Reuben's breath came shallow, ragged, as though the very air around him had thickened. The words declared war echoed like a death knell in his mind. His hands clawed at the sheets, trembling, desperate to hold on to something solid.
War.
And he lay broken. Helpless.
He tried to shift, to push himself upright, but fire ripped through his legs, searing him from hip to ankle. His body betrayed him. His strength—the strength he had always prided himself on—was gone. He collapsed back against the pillows, sweat beading on his brow.
My legs. My throne. My name.They're gone.
The thoughts tumbled over one another, a spiral he could not stop. What use was a crippled heir? What worth was a prince who could not ride, could not lead, could not even stand?
