16. Max
MAX
E veryone froze.
The front line of cadets who’d been about to rush me pulled back like a wave retreating from the shore. The gathered crowd scattered, pressing toward the walls, their bunks—anywhere but the center of the room. No one wanted their neck out when the general showed up.
Drakken stalked through the path the cadets cleared, his boots echoing off the concrete floor.
Every eye locked on his powerful frame. Everyone felt his menace.
He wasn’t in uniform, and his dark hair was tousled from sleep.
Someone must’ve called him from his quarters in a hurry.
He’d probably thrown on whatever was nearest: a dark henley that clung to his hard chest and shoulders.
Sleeves pushed to his elbows, baring forearms thick with corded muscle and a tattoo of the House of Leo. Dark slacks sat low on his hips.
It was so unfair a man who hated me could look like that.
But shouldn’t he have stayed in bed? Let someone far below him, a cadet lieutenant or a cadet captain, handle a cadet brawl?
If he thought it was serious, he could send a cadet major.
I was still learning the rank system. Did a colonel outrank a major?
Of course. A colonel, O-6, significantly outranks a major, the demon chimed in.
How the fuck did it have all that knowledge?
One of the heirs always shows up whenever you’re involved, Max, the demon added in its conspiratorial tone.
The dragon prince’s unforgiving gaze locked onto me like a missile.
I stood alone, bruised and bloodied, my shirt stained red—some mine, some from the men who’d tried to kill me. Slade lay motionless behind me. Somehow, I’d grabbed the army knife he’d dropped. The blade sat in my open palm like an accusation.
I knew how this looked. I’d attacked a senior cadet, rendered him unconscious.
I doubted anyone would vouch for me. Probably not even Thane.
He’d done enough trying to stop Slade’s goons from murdering me.
But this was Drakken’s domain. The attack had happened precisely because everyone here knew his opinion of me.
My heart slammed against my bruised ribs. My vision swam, a low buzz filling my head from the hits I’d taken. I commanded myself to stand firm and wait for the dragon’s verdict.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he used this incident to get rid of me for good .
“What did you do this time, Cadet Private Max?” Drakken barked, cold eyes narrowing.
Just then, another figure swept in like a gust of wind—Caspian’s signature entrance, too much energy, too fast, filling the room before his body caught up.
“What the fuck is going on here?” the shifter prince yelled.
Somehow, he’d gotten wind of the fight too and hurried over, even though the academy fell under Drakken’s jurisdiction.
Our backup is here, the demon whispered gleefully.
Caspian had clearly rolled straight out of bed and hit the ground running.
His wine-red hair was disheveled, yet he still looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those pre-Rupture romance novels.
A faded black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, the collar slightly askew, revealing the strong column of his throat. Worn jeans hung low on his hips.
His green eyes were half-lidded with sleep, but beneath the drowsiness, concern sharpened their edges.
Neither of them had time for uniform. They’d been roused from their beds and rushed here.
The image of them in bed hit me without warning. My idiot brain decided to wonder who might have been warming their sheets. The thought soured on my tongue.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I was in deep shit. I should be focused on surviving the next sixty seconds.
Caspian reached the center of the scene and planted himself beside Drakken. Two princes, shoulder to shoulder, their gazes traveling between me and Slade on the floor. Was he dead?
Drakken shot Caspian a warning glance. Caspian shrugged. He wouldn’t openly counter Drakken in front of all the cadets.
Drakken’s hard stare pinned me.
“Why did you cut his throat, Cadet Private Max?” he barked.
He’d addressed me twice now. Both times without “warlock.”
“It was the opposite, sir.” I kept my voice steady. “Cadet Sergeant Slade tried to cut my throat.”
Drakken’s eyes sharpened. Rage flickered in Caspian’s.
“He failed because I discouraged him and his colleagues.” I gestured at the scattered bodies. “His throat isn’t cut. He passed out from his own stupidity.”
“He’ll be punished,” Caspian said, vehement. “I’ll make sure they all regret this.”
Drakken shot him a hard look. Caspian’s jaw tightened, his fist clenching, rage still storming in his green eyes.
The shifter stepped toward me. “Give me the knife, Max.” His voice softened, the tone you’d use to talk someone down from a ledge.
I had no problem letting it go. I opened my palm. He lifted the blade from it, his fingers brushing mine. A shock jolted up my arm, skating along my ribs—the same electric current I’d felt when Aelindor offered me his hand in the interrogation room .
Caspian’s gaze snagged on mine, the raw need flickering in his eyes sending another jolt through my ribs.
Drakken snapped his head toward us, disgust and distrust carving into his features. I’d bet my last meal he’d just witnessed what he’d call another episode of me bewitching his friend.
He didn’t linger on it. The dragon stalked to where Slade lay and squatted beside him, pressing two fingers to the cadet sergeant’s neck. Checking for a pulse.
“Get him to the infirmary.” Drakken rose and barked the order.
Two men arrived with a stretcher in under thirty seconds. Two more lifted Slade onto it with practiced efficiency, and the four of them double-timed it toward the exit.
Drakken wheeled on me. If a look could kill, his would’ve dropped me where I stood.
“Tell me exactly what happened. No detail too small.” He swept his hard gaze across the room. “Any of you lie or omit anything, I’ll know. And you’ll be more than sorry.”
He hadn’t asked me to speak. I kept my mouth shut. I’d had three days of his interrogation already. My jaw still ached from clenching through it all.
The accusations poured out like a river breaking its banks.
A cadet with a bloody lip stepped forward first, pointing at me. “The warlock used his dark magic to attack Sergeant Slade, sir. He threw a dozen of us across the room. We didn’t stand a chance against his sorcery!”
Another one chimed in, voice cracking with adrenaline. “He’s a witch spy, sir. Everyone knows it. Sergeant Slade was trying to protect the barracks, and that freak put him down with sorcery.” He swallowed hard. “I hope Slade lives. The warlock must pay.”
“I didn’t see it, but I felt the shockwave.” A third cadet’s face was pale. “Came right out of his hands and blasted everyone back.”
Drakken listened without expression, arms crossed, gray eyes tracking each speaker with the cold patience of a predator watching prey circle a trap. Caspian stood beside him, his furious gaze cutting between the accusers and me.
“If you hadn’t arrived, sir—” The cadet with two raised scars on his cheek came forward. “The warlock would’ve finished the job and knifed Sergeant Slade while he was out cold.”
Not one of them mentioned the bucket of dirty water. Not one mentioned Slade declaring my execution to the room. Not one mentioned him drawing the knife first, or the dozen men pinning me to the wall while their sergeant savored his moment.
I let them talk. This lot had less honor than miners.
Then Cadet Corporal Thane stepped forward.
The wheat-haired corporal planted himself before Drakken and Caspian, saluted, and began.
“Sir, Cadet Max was asleep on his cot when Sergeant Slade entered with his men. Sergeant Slade doesn’t bunk here.
He’s a second-year senior. He came specifically to target the new recruit.
” Thane paused, making each word land. “One of Slade’s men dumped dirty water on Cadet Max.
Cadet Max was quick. He jumped up. Then Sergeant Slade ordered his men to take him down.
When I intervened, Sergeant Slade overruled me, declared an unsanctioned execution. ”
The silence that followed could’ve choked a man. Slade’s group glared at Thane, promising retaliation. I silently vowed to fight alongside the corporal when the time came. He’d put himself on the line by speaking for me.
“Cadet Max defended himself, sir,” Thane pressed on. “Against over a dozen armed men. He used whatever means he had to survive. In my judgment, sir, it was self-defense. Everything that happened tonight falls on Sergeant Slade.”
Drakken’s face darkened with every word. Gold bled into the gray of his eyes. Beside him, Caspian snarled, barely leashing his rage.
“Attention!” Drakken barked.
Every cadet in the barracks snapped to attention. I straightened too, mimicking their posture—feet together, arms rigid at my sides.
“Unprovoked assault is unacceptable!” Drakken’s voice carried the force of a commander who’d led soldiers through sieges and fire.
“Sergeant Slade is relieved of his rank. He will not return to Greycrown Academy. He’ll face a disciplinary tribunal when he wakes.
Anyone who participated in the initiation of this assault—step to the wall near the exit. ”
A dozen of them shuffled to the wall, heads bowed, shoulders slumped under the sudden weight of consequence .
“What is the motto of Greycrown Academy?” Drakken asked.
“Honor, discipline, and the shield of the sworn!” the cadets shouted in unison. “We serve the Covenant. We hold the line!”
“Again!”
“Honor, discipline, and the shield of the sworn! We serve the Covenant. We hold the line!”
“And you fucking fell short!” Drakken snapped.
He paced in front of Slade’s group, boots striking the floor.
“This is a military base, not some lawless settlement where mob justice passes for order. You dishonored this academy and the Covenant tonight!” His voice hardened further.
“You will be disciplined. You’ll answer for your actions at a tribunal. ”
I couldn’t believe he’d actually been fair. This was the man who’d tried to throw me in a dungeon, who looked at me like I was a stain on his fortress. Yet he stood before his own men and held the line because Drakken was a soldier first.
Interesting, the demon commented. The dragon has a code.
Drakken turned to Thane. “Corporal Thane, you’re promoted to Cadet Sergeant, effective immediately. The first-year barracks are your charge now. You’re responsible for every man in this room.”
You’re no man, Max, the demon chuckled.
Thane looked dazed for half a second before snapping to attention, heels clicking together. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Drakken turned and gave me one last look.
Those gray eyes swept from my bruised face to my blood-stained shirt to the half-soaked cot behind me.
His expression gave nothing away: no sympathy, no satisfaction.
Just the cold calculation of a man who’d weighed the evidence, delivered his judgment, and was done.
He turned and strode toward the exit without another word.
I wasn’t worthy of his mention.
“Do you need medical attention, Max?” Caspian asked, his green eyes scanning the damage.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I heal fast.”
My ribs ached. My cheekbone throbbed where that punch landed.
But I could feel the damage knitting already, faster than it should.
Whatever the demon had done when it surged power through me, the aftermath included accelerated healing.
And I’d had proper nutrition now. My body was finally making up for twenty years of starvation.
“If—”
The heirs had offered me positions outside the soldier track before. I knew what he was going to ask.
“I’m good.” I met his eyes. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
He nodded, then glanced at my half-soaked cot. His jaw tightened. He knew this was Drakken’s doing—the cot instead of a bunk bed, the target painted on my back.
“You coming, Caspian?” Drakken bellowed from the door.
“Asshole.” The shifter prince rolled his eyes, then laid a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get you a proper bunk soon, Max. I promise. ”
Then he was gone too.
The moment the two princes left, the barracks exhaled. Cadets drifted back to their bunks in chastened silence.
I didn’t need Nikolai’s penthouse for cleanup this minor. I grabbed a spare set of casual wear and slipped into the bathroom stall at the far end of the corridor.
The showers were empty at this hour. I scrubbed the blood from my shirt under cold water with rough, efficient strokes until the fabric ran clear. Then I wrung it out and headed back.
On my cot sat a new pillow and an extra blanket.
Thane. I knew it without asking. I wouldn’t forget this. In the mines, small kindnesses were the currency that kept people human. Out here, apparently, the same held true.
Even with a wet pillow and no blanket, this was still better than the mine.
I lay down, pressed my cheek against the clean pillow, and closed my eyes.
The demon would watch my back. For its own sake, of course. If I died, it died with me—or maybe it could jump to another host. But it seemed to prefer me.
I didn’t want to think about why.
Fortunately, sleep pulled me under.