Nov 4, 2018
Morgana was dead. Her body, once terrible in its beauty and power, lay gutted and lifeless on the bloody battlefield, the prince who had slain her standing triumphantly over her remains. He was speaking, but Emrys barely heard him. Magic still crackled around him, off the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair. He alone remained standing, untouched by mortal steel or iron, uninjured. He had a clear shot to the prince, but his life would be forfeit if he tried.
“Anybody who yields will not be killed,” the prince announced. “Quarter will be offered to anybody who swears fealty to the crown and agrees to abide by its laws.”
