Chapter 36 #2
All heads turned as Theron strode down the stone steps with deliberate poise, his crimson cloak gleaming like fire beneath the morning light. He looked directly at the riders assembled beneath his banner, a smile curving his lips.
But when his gaze landed on us, on those gathered behind Dorian’s sigil, his expression twisted into something far colder.
“I understand loyalty,” Theron called, projecting his voice with theatrical ease. “I do. But tell me—where is my brother when we need him most?”
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
“Our borders are bleeding,” Theron continued. “Varnari move in shadows. The Crimson Sigil poisons our strongholds. And I have asked again and again for Dorian to step forward. To claim the throne. But he refuses.”
The accusation hung heavy.
Across the field, two Crownwatch riders shifted uneasily… then stepped out of our line and moved toward Theron’s banner, their shoulders hunched as if even they weren’t sure why they were doing it.
Theron’s smile sharpened.
“My plan to win this war is simple,” he declared. “Unity. Strategy. Power.”
He paced a few steps, slow and deliberate. “We do not win by hesitating. We do not win by nostalgia. We win by leading. And that is what I will do—with precision, with strength, and with the full weight of the guild behind me.”
It was a good speech.
Too good.
I watched several riders shift, fidget, exchanging uncertain glances. And slowly—two more peeled from Dorian’s side and crossed to Theron’s.
My stomach twisted.
Theron turned slightly, watching the subtle momentum with satisfaction.
But when it was clear no more would come—when the tension wavered—he lifted one hand and pointed toward the castle entrance.
All eyes followed.
A woman stepped forward from the shadows of the archway.
Tall. Regal. Draped in violet and silver. Her pale-blue gown shimmered with thread-of-moonsteel embroidery.
Long blond braids coiled over her shoulders like ropes of night.
And her eyes, gray-blue, cold as steel, were locked on us. But she wasn’t alone. Inderia stepped out beside her.
Theron stepped forward with the elegance of a man who believed every word he spoke was prophecy, his voice rising like a banner unfurled to the wind.
“I have the ear of the noble houses,” he announced, gesturing toward the women beside the castle steps. “The houses of Kruisaan, Diria, Brosha, and Amdar have pledged their allegiance to me. Others will follow.”
Murmurs surged through the lines of riders, nervous and curious.
“In time,” Theron continued smoothly, “I hope you will as well.”
His gaze swept the crowd and then inevitably landed on me.
I felt it before I saw it.
Inderia, standing just behind the other nobles, caught my eye with a flick of her dark lashes. Her lips curved, slow and deliberate, into a smile that was all silk and venom.
She didn’t need to speak.
Her expression said it all.
He’s winning. And you’re alone.
But she was wrong.
Because while we stood outnumbered, we weren’t alone. Not yet.
Still—Zander’s absence carved a hollow in our ranks that no amount of loyalty could fill. He wasn’t beside Crownwatch, and the riders who remained loyal to Dorian kept glancing toward the castle steps, waiting. Needing him.
He was supposed to be our anchor. I tried to reach out with our bond, but found he was blocking me. That meant he was on official business for the crown, but I didn’t like it.
His presence would stop the bleeding, keep the undecided from slipping into Theron’s grasp.
But he wasn’t here.
And every second he remained absent…
More hearts shifted.
More minds wavered.
And Theron’s shadow stretched longer across the guild.
“Begin hand-to-hand combat trials!” the major yelled and we all moved to the rings.
Soon the clang of steel rang out through the training ring, the air thick with dust and the scent of sweat and determination. We moved as a unit. Thrall Squad and the lowborns now one entity, blades flashing and boots pounding into the packed earth.
Ayda and Camus sparred across from me, their rhythm so fluid it was like watching a single body in motion split across two souls. Camus ducked low, and Ayda spun behind him, their blades cutting through the air in perfect synchronization.
“They’ve done this a thousand times,” Riven muttered beside me, breathless and impressed.
“They don’t even have to speak,” I said, eyes tracking their flow. “They just know.”
Across the ring, Teren moved like a shadow.
Fast, clever, never in the same place for more than a heartbeat.
His blade was an extension of his thoughts—quick, sharp, and perfectly timed.
Then there was Luthias, who fought like a living avalanche, his brute strength overwhelming even the more disciplined Crownwatch trainees we’d invited to join the session.
Kaia, small but deadly, was focused on helping Cordelle. She moved with surgical precision, dancing just beyond his reach, calling out corrections as they sparred.
“Don’t follow the blade, follow the feet,” she urged.
Cordelle, still healing but refusing to be sidelined, gave her a faint smile and adjusted mid-strike.
We trained until our bodies ached and the sun hung low, a crimson smudge above the cliffline.
Afterward, we ate together, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on stone benches outside the dining hall. Laughter came easier than expected. The lowborns shared stories of their early days as riders, and Ferrula challenged Luthias to an arm-wrestling match she barely lost.
We returned to the barracks as twilight folded in.
Inside, it felt different now.
Fuller.
Warmer.
Kaia dropped her satchel onto the bunk beside Riven’s and flopped down with a groan. “This one’s mine.”
Teren took the one above hers, tossing his jacket over the edge. “Not bad for a glorified prison cell.”
Camus claimed a spot across from the hearth, with Ayda taking the bunk above his. Luthias settled near them, his cot creaking under his bulk but holding steady.
The space buzzed with low conversation and the soft clink of armor being stored. It felt alive in a way it hadn’t before. Less like a temporary holding and more like… home.
I washed up at the basin, scrubbing the grime from my skin as fatigue dragged at my limbs.
But when I lay down—my body aching, my mind tired—it didn’t bring peace.
The dreams came almost immediately.
Cold.
Vivid.
And this time, there was no mistaking him.
He stood cloaked in shadow, his face a mirror of old portraits whispered about in council halls and cursed in the dark.
Veralin.
My grandfather.
His eyes glowed with crimson fire.
And he smiled as if he’d been waiting.