Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Kaelith dropped from the sky like a falling star, landing so hard on the far side of the Yarrow Gardens that the earth beneath my boots quaked.
Stone cracked beneath her claws. The wind of her wings sent robes and hair flying as people scattered, screams ringing out as servants and onlookers fled.
Guards came running, swords drawn, boots pounding toward the garden where Inderia stood frozen in her velvet and silk.
Kaelith’s voice slammed into my mind like a thunderclap, all fury and flame.
Pass on a message, little storm.
The moment any guard, or anyone else lays a hand on you, she growled, her words edged in fire. They will all burn. That includes Brosha.
I stepped forward, keeping my voice calm, though my heart still thundered. “She says… if anyone touches me… they’ll burn. That includes Brosha.”
Inderia went pale.
Her eyes darted from me to Kaelith, who crouched low like a predator ready to lunge, smoke curling from her nostrils.
Inderia’s jaw tightened, and she waved off the guards. “Stand down!” she snapped, her voice trembling beneath the veneer of command. “This isn’t over.”
“No,” I said, holding her gaze, “it’s not.”
She spun on her heels and stormed off, her ruby-studded robe snapping behind her like a banner of retreat.
Kaelith snorted, her wings flaring wide as she rose into the air with a powerful gust, disappearing into the clouds above. But I felt her fury simmering hot through the bond.
It hadn’t left.
Not yet.
Meri burst into the garden from the healer’s door, skirts lifted, panic written across her face as she glanced at my wound.
“Ashe!” she gasped. “Gods… are you—”
“I’m alright,” I said quickly, wincing as the pain in my shoulder flared again.
Meri’s eyes narrowed. “Come. Now.”
She led me inside and helped me onto a cot, her hands already glowing with a soft, pale light.
The moment her magic touched my skin, the tight, raw heat in my shoulder began to ease.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I was safe. For now.
I returned to the barracks just before dusk, every muscle in my body aching, my skin still warm from Meri’s healing magic. The others were already back, scattered across the bunks and benches, talking in low voices that cut off the moment I walked in.
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice flat, the exhaustion dragging down every syllable. “Inderia tried to pull something in the garden. Kaelith made sure it didn’t last.”
Their eyes burned with quiet rage, but I lifted a hand. “Later. I just need a godsdamned washcloth and a bed.”
No one argued.
I cleaned up quickly, peeling off the bloodstained tunic and slipping into a clean one. I barely remembered climbing into bed before my eyes closed.
Sleep hit fast.
But it felt like seconds before a hand shook my shoulder.
“Ashe,” Riven’s voice whispered. “Get up. You need to see this.”
My eyes cracked open. She was already dressed in full gear, her red braid swinging over one shoulder.
Outside. Everyone was outside.
I dressed quickly, dragging on my boots and throwing my jacket over my shoulders. The morning sun was sharp and unforgiving as I stepped into the courtyard beside Riven.
Chaos.
Squad leaders were shouting at each other across the stone.
Stormforge. Iron Fang. Warborn. Crownwatch.
And Zander stood tall beside Dorian, who must’ve returned while we were gone. The eldest prince’s posture was relaxed, but his eyes missed nothing.
Jax stood beside me, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight.
“Our infrastructure’s fracturing,” he muttered. “Koddos says the dragons feel it too. Iron Fang and Crownwatch are at complete odds. For now, Stormforge and Warborn have remained neutral... but that’s going to change if this keeps going.”
“What are they fighting about?” I asked.
Jax turned his head toward me, eyes hard.
“You.”
Before I could respond, Elordon’s voice rang out, loud, cruel, and laced with contempt.
“You bonded with a commoner, Zander. You should be purged from Fourth Guild for it.”
Elordon stood tall and broad, armor gleaming blood-red in the sun. His red Striker paced behind him, wings half-flared.
High above, Hein let out a thunderous roar, the kind that rattled windows and trembled through bone.
I lifted my head and realized our dragons were circling.
Kaelith flanked Hein, even Ferrula’s massive Narvea, all riding the air like predators waiting to strike.
Zander smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Regal.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Try it.”
Elordon’s dragon backed up and the leader of Iron Fang glanced at him. The sound of iron on stone made us all turn.
The castle doors opened with deliberate grandeur, flanked by armored guards in crimson and gold.
Theron strode out first, polished and poised, his smug smile fixed in place like a crown he’d already claimed.
Beside him, Lady Belana of Prina glided down the castle steps, her velvet skirts sweeping the stone like the ground itself worshipped her. She didn’t walk, she floated, each movement graceful and calculated, her golden hair woven with pearls, lips painted the shade of bloodied roses.
Nearly every male on the field turned to look at her, jaws tightening, eyes widening.
Theron didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he thrived on it. His chest puffed subtly, his hand resting possessively on the curve of Belana’s waist like she was his favorite trophy.
But his eyes found me.
“I heard there was some foolishness last night,” he called out as he stepped into the circle of arguing leaders, his voice light, almost amused. “Rest assured, any crimes against the crown will not go unpunished.”
His gaze flicked to me, lingering with a predator’s amusement.
Dorian grunted from beside Zander, crossing his arms as his face soured. “What game are you playing now, Theron?”
Theron’s smile faltered, just a flicker, but enough to chill the courtyard. His eyes narrowed.
“Would you like to assume the throne, my brother?” he asked smoothly, though his voice had turned to ice.
Dorian paled, and for the first time in days, I saw uncertainty in the eldest prince’s eyes.
He shook his head once, curt and clipped. “Father nominated you as regent. I stand by the law.”
Zander stared at Dorian, his jaw clenched like he wanted to shout.
Like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Dorian wasn’t just yielding the throne.
He was handing Theron the blade that would be used to gut us all.
“What is going on?” I muttered, my voice barely above the wind stirring through the courtyard. “Why are the dragons letting human politics affect the Horde?”
No one answered.
Kaelith was there, high above, circling with the others, but she was quiet.
I reached for her through the bond. Kaelith?
Nothing.
Just the faintest pressure. A presence.
And then… the slow, aching sensation of her pulling away.
Not gone. Not severed.
But distant.
Detached.
I clenched my jaw, eyes still fixed on the broken circle of squad leaders and nobles below.
Theron’s voice rose again, silk-smooth and falsely warm. “Brothers. Shall we speak somewhere more… private?”
He didn’t wait for an agreement. He turned, his velvet-clad fiancée at his side, and Dorian followed him like a man walking to his own execution. Zander gave me one last glance. His dark eyes unreadable before falling into step behind them.
The prince regent and his brothers disappeared into the castle, and with them, the fragile order of the courtyard fractured.
Squads began to drift apart, muttering among themselves, tension riding the wind like a storm waiting to break.
I knew there wouldn’t be training today. Not until things cooled down.
If they ever did.
Remy found us by the rails a few minutes later, his steps casual but his eyes focused.
“I’ve arranged for new saddles,” he said, tapping the polished edge of the leatherwork laid across the rail. “But they’ll need adjustments for your dragons’ specifications.”
We followed him toward the racks.
Naia’s orange swordtail, Temil landed first. She growled low in her throat as we approached, but stilled under Naia’s hand.
“Here,” Remy said, helping her anchor the saddle strap. “She flares her wings wider during glides. Adjust this here, tighter, just behind the second ridge.”
Naia nodded, focused, her brows furrowed as she followed his instructions.
Then Remy turned to Cordelle.
“I’ll help you get that book from the vault,” he said. “The one about the old fae burial lines.”
Cordelle’s face lit up, rare and genuine, and they fell into low, eager conversation, murmuring names of ancient families, dead languages, obscure lore.
It was… strange.
A little too perfect.
Ferrula stood beside me, arms crossed.
“He’s too convenient,” she muttered, her voice low and grim.
Jax grunted. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I don’t like it either.”
Neither did I.
Because Remy was never one to seek friendships… only alliances.
You are wise not to trust him, Kaelith said, her voice slithering into my mind as I adjusted the saddle straps across the rail.
I didn’t flinch, barely breathed, I just narrowed my eyes and snorted under my breath. Like Zander is much better?
There was a pause. A slow hum of thought through our bond.
I speak with Hein often.
That caught me off guard.
His rider has been attempting to get out of his marriage contract since before he met you.
I froze. My fingers stilled on the leather buckles.
Before? I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry. Why does Hein care who Zander marries?
He is bonded, Kaelith replied, each word distinct. And Hein is concerned… for you as well.
My pulse skipped.
Why? I asked, the question tighter than I meant it to be. Why would Hein care about me?
Kaelith didn’t answer right away. Her silence curled around me like smoke, thick with something I couldn’t quite name.
Because dragons know when hearts are truly claimed, she said at last. And Hein has seen Zander’s.
The saddle strap slipped from my fingers.