Chapter 2 #2
Gerrin didn’t even pretend to hide the sneer twisting his mouth. “A lowborn rider. How... quaint.”
I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood. You’re here for information. Not revenge.
“And Lady Vessina of Thubia,” Zander finished, introducing a woman draped in layers of pale silk and dripping with enough jewels to fund a small army.
She gave me a slow, assessing look, then turned her back on me entirely, dismissing me like a bad smell.
Inderia’s gaze burned into my back as we moved through the room. I caught sight of her standing near one of the gilded columns, her gown shimmering like liquid rubies in the golden light.
She wasn’t pretending to hide her interest. Or her displeasure.
Neither were the other ladies, who ogled Zander openly as he passed, their stares lingering on the way his formal riding uniform clung to his frame—the same deep-black and silver as mine, the same high boots, the same laced tunic stitched with the dragon’s crest across his chest.
Even his betrothed.
Inderia’s gaze raked over him possessively, dark with something close to hunger.
It made my stomach twist.
Zander’s hand brushed mine lightly, a silent reassurance, before he steered us toward another cluster of gathered nobles.
At the center stood a woman so striking the entire room seemed to tilt toward her.
“This is Theron’s intended. Lady Belana of Prina,” Zander said.
She was beautiful in the way a winter storm was beautiful, dangerous, cold, and promising nothing but ruin. Her gown was a masterpiece of sapphire and silver, her black hair pinned high with diamond-encrusted combs.
Her smile when Zander introduced me was slow and cutting.
“How charming,” she said, her voice like iced wine. “A rider plucked straight from the gutter.”
Zander stiffened beside me, but I only smiled coolly, letting her words bounce harmlessly off the armor I had learned to wear long before the guild had ever laid chains on me.
I would not give her the satisfaction of flinching.
A sudden ripple of unease spread through the hall as the great doors swung open.
The king entered, flanked by two guards.
I froze.
He was pale and his steps were unsteady, his movements jerky and wrong.
He raised a goblet in greeting, slurring his words through a hollow smile. His crown sat askew on his thinning hair, and the hand that gripped the goblet trembled.
Gasps and whispers filled the room.
Theron moved instantly, striding forward with a polished smile. He caught the goblet from the king’s hand, murmuring something that drew a brittle laugh from the council gathered at the high table.
“Rest, Father,” Theron said, his voice pitched just right to carry across the room. “I will manage the council tonight.”
The king blinked slowly, confusion clouding his features.
Theron turned smoothly to the assembled nobles, his smile sharp and gleaming.
As if he already wore the crown.
Zander’s jaw locked tight, fury radiating off him in waves I could feel through my boots.
He stepped forward, voice like a blade. “Our father is not dead, Theron. His rule is not yours to seize.”
The room froze.
Theron only smiled wider, the perfect picture of a grieving son bearing a heavy burden.
But the truth blazed clearly for anyone willing to see it.
The king was faltering.
And Theron was already grasping for the throne.
The low murmur of conversation cut off like a blade slicing through silk. Heads turned, whispers stirring like a brewing storm at the far end of the hall.
Prince Dorian Rayne stepped through the towering doors, his presence hitting the room like a shockwave.
He wore formal riding leathers almost identical to Zander’s, black stitched with silver, the dragon crest gleaming proudly across his chest. His hair was windswept from a long ride, his face set in cool, unreadable lines.
From the muted gasps and frantic whispers rising around us, it was clear his appearance had not been expected.
Zander moved first, cutting through the crowd to meet him. His hand extended without hesitation, clasping Dorian’s in a firm grip.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Zander said, voice low but full of something I couldn’t quite name—relief, maybe. Gratitude.
Dorian’s mouth quirked. The closest thing to a smile he seemed capable of at the moment. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
But before they could say more, Theron appeared, gliding across the marble like a viper dressed in silk.
“So good to see you, brother,” Theron drawled, his smile sharp enough to draw blood.
The air between them crackled, and though their words were polite, the tension coiled beneath them like a predator waiting to strike.
“You’re looking well,” Dorian said evenly, voice clipped.
“I manage, considering all the responsibilities Father entrusted to me,” Theron replied, his tone sweetly poisonous. “Of course, not everyone can bear such... weight.”
A shadow flickered across Dorian’s face, gone almost before it appeared.
“And yet here you stand,” Dorian said, his voice light but the steel underneath unmistakable.
Zander shifted slightly beside him, his stance tightening. I caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes, mirroring my own.
Something else was happening here. Something layered and dangerous I didn’t yet understand.
Theron leaned in slightly, the false smile never leaving his lips. “You’ll be returning to the Outer Kingdoms immediately, of course. It would be a shame if... misunderstandings arose in your absence.”
A cold thread wrapped around my spine. Was that a threat?
Dorian didn’t flinch. He simply inclined his head once, a move that looked like acquiescence but tasted like surrender soaked in acid.
“As you wish,” he said smoothly. “I have no desire to... complicate things further.”
Theron’s smile widened just a fraction in victory.
Dorian turned without another word, his dark cloak whispering against the marble as he stalked toward the antechamber doors.
The room remained frozen, nobles staring, unsure whether they had just witnessed an agreement... or the opening volley of a war.
I stared after him, stunned.
The eldest son, the rightful heir, had just let Theron order him away like a disobedient servant.
Beside me, I felt Zander’s frustration boil over, bleeding hot and jagged through the bond that had continued to knit between us.
He masked it well on the outside, his face the perfect image of stoic nobility.
But inside, he was seething.
“What was that?” I asked, keeping my voice low as I walked beside Zander through the thrumming crowd, my boots brushing against polished marble. “Between Dorian and Theron. That wasn’t just brotherly affection.”
“I don’t know,” Zander said, his jaw tight. His hand skimmed the small of my back, a touch more protective than casual. “But I intend to find out.”
Before I could press him further, Inderia appeared from the crowd like a storm on the horizon, her red gown catching the light as she approached with predatory grace.
“Zander,” she cooed, her voice sticky sweet, “would you honor me with a dance?”
His arm stiffened against me.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Zander said smoothly, his tone polite but cool. “Ashe is my official date tonight.”
Inderia’s smile didn’t falter, but something cold glinted in her eyes. “For now,” she murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
I clenched my fists at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms.
Inderia tilted her head, her earrings catching the light. “I would like to speak with you privately, Zander. Just a moment of your time.”
Zander hesitated, glancing at me once, an apology in the flicker of his gaze, before he nodded stiffly and allowed her to lead him toward one of the side alcoves.
I stepped away, letting the crowd swallow me. Alone now, the prickling sensation of too many stares slid over my skin.
I had barely caught my breath when a man approached—one I hadn’t been introduced to.
He was tall, with neatly cut dark hair and a edged jaw, dressed in dark-green formalwear embroidered with gold threading along the cuffs. His smile was easy, charming, but something about him made the small hairs at the back of my neck lift.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he said with a graceful bow. “I couldn’t resist meeting the most talked-about rider in the hall.”
I dipped my head slightly, keeping my posture polite but distant. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“My name is Maeven,” he said, his voice a smooth drawl. “I’m from Diria.”
Diria. A kingdom with a reputation for its ruthlessness in every sense of the word. Ferrula’s home.
“I have visited Diria,” I said carefully, every instinct telling me to stay wary. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Maeven.”
He smiled wider, like a cat toying with a mouse. “The pleasure is mine.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the alcove where Zander and Inderia spoke in tight, controlled gestures. “I find you... fascinating, Ashlyn.”
I stiffened, but forced myself to smile. “You’re kind to say so.”
“I only hope you choose the right side when the time comes,” he said lightly, as if discussing nothing more serious than the weather.
Before I could respond, he bowed once more and melted into the crowd, leaving me with more questions. Like which side he was on.
I turned just in time to see Zander and Inderia still locked in a heated debate, their faces tense, voices too low for me to catch.
The crackling tension between them was unmistakable.
I smiled and attempted polite conversation with half a dozen nobles clustered in glittering little groups throughout the hall.
Every time, the result was the same.
A tight smile. A glance over my shoulder like they were searching for someone more important. A quick pivot, turning their backs on me so completely it might as well have been a slap to the face.
I stood there, stiff and aching with the effort of pretending it didn’t hurt, until a familiar hand settled warm and secure against my lower back.
Zander.
Without a word, he guided me through the crowd and out the grand entrance of the castle, the heavy doors closing behind us with a boom that sounded suspiciously like a mercy.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips before I could stop it.
“I saw you talking to Lord Maeven,” Zander said, his voice low as we crossed the moonlit courtyard.
“He said I intrigued him,” I answered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “But he also told me to ‘choose the right side when the time came.’”
Zander’s jaw clenched. “He’s rumored to have ties to the Varnari. That sect is giving us as much trouble as the Crimson Sigil.”
“You have your own spy network, don’t you?” I asked, glancing sideways at him.
“It’s Dorian’s more than mine,” he admitted. “But yes, we’re watching certain nobles. Maeven is one of them.”
I frowned, thinking back to the conversation. “I was hoping someone else would approach you tonight,” Zander added, his mouth twisting in frustration. “But I guess the setting was too... open.”
“Probably,” I muttered. “The fact that Lord Maeven did, though, means he feels his position is fairly secure.”
“Surprising for someone from an outer kingdom,” Zander said thoughtfully. “But I agree with you.”
We reached my door far too soon, the familiar heavy wood and iron hinges looming in front of me like a sanctuary.
I turned to him, heart still beating faster than I wanted to admit. “Goodnight,” I said quickly, before anything else could slip free.
I rushed inside, closing the door between us before I could change my mind.
And leaned back against it, letting the whirlwind of the night finally catch up to me.
I sat on my bunk, pulling off my boots.
Tae lay on his bed with his legs crossed. Naia leaned against the wall, her expression sharp despite the late hour. Ferrula and Jax sat shoulder to shoulder on his bed, the pale light flickering against their faces. Cordelle held a large text in his hands as he lay on his bed.
They waited.
I relayed the evening in low, clipped words, sparing no detail. The nobles who turned their backs. Lord Maeven’s warning. Dorian’s strange, submissive departure. Theron’s tightening grip around the court’s throat.
It was less informative than we had hoped. No secret alliances uncovered. No whispered plots overheard. Only the same bitter truths we already suspected, power was shifting, and not in our favor.
Tae grunted. “Not much to build on.”
“Yet,” Ferrula said, her voice as solid as stone. “Patience. A war isn’t won in a single fight.”
We turned in shortly after, and I slipped into my bunk, tugging the thin blanket over my body, Kaelith’s presence distant but humming softly at the edge of my mind like a tether stretched too thin.
I closed my eyes.
And the world shifted.
The Blood Isle rose from the mists of my mind, jagged and monstrous beneath a blood-red sky. My hands were slick, dripping crimson that wasn’t mine, staining the stones as I stumbled forward.
Kaelith was there, her great body torn and bleeding, dark smoke rising from deep gashes along her scales. Her roar shattered the sky, a sound of agony so pure it ripped through my soul like a blade.
She thrashed against unseen bonds, her wings broken, her tail lashing once before falling limp.
Kaelith! I screamed for her, reaching out as my insides burned, seared by a fire I couldn’t control.
Pain lanced through my chest, hot and endless.
She was dying—
I was drowning in it, blood pooling at my feet, magic tearing at my bones.
Kaelith’s golden eyes met mine, full of sorrow. Full of goodbye.
I woke with a scream, the sound raw and broken, echoing off the barracks’ walls.