Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The sun dipped lower as the evening wore on, casting long shadows over the still-smoking ruins. We did what we could.
Jax and Ferrula helped stack the bodies, their movements grim but efficient.
Cordelle whispered quiet prayers over the fallen while Riven and Naia distributed waterskins to the few survivors left, their faces hollowed by smoke and grief.
I knelt beside a child, maybe ten, eyes too old for his age, and assured him that supplies would be en route before the next dawn.
He didn’t speak, just nodded once and clutched the strip of bread Naia had pressed into his hands.
It wasn’t enough.
It never was.
But it was what we had to give.
By the time we took to the skies, dinner had long passed. The wind had turned colder, and the stars stretched out across a velvet-dark sky by the time we descended toward the familiar spires of the castle and the broad stone stretch of the Ascension Grounds.
Our dragons landed in practiced silence, wings stirring the dirt and grit as we slid from saddles. The leather groaned under our hands as we unfastened straps and hauled gear to the rails along the edge of the field.
Kaelith snorted, her wings already rising as she turned toward the night sky again.
Rest, I urged, but she only answered with a huff before launching upward, disappearing into the dark with Hein and the others.
Zander didn’t say a word. He finished with his saddle, dropped the last strap onto the rail, and walked away, his posture tight, and his shoulders squared like the silence weighed heavier than the flight.
The rest of us lingered, exchanged glances, but no one stopped him.
We returned to the barracks quiet and exhausted, peeling out of gear, brushing ash from armor, trying to scrub blood from hands and smoke from skin. Riven passed me a cloth, and I wiped grime from my face with a sigh. The room smelled like metal, soap, and fatigue.
Then the horn blew.
A sharp, echoing blast. One loud enough to rattle the mirror in our washroom.
We froze.
Then, as if pulled by the same string, we moved. Armor buckled hastily, blades strapped to hips, gloves pulled tight. Adrenaline shoved the exhaustion aside as we sprinted back to the Ascension Grounds, the gravel jagged beneath our boots.
We reached the edge just as the crowd gathered.
And there, under the harsh torchlight at the podium, stood Theron. His cloak stiff in the wind, a silver circlet gleaming like ice across his brow.
Beside him stood Inderia.
Draped in a gown of midnight-blue and embroidered with flame-threaded gold, she looked every bit the crown’s favorite. Her lips curled in the faintest smile.
But her eyes locked on me with the promise of war.
The torchlight flickered against the polished stone of the Ascension Grounds, casting long, eerie shadows across the faces of those gathered. The courtyard was packed—soldiers, nobles, guild officials, all pulled from their evening routines by the blast of the horn and the promise of royal news.
Theron stood tall at the podium, his hands folded behind his back, the silver circlet on his brow catching the flames like a blade catching light. He motioned to Inderia beside him, who wore smugness like perfume, thick and cloying.
“I have excellent news,” Theron announced, his voice booming across the grounds. “As her marriage to my younger brother has been nullified by my hand, I have given her a choice.”
Inderia stepped forward, her dress shimmering with golden thread that curled like fire across velvet-blue. Her chin lifted, proud and cold, as her eyes swept the crowd—and settled, of course, on me.
“With both beauty and strong lineage,” Theron continued, “she will make an excellent wife. And I am pleased to announce… she has agreed to become a favored bride.”
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. I stiffened.
My gaze slid instinctively to Zander.
He stood among Crownwatch, his arms crossed, expression unreadable, though I caught the twitch of his jaw and the tired disgust in his eyes, like he wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here.
But I couldn’t hold it in. “What’s a favored bride?” I whispered.
Theron smiled then, piercing and polished like a dagger freshly oiled.
“Favored brides,” he said grandly, “are a tradition of choice. A matter of honor. Any man not currently under a marriage contract, or those wishing to upgrade their nuptial partner, may compete for her favor. She will choose.”
My stomach turned.
Around me, whispers thickened into conversation, eyes darting between Inderia and the men closest to the front.
It wasn’t a proposal.
It was a spectacle.
And Inderia, draped in silk and poison, was all too happy to be the prize.
Theron raised a hand toward the assembled squads, his voice once again carrying like thunder over stone.
“Inderia,” he said with a sickening air of ceremony, “feel free to meet your suitors.”
Inderia stepped forward with the grace of a courtesan and the precision of a blade.
The fabric of her gown shimmered as she moved, trailing light like a lure, her chin lifted high as she drifted toward a cluster of young, clearly enamored men, nobles and soldiers alike, each one preening beneath her gaze as if they’d already won something.
She offered brief, calculated words to each of them, a smile here, a touch to the shoulder there, feigning interest with the skill of a practiced predator.
I stared, disbelief settling hard in my chest. “Is this for real?”
“Unfortunately,” Tae muttered beside me, his expression twisted somewhere between amusement and irritation.
Then Inderia’s eyes slid over the crowd and landed on us.
And lingered on Tae.
Her smile curled. Predatory. Curious.
She sauntered toward us, ignoring the stiffened shoulders and narrowed eyes from the rest of our squad. When she stopped in front of Tae, it was with the kind of intentional poise that made every movement feel rehearsed.
“Hello,” she purred, her voice like honey spilled on glass.
Tae nodded stiffly. “Hi.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met officially,” she said, extending her gloved hand.
“It’s Tae Rockel,” he said, shaking her hand roughly. “I’m sure you have much better candidates than me, though.”
Inderia looked him over, like one might assess a horse before betting on it. “I’ve been granted certain provisions,” she said smoothly. “I no longer need to marry for prestige.”
“That’s nice,” Tae replied flatly, the polite version of go to hell.
Before she could dig her claws in any further, Zander emerged from the crowd and joined us, his expression cool and distant.
“Inderia,” he said with all the warmth of frostbite, “you have many admirers tonight. I suggest you see to them before your looks fade.”
His smile was razor-edged. “We both know that’s all you have going for you.”
Inderia’s face twitched, just a little, but it was enough.
She sneered at Zander, her poise cracking for a heartbeat, then spun on her heel and stalked away, her gown billowing like smoke behind her.
Tae exhaled slowly. “Well… that was horrifying.”
“Get used to it,” Zander muttered. “This is just the start.”
The crowd was beginning to thin, whispers trailing behind Inderia like the train of her gown. She worked the field like it was a ballroom, not a battlefield, and for a moment, I forgot we’d come from ash and blood not hours ago.
Zander stood beside Tae, arms crossed as he watched her slink off toward another group of wide-eyed suitors. His jaw tensed, but his eyes never left her.
“She may have set her sights on you,” he said to Tae, his voice low and edged like a blade in the dark. “Be wary.”
Tae blinked, then snorted with such genuine offense it made Ferrula glance over.
“I’d rather masturbate with a rusty sword,” he muttered, deadpan.
Even Ferrula, who rarely smiled at anything that wasn’t a challenge or a fight, let out a bark of laughter. “Now that’s commitment.”
Naia choked on her own spit.
I didn’t bother hiding my grin.
Across the grounds, Inderia turned, maybe sensing she was being discussed, and shot Zander a look that could’ve blistered stone. If looks could kill, we’d all be ash.
Zander just smiled.
Bright. Bladed. Regal.
“It’s so nice,” he said lightly, “to see her desperate.”
It was hard not to laugh again, even if the laughter tasted bitter.
Because behind the silk and spectacle, we all knew—
This wasn’t about marriage.
It was about power.
And Inderia was still playing the game like she thought she’d already won.
I felt my stomach rumble and made my way to the dining hall for a snack.
It was dim and quiet, most of the lanterns extinguished save for the muted golden glow near the hearth. The scent of roasted herbs and bread still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the stone like memory.
I moved toward the sideboard where they always left out snacks for late-night stragglers and sleepless soldiers. My stomach growled like it had been waiting for this moment to betray me.
I reached for a biscuit, still warm under the cloth, and took a bite—crumbs falling as the buttery flavor melted on my tongue.
That was when I heard the door creak.
Remy entered with the same silent confidence he always carried, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips as he walked straight to the basket and grabbed a biscuit of his own.
“You aren’t eating enough,” he said as he took a bite, watching me carefully.
I shrugged, still chewing. “Things have been a little hectic lately.”
He leaned against the edge of the table, eyes narrowing slightly. “They always are. You still need to take care of yourself.”
“Sure. Just be ready when Zander and—”
“You’re always protecting him,” Remy cut in, his voice hushed now. “But who protects you?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his gaze.
Then he pulled me against his body before his lips crashed into mine.
Warm. Rough. Familiar.
But wrong.
I gasped, hands rising to push him away, my biscuit dropping from my fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
And that was when I saw him.
Zander.
Standing at the doorway. Silent. Still.
The firelight cast shadows across his face, and for a heartbeat, I couldn’t read him. Whether it was fury or heartbreak or both.
Remy’s lips still brushed mine, unaware of the shadow standing behind him.
And the silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Zander didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to.
His eyes darkened, pitch-black, the kind of fury that came from somewhere deeper than rage, from loyalty, from betrayal, from a possessive storm he didn’t even try to control.
He stepped forward once. Then his fist connected with Remy’s jaw.
The sound echoed through the dining hall like a crack of thunder.
Remy stumbled back, crashing into the sideboard hard enough to knock the basket of biscuits to the floor. He spat blood and surged forward with a growl, catching Zander around the middle as they slammed into a nearby table. Plates shattered, chairs tipped, fists flew.
Zander landed another punch to Remy’s ribs, but Remy wasn’t soft—he twisted, slamming his elbow into Zander’s side with brutal precision. They hit the floor, locked in a tangle of fury and fists.
Then the doors burst open.
Tae and Ferrula were the first in, with Jax right behind them, grabbing at limbs and shouting over the chaos. Naia and Riven weren’t far behind, blades drawn but lowered—just in case.
“Enough!” Ferrula barked, shoving between them as Jax pinned Remy back by the shoulder.
Zander broke free first, chest heaving, black still clouding his eyes, but he didn’t move toward Remy again. Not yet.
“I know Zander has every right to be pissed,” I said loudly, stepping into the center as the tension crackled like lightning across a dry field. “Hell, I’m pissed. But we need Remy for the mission to the Blood Isle.”
Everyone froze for a breath, like that single sentence had slapped the room silent.
Riven’s eyes cut to me. “What the hell happened?”
“Remy decided to kiss me,” I said, my voice flat. “And his attention was not solicited.”
I glanced at Zander, then added with a bite, “And our favored prince seems to have forgotten that I can take care of myself.”
Jax turned to Remy, his jaw tight, and voice lethal. “Don’t touch Ashe again unless she asks you to, Saulter. Or you and I will have a private meeting.”
Ferrula nodded in grim agreement, her glare cold enough to blister skin.
Remy shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I thought I had an invite.”
“Doesn’t sound that way to me,” Cordelle said quietly from the corner, his voice soft but cutting like broken glass.
I reached out, brushing Cordelle’s arm in quiet thanks, then looked between the two of them—Zander’s fists still clenched, Remy’s jaw tight and bloody.
“This stops now,” I said. “I’m not some scrap of meat to fight over.”
Remy’s jaw ticked again. “Listen, Ash—”
“No,” I snapped. “You listen. I’ve got enough enemies without the two of you turning on each other like dogs over a bone. I’m not your possession, Remy. And I’m not Zander’s either.”
Zander’s fists loosened. Remy said nothing more.
The silence that followed wasn’t peace.
But it was enough. For now.
The silence still lingered, thick and pulsing like a bruise beneath the surface of the room.
The broken furniture, shattered dishes, and scuffed stone all bore the aftermath of what had just happened.
But there was no time for pride. Or pain.
Not when the clock was ticking toward something far worse.
I took a step forward, voice steady despite the war still simmering in my chest.
“We should be planning our trip to the Fae Sanctuary.”
The squad shifted slightly, some of the tension bleeding out of their stances, but not all of it. Not even close.
Remy let out a short, bitter breath. “For the king?” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.
Zander flinched.
Only for a second, but I saw it—the subtle hitch in his breath, the slight stiffening in his shoulders. And then, slowly… he nodded.
Remy looked at him. Really looked.
And to my surprise, his posture eased. He rolled his bruised jaw once and exhaled.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll play nice.”
He looked at me, then at Zander again. “Temporary truce. Until the sanctuary’s behind us.”
His words were clipped, but not laced with venom this time. Just a weary understanding of how high the stakes had risen.
Zander gave a single, reluctant nod. “Agreed.”
I didn’t thank them. Didn’t need to. The fact that we were still standing, still breathing, still planning a mission together was enough of a miracle tonight.
For the king?
That was the problem.
Because none of us were sure who this mission was really for anymore. The king. The realm.
Or something darker neither side had named yet.