a narrow entrance to a clearing between sparse pines. They had set up camp here. The plan was to scout ahead. Then return for the night, this way they could plan the path for morning.

The air carried the bite of growing altitude, but the weather held. For once, the company felt they could breathe.

Vessir was somewhere above them. Lucien did not see him, but he had learned to feel his presence in the way the forest stayed just a little too quiet. Aldric’s dogs helped. Whenever Lucien lost track of Vessir, he watched the hounds instead, their ears and posture betraying what his eyes could not.

The canopy rattled lightly in the mountain wind. The horses snorted and shook their heads.

Prince Lucien had stayed behind. with a few other. Being one of the few left with spell cast, he was told to mind the camp. Prince Lucien still had all three left for the day. But he had been warned against using them. An attendant would at his age would have one maybe two available, and not the four that Lucien starts his days with.

He was on the outskirts gathering wood for the fire.

Then the earth opened beneath him.

The ground gave way in a sudden collapse. His body plunged downward, dirt spilling past him in a rush.

He hit the bottom hard.

A crack shot up his leg.

Pain exploded through his shin and knee.

Lucien gasped, vision dimming for a heartbeat. He lay sprawled in a deep pit, surrounded by smooth-packed dirt walls too steep to climb. He tried to move, but agony flashed white through his body, as white as the bone through his knee.

Above, silhouettes leaned over the edge. Callum, Jerimiah, Ingrid. Their voices reached down to him in a panicked blur, but he only caught fragments through the roar of his pulse.

“he—” he tried to speak but could only choke on pain.

He knew what was necessary. He braced his hand against his knee and cast the healing spell as he forced the bone back into place. A disgusting feeling of pleasure and pain surged through the joint, guiding it home with a sickening snap.

The pain dulled from blinding to brutal, but he still could not stand.

He cast again.

The ache faded to something deeper and bruised. Present, but survivable.

Then he heard it.

A faint scrape.

Slow. Wet. Deliberate.

Lucien forced himself upright, bracing against the wall with trembling arms. His ankle must be sprained. As he couldn’t put weight on it.

A pair of black eyes stared up at him from the darkness.

It was almost motionless at first, pressed into the packed earth as if it were part of the wall. Its bloated body blended with the soil, its pale underside slick and quivering with anticipation. The creature’s jagged grin widened as it shifted closer, inch by inch, savoring the sight of wounded prey.

Lucien’s breath hitched.

The thing slid forward.

Its teeth gleamed in the dimlight.

Lucien seized a jagged stone and held it out with shaking hands. Gone from his sight, in the dark.

The creature stopped.

Not afraid.

Just enjoying the moment.

Its grin widened.

Lucien braced for the lunge. Preparing to use his final spell. But he didn’t have experience with combat spell, all his training had been in commanding forces.

A shadow dropped into the pit without a sound.

Vessir landed soundlessly atop of the creature. Stabbing it with his curved daggers, he jumped clear off the creature in a crouch between Lucien and it, twin blades dripping with blood. His skin shifted from stone-brown to a deep, stark black, revealing the shimmer of dungeon light crawling along his scales.

The Pitwatcher lunged.

Vessir moved faster.

The assassin’s blades flashed. One cut across the creature’s face. The other plunged deep into the soft underbelly. The Pitwatcher shrieked, flailing in the dirt, its limbs scraping weakly as thick fluid poured from the wound.

It tried to retreat, dragging itself back toward the pit wall.

Vessir stepped forward and drove both blades through its skull.

The creature went still.

Lucien let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. Sweat slicked his palms. His leg throbbed with stabbing heat. Vessir crouched beside him, eyes narrowing.

“You are injured,” he said, voice low and clipped.

Lucien nodded, jaw clenched.

Vessir sheathed one blade and hooked the other beneath Lucien’s arm. “Hold on.”

His fingers dug into the unsteady dirt walls, finding impossible holds. His legs braced against shifting soil with instinctual precision. Lucien clung to him, teeth gritted against the pain, the assassin’s strength the only anchor keeping him from falling again.

At the top, Ingrid and Callum reached down and pulled Lucien the final stretch.

Lucien collapsed on the grass, breath shaking. Vessir stepped out of the pit behind him, brushing dirt from his scales, his face unreadable.

Callum knelt to brace the limb with bark strips and cloth. Ingrid stood watching the pit, hammer in hand, scanning the ground for signs of hatchlings.

Behind them, Vessir adjusted his weapons without fanfare.

Lucien looked at him. “You saved my life.”

Vessir’s eyes flicked toward him, impassive.

Lucien swallowed. “Thank you.”

Vessir said nothing, but a faint ripple of color flickered across his scales before settling back into muted tones.

The forest winds rustled the leaves, reminding them that danger waited in every shadow.

Bedrolls were laid out in a loose ring around the fire, close enough for warmth, spaced enough for weapons to be reached if needed. The horses were tethered nearby, heads low, breath slow. One by one, packs were loosened, armor set aside, boots slipped off with tired relief.

The watch was decided quickly. Two at a time, rotating through the night.

Lucien lowered himself onto his bedroll with care, his leg still sore beneath the wrappings. Callum passed him a folded cloak, which he accepted with a quiet nod and draped over himself. The ground was firm but not unkind, the pine needles softening the worst of it.

Firelight flickered through the branches overhead. Shadows stretched and shifted, never quite still.

Somewhere nearby, steel rang softly as a blade was checked. A low murmur of voices followed, then faded as the guards took their places at the edge of camp. Vessir was already gone from sight, melted back into the trees, presence felt more than seen.

Lucien lay on his back and stared up through the branches at a strip of darkening sky. The ache in his leg pulsed dully, a reminder rather than a warning. He flexed his fingers once, then let them rest against his chest.

He was exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that left no room for worry, no strength for anticipation. The fire crackled. The forest breathed. Someone shifted in their sleep nearby.

Lucien closed his eyes.

Sleep took him almost immediately.