Chapter 62
Elara’s POV
The air in the eastern woods stank of rot and iron. My boots sank into the mud as we followed the trail of smoke winding through the gray dawn. Lucien’s men had found a half-buried tunnel beneath the ruins of what used to be a watchtower—Mireille’s scent was everywhere.
I motioned for the troops to halt, and my voice cut through the cold like a blade. “No torches. Only the lamps. We don’t know what’s down there.”
One of the scouts—a boy barely older than sixteen—swallowed hard. “Your Majesty, the stench—it’s not natural.”
He was right. It wasn’t. It was the smell of death mixed with alchemy, of fire burned too long. The deeper we went, the narrower the tunnel became, walls slick with damp, the sound of dripping water echoing like whispers.
And then… I saw them.
