Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Zander found me just after sunset, the shadows long and golden across the stone path behind the barracks. His armor had been stripped down to its basics, and he looked more like a weary man than a prince. But his eyes, those lavender crystals, still burned with purpose.
“Will you come with me,” he said, quiet but firm. “To see the king.”
I stiffened. “Is he… is he all right?”
Zander hesitated, and that was answer enough.
“His stasis is in flux,” he admitted. “Kaelith’s magic is unstable… and so is the magic sustaining my father.”
I nodded once, trying not to let my worry show, and followed him without another word.
The castle loomed ahead, its spires bathed in fading light, banners fluttering like breathless prayers in the wind.
We climbed the spiral stairs of the western tower, past guards who nodded at Zander with shallow bows, past thick wooden doors warded in silver runes, past the familiar ache in my chest every time I stepped into this place.
The king’s chambers were on the uppermost floor—grand, cold, and far too still. I could feel the magic coiled in the walls, humming softly like an echo of Kaelith’s power, like it was waiting for something.
But as we entered the bedchamber, I stopped short.
Theron was already inside.
He turned, his jaw tightening the moment he saw me.
“What is she doing here?” he demanded, his voice like shattered ice.
Zander didn’t flinch. “It’s her dragon who’s trying to save Father. Remember?”
Theron scoffed, stepping forward. “She’s a gutter rat. The only reason she’s still breathing is because—”
A raspy groan cut through the room, hoarse and sudden.
The king.
He stirred in the massive bed, silks bunching beneath his pale fingers. His eyes snapped open, unfocused at first, then narrowing with eerie clarity.
“Theron,” he rasped.
Theron stepped closer, his posture too stiff. “Yes, Father,” he said, voice strained but practiced. “The prince regent stands ready.”
The king’s gaze drifted, drowsy and piercing.
“Where is Dorian?” he asked.
Theron hesitated. “He’s scouting the Outer Kingdoms… looking for more commoner recruits. As you ordered.”
The king’s breath hitched, and for a moment I thought he might fall back into sleep—but then he spoke, clearer than before.
“He must act as regent.”
Theron froze, his mouth opening slightly—no words came out.
Zander’s jaw clenched beside me, but his eyes never left his father’s face.
And mine…
Mine went to the fading magic curling around the king’s chest, pulsing gold and violet, like Kaelith’s essence was still holding him in place.
But barely.
Theron looked like someone had slapped him.
“Father,” he said, his voice clipped with disbelief. “I am seeing to the day-to-day operations of the castle until you are better. Dorian is better suited for recruitment.”
“Because he is a rider,” the king murmured, his voice gravelly and fading.
“Yes,” Theron admitted. But his hand slid to the hilt of his sword, white-knuckled. He didn’t like being questioned, especially not by a man he’d already begun writing off.
The room fell still for a moment, thick with tension.
Then—shouting.
Voices echoed from beyond the chamber doors, and Theron strode to the window, yanking back the heavy curtain. His eyes narrowed, face twisting in irritation as he leaned forward to see.
“What is happening?” he barked.
Zander didn’t move, didn’t follow. His attention stayed on the king, who had slipped back into unconsciousness, breathing shallow, the faint gold-violet glow around his chest flickering like a dying flame.
“Hein shared the king’s words with the guild,” Zander said calmly. “Many of your followers have decided they’d rather not go against the king’s wishes.”
Theron’s shoulders went rigid.
I stepped closer, watching the scene unfold through the window, riders in motion, voices raised in argument, squads shifting into uncertain formations. Crownwatch was splitting. I recognized two of their lieutenants turning their backs on the crest of the Third Brother.
“Does Dorian have the percentage he needs for this to be over?” I asked, quiet but cutting.
Theron turned, and the glare he leveled at me was pure venom. “No. This is not over.”
And with that, he stormed from the room, boots pounding down the corridor like thunder in retreat.
I exhaled, adrenaline still coiled tight beneath my skin. My fingers brushed Zander’s shoulder. “The king is asleep again. We should go,” I said. “I have a feeling things are about to get bad down there.”
Zander nodded once, jaw tight, and we left the king’s chamber behind, descending the spiraled stone stairwell together, heading straight for the Ascension Grounds—where power was about to clash, and loyalty was on the verge of fracture.
The castle doors opened with a groan behind us, spilling Zander and me into the courtyard just as the first true light of morning broke through the cloud-choked sky.
And there he was.
Theron stood tall at the new podium on the Ascension Grounds, hands raised like a priest before a congregation.
He wore his finest—storm-gray military robes, his family’s crest stitched into his chest like a brand.
Behind him, banners flapped in the wind, the sigil of his claim bright and unwavering. But there was unease in the crowd.
“I am aware of the communication from your dragons,” he said loudly, voice magnified through the courtyard. “But my father has been poisoned. He is very ill, and the culprit appears to be inside this castle. I am already looking into it.”
Murmurs swept through the gathered riders and nobles. A few exchanged glances, others shifted uncomfortably. The tension hung like steel wire between squads.
Theron’s gaze slid to Zander, hard and unblinking, and his meaning was clear.
You brought chaos to my house.
Then another figure exited the castle doors behind us, her perfume reaching me before her voice ever could.
Inderia.
She moved like liquid moonlight, her silken dress the color of crushed violets and trailing silver thread. Not a strand of hair out of place. Not a step wasted. She moved directly to Theron’s side without hesitation—without shame.
And the moment she arrived, the attention of half the yard shifted. Several of the younger riders, especially those from court, watched her with hungry, half-lidded stares. Coveting something they didn’t understand.
Too bad, I thought bitterly, watching the way she placed a delicate hand on Theron’s forearm, they didn’t realize the venom curled beneath that silk.
She looked at me then—no mask, no pretense.
Open hostility.
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Theron’s voice rose again, more desperate this time. “This is not the time to fracture. We must stand united under the crown, under the banner my father entrusted to me before he fell ill. My brother cannot lead you as he is never here.”
A few loyalists near the front nodded, murmuring their agreement. But others were less convinced. Some shifted uncomfortably, their dragons pacing or watching from nearby cliffs, low growls in their throats. The mark of Hein’s message lingered in the air like smoke—unshakable.
Theron pressed on. “I understand your doubt. But loyalty is not given—it is proven. Stay with me, and I will protect what matters. I will find the traitor, and I will heal this kingdom.”
He raised his hand again, this time toward the crowd, gesturing to those still holding his colors.
“Stand with me, and we will not be forgotten.”
But even as he spoke, more riders peeled away from his half of the field—quietly, subtly, but undeniably shifting their allegiance.
And Zander?
Zander watched it all in silence, his arms crossed, jaw clenched—not with fear, but calculation.
The battlefield had changed.
And Theron could feel it slipping through his fingers.
The prince regent turned from the podium, his words like glass as he faced Zander.
“My youngest brother will attempt to return Dorian to the kingdom,” he said, voice loud enough for the gathered crowd to hear. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
There was a flicker of something in his tone—too sharp, too smug. A barb hidden beneath formality.
I frowned. “That’s… good, right?” I asked, glancing at Zander.
But his jaw had already tightened, shoulders locking into a posture I’d come to recognize as restraint just barely held.
“Not really,” he muttered. “I won’t be able to find Dorian. And Theron knows it. But I’ll still have to go through the motions.”
I stared at him. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Zander looked away, his gaze drifting toward the fading horizon. “Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s family politics. Not about this squad. Not about our mission to find the sanctuary.”
He turned back to me, eyes softer now. “I’ll return tomorrow morning. Hein won’t leave Kaelith for long right now.”
I hated the idea of him going alone. Of walking into whatever game Theron had laid for him, with only blood ties as his armor.
“You’ll explain soon?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he stepped closer and kissed my cheek, light, lingering.
“I will,” he whispered, “when it’s safe.”
Then he slid the signet ring from his finger, the one engraved with the Rayne family crest, heavy and cold with centuries of power, and pressed it into my palm.
“Take this. Wear it around your neck. With your pendant,” he said. “I want it very clear to anyone what happens to them if they come near you in my absence.”
I raised a brow. “Like Remy?”
Zander sighed, half-exasperated. “While I am not a fan of Saulter,” he muttered, “he won’t hurt you. I’m more concerned with those who would try to take your life… not your virtue.”
A smirk tugged at my lips. “I don’t have much virtue.”
He winked, that familiar glint flashing in his eyes. “You mean more to me than you realize.”
And without another word, he turned and walked away—straight into the vipers’ nest that was his family.
I stared down at the ring in my palm.
It was heavier than I expected, warm from his skin, the crest of House Rayne pressed into the metal like a mark that refused to fade. A symbol of lineage, power… and protection.
It was a kind gesture.
But why did it feel like goodbye?
I turned it over, the ridges catching the light. My other hand brushed the pendant at my neck. Kaelith’s scale, still warm with a magic I barely understood anymore. And now this. One mark of fire. One mark of storm. One from my dragon. One from him.
But something in the way Zander had kissed my cheek lingered too long. In the way his voice softened when he promised safety. When it’s safe, he’d said.
Not if.
What aren’t you telling me, Zander?
The ring trembled slightly in my grip as a gust of wind swept through the courtyard. I glanced back toward the path he’d taken, but he was already gone—just the muted echo of his boots on the stone, the press of his absence settling over me like dusk.
He was shielding me from something.
And I hated it.
Because I didn’t need a ring.
I needed answers.