Raven's Soul. Volume 2 - стр. 22

Andrada, on the other hand, has always been special to me. Real, sincere, loyal. She followed me everywhere like a shadow and never turned her back on me. If I was wrong, she always spoke her mind openly, and on the contrary, if I did the right thing, she always supported me. Always cold, reserved, fair, that's how I saw her every day. And even now, like a faithful dog, she sat by my bedside and tried to lick my wounds. If I'd been more careful, she wouldn't have had to do this kind of thing again.

– Don't you think sometimes you do too much for me and this kingdom? Your home is Emmerlend, but even for Emmerlend you do far less than you do for Kaldwind," I asked Andrada, looking at her beautiful, calm face again.

– I don't know what to tell you. – The sorceress lowered her head and must have been deep in thought. – Emmerlend is my homeland, but I have lived in Kaldwind for many years. I live here, work here, and experience things I've never known before. Sometimes I feel as if Emmerlend were a complete stranger to me.

– That's it," I grinned. – I, too, sometimes feel like I belong somewhere far away from the walls of Sturfjell.

– No, you belong here. You're just not used to the burden King Juris has placed on you," Andrada grinned, too.

– This throne should have gone to Hedda. She is the rightful heir, and I was just there when I shouldn't have been. – Barely opening my eyes, I got out of bed and offered my hand to Andrada to help her up. I had no energy left for conversation, so I decided to send her away after all.

– I believe the throne is yours by right. Would Her Highness' fragile shoulders bear the burden? Would she be able to lead the people in the war against the demons? At best, she would make them busy romantic armor, and then victory could only come if Rossi died laughing. – Taking the hint and placing her palm in mine, the magician rose and couldn't contain her smile.

A moment later, the room erupted in our laughter. It had been a long time since we'd laughed like that together, but sometimes it was good for us. The feeling that there was someone else in the chambers besides us faded away, and I even began to forget about the unpleasant awakening. It was a good thing that I had met such loyal friends and helpers as Bergil and Andrada, without whom I would have become an unfeeling fool long ago.

POV Derek

– Dad! Are you still asleep? Wake up! You're going to miss everything!

Two high children's voices and the thud of feet running across the thick carpet were what snapped me out of the captivity of sleep. And I was glad of it: all night long I had been haunted by the same dream, the nightmare I had seen so often before.

A thick fog. A battlefield covered with the bloody bodies of enemies and friends. They have already fallen into eternal sleep and will never return to their families, never see their loved faces or hear their favorite voices. I stand on a large, flat rock, towering above this chaos. Alive, unharmed. My armor is drenched in blood. It is not my blood. I haven't spilled a drop of my own blood. This blood is everywhere, I can even taste it in my mouth. My blood-slicked hair falls over my eyes, but I don't touch it, don't even think about the fact that it's obstructing my vision. My right hand clutches my sword tightly, red, covered in blood and murder. Beneath my feet lies King Juris. He's dead. His entrails peek out from his ripped open stomach. A wide golden crown still sits firmly on Juris' head. I bend down, struggling to remove the crown, which is tangled in the dead king's hair, and place it on my head. I feel nothing. No pain, no fear, no disgust at myself and the fact that I took his crown and kingdom from the dead man. Nothing. The battlefield is covered in snow, so coarse and frequent that in a moment the corpses are gone, as if someone in heaven had deliberately sent this snow here to bury this bloody mess, this abomination underneath. "You are not a king!" suddenly comes a whisper to my ears, causing me to look around, but only to see no one. "Murderer! Impostor! Burn in Hell! You and all your descendants!" I hear the same creepy whisper. "I did not kill him! The king handed me the crown himself!" – I try to justify myself, but I hear grave laughter in response. The crown on my head starts to shrink, making my skull creak and crack, and I scream silently in pain, but after a minute I am completely covered in white icy snow, turning me into an ugly statue, frozen with a horrible grimace on my face....