Chapter 2 #2
Riven pushed off her cot and crossed to him. “You think it’s the weapon the king’s looking for?”
“I think it is the weapon. Or maybe the source of one.” He looked at me then. “And if the Blood Fae want you because of your blood—”
“—then maybe they think I can unseal it,” I finished, a knot tightening in my gut.
Before anyone could say more, a knock echoed sharply on the door.
We all froze.
Jax rose and moved toward it, cautious but unafraid. He cracked the door open and exchanged quiet words with someone outside before accepting two missives.
He turned and walked back toward me, brow furrowed.
“A courier,” he said, handing it over. “One is for you.”
I stared down at the envelope as Jax opened the other.
Thick parchment. Heavy. The wax seal a deep-crimson stamped with the unmistakable image of the crown entwined with three dragons.
My throat went dry.
“It’s sealed with the king’s crest,” I murmured, fingers curling tighter around it.
No one spoke.
I dressed quickly but meticulously, hands sure despite the unease tightening in my chest. The envelope with the royal crest sat on my bunk, already opened and reread twice. The summons inside had been short, impersonal, and terrifyingly direct.
“What was the other letter?” I asked Jax.
“Naia and I pooled our money to bring our mother to Warriath. We can support her here and see her often once we secure privileges.”
“I’m glad.” Jax had been orphaned too. But he had found Naia and her brother. How I envied him.
I buckled my flight leathers and pulled my coat tight, fingers pausing at the clasp before I shoved the letter into my pocket. Kaelith stirred faintly in the back of my mind, her presence like heat against a winter wind, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. She knew.
As soon as I stepped out of the barracks and onto the Ascension Grounds, the courier was there.
Waiting.
He wore the same simple gray and crimson uniform as before, expression perfectly neutral as he turned on his heel and motioned for me to follow.
No words. Just purpose.
We crossed the grounds in silence, the towers of the castle rising ahead like watchful gods. The castle guards at the gate didn’t spare me a glance. They were clearly used to the courier ushering people inside without question.
The interior was a different world altogether, elegance woven into every breath.
Polished marble floors reflected the glow of enchanted lanterns overhead.
Crimson and gold tapestries hung in long swathes, bearing the royal crest and the three-headed dragon of the crown.
The air smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment.
We passed through two long halls before the courier stopped outside a carved wooden door, opened it, and gestured me in.
The room inside was warm with firelight and excess.
Gilded trim lined the walls, and a crystal decanter sat untouched on a sideboard beside two glasses.
The chairs were deep velvet, the carpets thick enough to swallow your footsteps.
And at the far end, flanked by silent carved dragons in the stonework, the king sat in a high-backed chair, its arms and headrest carved in the likeness of dragons mid-flight, crimson-velvet cushions softening the throne’s edge.
He didn’t rise. He only studied me with eyes sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.
“Sit,” he said.
The courier bowed and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
I obeyed, moving with the stiff precision of someone walking into a viper’s nest.
The king tilted his head slightly, his voice as smooth as silk stretched too thin. “I’ve been watching you.”
I said nothing.
He gave a small smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Your dragon… Kaelith, is it? She is most impressive. A rare bond. Feral-born and yet submissive. That is not a common trait.”
“She’s not submissive,” I said evenly. “She’s loyal.”
His smile grew, faint and calculating. “Of course. Loyalty is such a fickle thing these days.”
He folded his hands over the dragon-carved armrest, rings glinting in the firelight. “How have you found the training, Ashlyn?”
The use of my name, casual, unburdened by title, felt like a test in itself.
“It’s difficult,” I said truthfully. “Grueling. But effective.”
He gave a slight nod, as if that answer amused him. “You’re in Thrall Squad, yes? The most volatile of the groups. How are they… performing?”
There was an insinuation behind the word volatile, though his tone remained neutral.
“We work well together,” I said. “The squad’s strength is in its unpredictability. Everyone’s different, but we move as one when it counts.”
A flicker of interest lit behind his eyes. “Even the noble-born? The ones who would once have been your betters?”
“I don’t see ranks when I fight beside them. Neither does Kaelith.”
His expression sharpened at that.
“Ah yes. Your dragon.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow against the arm of his throne. “Tell me—how does she behave in combat?”
I hesitated, choosing my words with care. “Efficient. Controlled. Brutal, when she needs to be.”
“Does she listen to you?” he asked, fingers drumming once against the carved head of a dragon. “Immediately? Without hesitation?”
“She listens,” I said slowly. “But not without thought. She questions when it matters. She’s not a mindless beast.”
“Most dragons push back,” he said, more to himself than to me. “They resist. Strain against the bond until dominance is proven. But she… submitted to you quickly, didn’t she?”
My throat tightened. “Not exactly.”
“I see.” He stared into the fire for a beat too long before turning back to me. “And the adaptation? The connection? Have you had… complications?”
He was dancing around something. Waiting for me to give him more than he asked.
I kept my voice flat. “We’ve adapted.”
His eyes searched mine for a moment. “Not even the deeper resonance? The bleed-over from her instincts into your thoughts?”
I stilled.
“I’ve heard of it,” I said carefully. “It hasn’t been a problem.”
Not a lie. Not entirely.
He gave a slow smile, and this time, it did reach his eyes, but it felt wrong. Too pleased. Too knowing.
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Truly… fascinating.”
It all felt harmless.
It wasn’t.
The king was fishing, his tone curious, but his gaze sharp with hunger, like a man who’d caught the scent of something long thought lost. I gave him only what he asked for. Nothing more. Let him pull the threads while I kept the tapestry intact.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he waved his hand.
“You may go.”
Dismissed like a servant.
I rose, bowed with the exact precision required, and turned toward the door.
I was nearly there when I heard him begin to mutter to himself.
I paused.
The words were low. Barely audible.
“Six hundred years… it should’ve faded by now…” His voice turned more ragged, more fevered. “If the fae blood lingers… if she has it…”
He trailed off.
My heart stumbled.
He was talking about me.
Or was he?
The fae.
The only one we knew of, the only one confirmed, was the prisoner in the dungeon.
I didn’t leave.
Not right away.
The door closed partially behind me, but I could see the king through the open space.
I didn’t take a single step down the corridor.
Instead, I shifted into the shadowed alcove just to the side, my breath held tight in my chest. The torchlight flickered against the stone, casting the room in amber firelight.
And then the king began to speak again.
But not to me.
To himself.
“They think I don’t know,” he muttered, voice low and sharp. “That I’ve grown soft. That the bloodline is weakening.”
I peeked around the edge, just enough to see him still seated on his dragon-carved chair. One hand gripped the armrest so tightly his knuckles were white, the other gesturing aimlessly as he stared into the fire like it might answer him.
“But I’ve seen the signs. I’ve read the texts. The Virelith Crystal was never destroyed. They think it was lost, buried, forgotten. Fools.”
His voice cracked on that word, then rose, urgent, almost frantic.
“The fae hid it. Buried it in light and silence, behind walls even they feared. And now the storm is coming again. I can feel it in my bones.”
He stood abruptly, pacing before the fire. His movements were sharp, erratic, like he couldn’t bear to stay still. His hand twitched as he spoke, fingers curling against the edge of his coat.
“They whisper in the shadows, traitors and half-bloods, whispering secrets behind my back. And her… the girl with the dragon.” His voice dropped to a hiss, breathless and wild. “She shines like they did. Like the old ones. The light and the fire.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
He meant me. Or did he? I didn’t wield fire.
He staggered to the decanter, poured wine with shaking hands, spilling half of it on the marble. “They think I won’t find it. That I won’t unlock it before they do. But I will. I’ll wield it. The Virelith will bend to me.”
He laughed then.
A brittle, broken sound that sent a chill skittering down my spine.
“The fae thought themselves gods,” he sneered. “But they bled, didn’t they? They died. We rose in their place. And now they cower in their holes and send monsters in the dark.”
He turned toward the far wall, where the crimson curtains hung heavy and still. “The prisoner knows. He’s hiding the truth behind those damned eyes. But I’ll get it from him. I’ll rip it from his bones if I have to.”
His voice cracked at the edges now, fraying like old silk.
“No more delays. No more half-measures. The girl is a key, and I will unlock the storm.”
My blood turned to ice.
This wasn’t just strategy.
This was obsession.
Delusion.
The king’s grip on reality, on reason, was slipping.
And he was aiming all of that madness at me.