“I have,” Prince Thorne confirmed, and my chest went cold. “But also to inform you that Archwood will be defended.”
Relief poured through me, pushing out a rough exhale, because there was a moment something I didn’t even want to acknowledge had begun to creep into my thoughts. But the Hyhborn were going to—
“Defended? With just the three of you?” Claude sputtered.
Whatever short-lived relief I’d felt had already vanished, and it now felt like it had never existed. “The Baron means no offense,” I quickly said, forcing a weak smile. “Right?”
“Of course,” Claude drawled.
“We know the Hyhborn are quite powerful.” Hymel spoke up, and I had never thought I’d think this before, but thank the gods he’d said something. Hell, I would’ve been happy if it were only to insult me. “But three of you to hold back an army?”
“You’d be shocked by what the three of us can do,” Prince Thorne remarked. “However, I believe you would prefer that your city remains standing?”
My next breath went nowhere. Immediately, I thought of Astoria and . . . I looked at the Prince. Saw his smile. It was pure ice. Maybe I had been wrong about him being compassionate. If it was he who had destroyed Astoria, innocents had to have lost their lives in the process. At the very least, thousands had been displaced, turned into refugees over the acts of a few.
Something about that didn’t sit right, though. He was my— Gods damn it, if smacking myself wouldn’t have drawn attention, I would’ve done it. He was not my anything.
“Since it’s been decided, we will have an army ourselves,” Commander Rhaziel said, and I focused on one word. Decided.
As if there had been another option.
“Unless invisibility is a talent of a Hyhborn army . . .” Claude made a show of looking around the hall. “。 . . I’m assuming this army has yet to arrive?”
Oh my gods. . . .
Silence fell in the dining hall. It was so quiet I was sure I could hear a fly cough.
“The army is waiting on my orders.” Prince Thorne’s tone was frigid. “We have several hundred Hyhborn warriors, in addition to five hundred of the Crown’s Regiment”— the lowborn and caelestias who served as knights. “There are also Primvera’s forces.” He glanced at the Commander.
“I believe they have roughly three hundred Hyhborn warriors,” the Commander answered.
“So, that’s what?” Claude’s chest pressed against my back as he leaned forward. “A little over a thousand who will defend Archwood against several thousand of the Iron Knights and the armies of the Westlands? And five hundred of them are lowborn and caelestia?”
“Five hundred trained by us,” the Commander countered, his lips thinning.
“Several hundred Hyhborn has to equate to several thousand lowborn,” I assured Claude, gently squeezing his forearm. “That is enough.”
His stare met mine, and then he relaxed into his chair, likely thinking that it was my intuition speaking, but it wasn’t. My intuition was silent. I was just trying to keep him from saying one more idiotic thing and getting himself killed.
“Your pet is correct,” Prince Thorne stated.
My head swung in his direction, and I also had to remind myself to not say something idiotic as that irritation sparked deep within me once more. Claude’s term of endearment was often annoying, but he never said it the mocking way Prince Thorne did.
For once, Thorne was looking past my shoulder, to Claude. “Any of age who wish to defend their city, or can, should be preparing for such an event.”
“We have guards,” Claude murmured absently. “Trained men.”
My chest tightened as my gaze shot to the closed doors, toward where Grady waited in the halls.
“Any of age who are able can be given basic training,” Prince Thorne restated. “That would include you, Baron Huntington.”
Claude went still behind me; then the laugh that was crawling up my throat spilled out of his lips. “I haven’t picked up a sword since I came into my title.”
Nothing about the Hyhborn’s expressions said that surprised them.
“Then I would suggest you do that as soon as possible,” Prince Thorne advised. “After all, one cannot ask others to fight for their homes and lives if one is not willing to fight oneself.”
Prince Thorne spoke the truth, but what good was a soldier who was more likely to stab themselves than the enemy?