Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The barracks were warm with muted lantern light and the lingering smell of leather, sweat, and a hint of something sweet. Ferrula had grabbed some biscuits again, judging by the crumbs dusting her boots.
I stepped inside to the sound of laughter.
“And then he just stood there,” Tae was saying, half-doubled over, “like he’d seen the gods piss on his boots.”
“The look on his face!” Riven gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “I thought he might actually vomit.”
Jax sprawled on his bunk, one arm over his face as he laughed. “I’m still trying to figure out what was funnier. Mysan’s precision aim, or the squelch it made when it hit the podium.”
Cordelle wrinkled his nose dramatically. “That smell will haunt me for the rest of my days.”
“Pretty sure it singed my eyebrows,” Naia added dryly. “I deserve hazard pay.”
Even Ferrula smirked, though she was methodically sharpening her blade. “A dragon’s fury… poetic justice.”
I grinned and dropped onto my bunk, letting the warmth of the squad’s shared amusement wash over me. We hadn’t had many moments like this lately. When it felt like we were more than just soldiers. Where it felt like family.
But just as Jax was launching into a dramatic reenactment of Major Kaler dragging the wheelbarrow across the courtyard—
The alarm bell rang.
An echoing clang that silenced everything.
We froze.
The second chime came louder. Urgent.
Castle alarm.
We were on our feet instantly with our armor half-strapped, weapons grabbed, and laughter vanishing like breath in frost.
Tae was already at the door. “Let’s go!”
We spilled out of the barracks into the night, the stars overhead drowned by the pulsing glow of emergency lanterns flickering to life. The courtyard was already alive with movement—riders shouting, dragons wheeling above in tight defensive arcs.
And ahead of us, just beyond the glow—
The Ascension Grounds waited.
Something was wrong.
The Ascension Grounds buzzed with confusion and tension, cadets gathering in clusters, eyes turned toward the castle. The bells had stopped, but the air hadn’t calmed. It was charged, thick with something we didn’t understand.
Until the doors to the castle opened.
And everything stopped.
Two guards stepped out first, armored in ceremonial steel and painted shields. Behind them—
Zander.
My breath caught in my throat.
His hands were bound in gleaming iron cuffs, his arms pulled tightly behind his back, chains dragging between them. His armor had been stripped to the basics, and his expression was completely blank. Not defiant. Not afraid.
Empty.
“No,” I whispered, already taking a step forward.
I reached for him across the bond, my thoughts wild and tangled, trying to feel that thread between us. The one that always shimmered like a heartbeat, steady even in silence.
It wasn’t there.
Not blocked.
Gone.
“Dragonsbane,” I breathed, ice slicing down my spine.
“They dosed him?” Riven asked in a horrified tone beside me, already moving closer to my side.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The crowd parted like water around fire as Zander was led to the center of the grounds. His boots scraped against the stone, and though he didn’t stumble, he wasn’t resisting either. Every part of him looked dulled, like they hadn’t just chained his body… they’d shackled his spirit too.
“What is going on?” Naia murmured, tense at my back.
Then he emerged.
Theron.
Cloaked in black with silver trim, he walked behind the escort like he owned the air itself. His chin lifted, every step measured and precise.
But it was his smile that turned my blood to ice.
Smug. Vicious. Triumphant.
The kind of smile someone wore not just when they’d won—but when they wanted everyone to watch them win.
I clenched my fists, heart pounding.
Because this wasn’t justice.
It was theater.
And Zander Rayne was the crown’s next performance.
The courtyard had gone silent in the way only dread could command, until the small, desperate cry shattered it.
“Please, Brother!”
Elara burst from the castle steps, her white skirts billowing, curls bouncing wildly around her tear-bright face. She ran like the world would end if she didn’t reach him in time, her tiny hands grabbing onto the hem of Theron’s cloak with all the strength her little frame could muster.
“Zander didn’t do it!” she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of belief. “He would never—”
Her lavender eyes, so like Zander’s, but softer, unguarded, pleaded up at the prince regent, shimmering with heartbreak.
Theron barely spared her a glance. He didn’t break stride, didn’t even slow.
“Return to the castle, Elara,” he said coolly. “Court matters are not your concern.”
I turned, the ache in my chest piercing, just as a new figure stepped forward with her dark armor. She was trimmed in storm-blue steel, her crest glinting against her chestplate.
Lirane, Commander of Stormforge.
She moved like thunder, fast, unflinching, stepping directly into Theron’s path.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice ringing through the courtyard.
Theron stopped.
Only for a moment.
His gaze slid to her like oil on ice. “You are practically a traitor too,” he said, cold and dismissive. “Return to your banner. I will address the crowd shortly.”
But it was too late.
The silence broke.
Murmurs turned into shouting as guild leaders pushed forward from the edges of the grounds. Crownwatch, Stormforge, Iron Fang, and Warborn were each yelling, demanding answers. Some backed Theron. Others didn’t. Accusations flew like sparks, and the tension fractured like glass.
Then someone shoved.
Then someone else shoved back.
And suddenly, the courtyard erupted into chaos.
Steel rang as blades were drawn, not to kill, but to posture. Guild colors clashed, voices rose, hands gripped hilts. The guards flanking Zander closed ranks, pulling him farther away, and Elara screamed again as two attendants pulled her gently but firmly from the scene.
Even Theron looked momentarily startled.
Because he’d lit the match.
But now the fire was out of his hands.
The chaos rippled outward like a storm breaking across the Ascension Grounds. Yelling, the clash of armor, and the scraping of drawn blades all folded over each other into one deafening roar of unrest. But through the chaos, one voice still rose.
“Zander!”
Elara had broken free of the attendants, her small frame darting through the tangle of shouting guild members like a thread of silk through iron. Her golden curls streamed behind her as she ran straight to her brother, who stood still amidst the guards, chained, unmoving, until she reached him.
Then he dropped to his knees.
The clang of chains hitting stone was gut-wrenching, but his eyes never left her face. Elara flung her arms around his neck, her small hands gripping his sleeve with a desperation that quieted something in all of us.
I couldn’t hear what Zander whispered to her. His lips barely moved above the rising din, but his cheek brushed against hers. The moment hung there, fragile and aching.
Then a hand yanked Elara back.
She cried out, stumbling, and Zander surged forward with a snarl, but the chains pulled him short.
I turned sharply, my heart hammering.
Inderia.
She gripped the girl’s arm with far too much force, her red nails biting into the soft fabric of Elara’s dress. “That’s enough,” she snapped. “Back to your tutors. You’re embarrassing your house.”
The crowd didn’t go quiet, but the tone changed.
Even through the arguing, through the shouting between guild leaders, I felt the shift. The flash of disgust. Of disapproval. Even from Theron’s own supporters.
Naia muttered a curse beneath her breath. Ferrula’s fists clenched at her sides. Jax looked like he was one wrong word away from intervening.
Elara fought her grip, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Let go of me! Let me stay with Zander!”
Inderia turned, shoving her toward the attendants with barely concealed contempt. “You are not in command here.”
The arguing surged louder. Stormforge captains shouting over Crownwatch, Iron Fang bickering among themselves, Warborn shifting uneasily as tension crackled through the grounds.
No one said it aloud, but the looks said everything.
Even Theron flinched as he realized what had just happened.
Because Inderia hadn’t just mishandled a child.
She’d put her hands on the kingdom’s favorite princess.
The yelling escalated faster than anyone could control.
Iron Fang and Stormforge had been toe-to-toe since Zander was paraded into the grounds, their captains exchanging barbed words like daggers, but when one cadet from Iron Fang shoved a Stormforge lieutenant, it snapped the final thread holding the peace together.
Fists flew.
And suddenly, the Ascension Grounds became a battlefield.
Crownwatch fractured before our eyes, some remaining near Theron, others turning sharply and stepping toward the Stormforge line.
Their loyalty had shifted the moment Zander was led out in chains.
He was still a prince. Still the king’s son.
A Crownwatch member, despite what the major had said.
And Theron had made that mistake public.
But amidst the chaos, Elara screamed again.
I turned fast, heart dropping.
Inderia had pulled her aside once more, her fingers digging into the young girl’s arm, dragging her back toward the castle like she was nothing more than a disobedient servant. Elara was sobbing now, twisting in her grip, trying to wrench free.
And then—
He appeared.
Siergen stepped from the shadows like flame taking form, his red scales shimmering despite the fading light, the courtyard torch-glow reflecting across his skin like molten gold. The crowd hadn’t noticed him at first. Not until he growled.
It was low, primal, and lethal.
Everyone near them froze.
Inderia turned, her expression tightening, before faltering when she saw him.
Siergen took one step closer.
The fire began to build in his throat, glowing orange beneath his scales, his chest expanding slowly like a forge being stoked.
His eyes never left her.
I didn’t think.
I ran.
Straight through the stunned circle of cadets, past the fallen blades and overturned banners, toward Elara and the woman still holding her. The heat was already rising as I skidded to a stop between them, the air burning against my skin as I threw out a hand.
“Let her go,” I warned, my voice icy. “Or burn.”
Inderia’s eyes widened, her grip faltering for half a second.
That was all it took.
Elara twisted free and threw herself into my arms, sobbing. I held her tight, shielding her as Siergen took another step, the fire now visible, curling like sunlit smoke up his throat.
Inderia stumbled back, her lips twisting with indignation, but this time, she retreated.
The crowd was still watching.
Stormforge. Thrall. Even Crownwatch.
And for the first time…
No one moved to defend her.
Siergen’s fire dimmed, but his eyes never did.
Because a warning had been delivered.
And next time… he wouldn’t stop at growling.
Theron stepped forward. There was a trickle of hesitation, then a ripple of stillness across the entire Ascension Grounds.
Iron Fang and Stormforge had halted mid-blow. Crownwatch cadets froze, their swords half-raised. Even Warborn, usually neutral and quiet, turned with narrowed eyes. The air vibrated with tension, but no one moved.
Because all eyes were on Theron, and the blazing red dragon in his path.
Siergen.
The crimson courier stood motionless, the fire in his throat still glowing, his gaze locked on Inderia like a judgment written in flame. Elara trembled in my arms, her fingers clutched me tightly, as I held her protectively.
Theron sneered, stopping just short of Siergen’s massive claw. “Leave this place, beast,” he spat, voice dripping with fury. “Or I’ll have your head mounted on my bedroom wall.”
The silence that followed wasn’t just stunned.
It was shattered.
Even the air seemed to recoil.
I heard someone gasp. A blade dropped behind me, clattering against stone. Riders turned, disbelief carved into their faces.
Even Theron’s own supporters looked sick. A few stepped back, glancing uneasily at each other like they couldn’t believe what they’d just heard. Like maybe they’d chosen the wrong side.
Remy stepped forward before I could, his voice quiet but clear across the courtyard.
“You’ve made a grave mistake,” he said, his tone stripped of sarcasm. “That dragon is honored by his kind, and has more fire than your guards can handle.”
Warborn’s leader, a grim-faced woman named Beradin with battle-scarred armor and eyes like forged steel, raised her voice next.
“If Zander Rayne is not released,” she said, “Warborn will side with Dorian.”
Gasps rang out. Shock rolled through the courtyard like thunder. Even the dragons overhead let out low, uneasy groans, sensing the shift in loyalty, the fracture deepening.
Theron staggered slightly, his mouth opening and closing once, then again.
“You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice quieter, laced with desperation. “You don’t understand what Zander has done.”
But it was too late.
Because every soul on the Ascension Grounds understood something else—
Theron had just declared war.
Not just on his brother.
But on the dragons.
And the court could survive many things.
But not that.