Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The tension had morphed from shock to unease, and now into something caustic. Something dangerous.
Theron stood alone now, though the guards remained at his back.
But his supporters? The ones who had once flanked him with blind loyalty?
They were quiet. Still. Warborn had spoken their stance, and others were watching with narrowed eyes and guarded stances.
The court had turned, subtly, but definitively.
He might be the prince regent, but it was painfully clear—
Theron didn’t understand riders.
And he sure as hell didn’t understand their dragons.
His gaze flicked to Siergen, and for the first time, I saw his hesitation.
“I apologize for my outburst,” Theron said, his voice quieter now, attempting to smooth the edges. “I value our treaty with the dragons. Deeply. But I am… angry. I trusted Zander, and he betrayed me.”
Siergen didn’t move. But the growl that curled from his throat was slow, deliberate, and full of disbelief.
He didn’t buy a word of it.
And neither did most of the grounds.
“What did he do?” I asked, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest.
Inderia’s eyes cut to me like twin daggers, her lips curling with venom. “Who are you to oppose the king?”
I arched a brow, shifting Elara in my arms as I met Inderia’s glare without flinching. “The king? I wasn’t aware his father had died.”
A murmur spread through the onlookers. Even Warborn looked impressed.
Theron stiffened and turned to Inderia with a look that could slice bone. “She misspoke,” he said, his tone clipped. “I am simply the prince regent.”
He turned back to the crowd, trying to reclaim control, chin lifted high. “But since you asked so nicely,” he continued, gaze locking on me, “I’ll tell you.”
The silence around him grew taut again.
“He is responsible for my father’s condition,” Theron said flatly. “Zander poisoned him. And he planned to kill me as well.”
Gasps erupted around the circle.
“Zander covets the throne,” he added, voice rising, his words honed like blades. “But you know this. He had help from the Order.”
My blood ran cold.
The crowd splintered again. Not with swords this time, but with questions.
With doubt.
And in my arms, Elara trembled, whispering into my collar.
“He wouldn’t,” she said, so soft only I could hear.
I know, I thought, and held her tighter.
Because no matter what Theron had just said—
Zander wasn’t the traitor.
But someone close to him was.
Theron stood taller now, feeding off the attention like a man reclaiming his stage. The glint of unease in his eyes was gone, replaced by something colder and controlled. Calculated. As if this had been his true goal all along.
“To those of you who demand proof,” he said, voice echoing across the now-silent Ascension Grounds, “I come prepared.”
From his pocket, he drew a small glass vial, no longer than his finger. The liquid inside wasn’t a color so much as a sickness. A dark, writhing substance that shimmered like oil and pulsed with an unnatural heartbeat.
The vial glowed faintly as he held it aloft.
“This,” Theron said, “was found hidden in a lockbox under Prince Zander’s own bed. A gift, no doubt, from his allies in the shadows.”
He turned deliberately, letting the crowd drink in every word.
“Cyran is the Order leader here in Warriath. You all know of his name, his games. He is Zander’s former confidant. We intercepted secret correspondence between them, hidden in coded script.”
He pulled a folded piece of parchment from his belt, black ink etched in fine, neat strokes, the seal of House Rayne still clinging to the wax like a wound.
“In these letters, Zander requests aid. Not from the crown. Not from the council. But from Cyran. And not just to escape court politics, but to secure military strength.”
The crowd shifted again. Whispers. Tension.
“He also brokered a pact with the Blood Fae.”
A collective gasp rippled through the field.
“He met with them. Accepted their magic. Their blood. And this—” Theron lifted the vial again “—is what remains of their gift. A poison derived from dark magic, designed to slow the heart, dull the mind, and erode the will. It causes hallucinations, paranoia, memory decay. It is meant to turn my father mad.”
His voice dropped to a venomous hush. “And it is coursing through my father’s body as we speak.”
The Ascension Grounds fell deathly still.
Not even the dragons above stirred.
My stomach twisted, cold sweeping through me like shadow. This wasn’t just a political move. This was warfare dressed in the illusion of justice.
In my arms, Elara clutched me tighter, burying her face into my chest as she trembled. “He wouldn’t,” she whispered again, barely audible. “Zander wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt Father.”
My heart pounded, rage and fear wrestling inside me.
Because she was right.
Zander wouldn’t.
But Theron had just lit the fire.
And now the whole court was waiting to see who would burn.
“No,” I said, loud enough for the whispering to still.
Dozens of eyes turned toward me, but I didn’t falter. I held Elara tighter, her face still pressed to my chest as I met Theron’s gaze across the blood-soaked grounds.
“Zander would never betray us.”
Theron huffed, the sound too smug to be anything but rehearsed. “Of course you’d say that. You’re helping him.”
Gasps rippled again, but he raised a hand as if to silence them.
“But I have no proof of your involvement,” he admitted. “Only that your dragon—” he nodded toward the skies “—is the one holding the king in stasis. A spell she will be ordered to relinquish… soon.”
My heart dropped, cold flooding my limbs.
“You’re going to remove the stasis,” I said slowly, “before we find a way to save him?”
Theron didn’t answer me directly.
Instead, Inderia stepped forward, her heels clicking like daggers on the stone as she moved to Theron’s side. She angled herself toward him, head tilted just slightly in calculated submission.
He looked at her, and there it was.
Something like affection.
“Inderia has shared a lot of information,” Theron said, his voice smooth, heavy with implication. “She didn’t want to go against her future husband, of course. But things… changed.”
Her gaze flicked to me, sharp and satisfied.
The crowd erupted into low whispers, a current of sound that swept across the Ascension Grounds like a tide of suspicion. Even some of Theron’s own looked unsettled.
Because everyone knew.
Zander had refused her.
Had humiliated her. Politely, publicly, and definitively.
And now here she was, smiling at Theron’s side, her arm brushing against his like a woman already claiming her next title.
Was this her revenge? The thought twisted in my stomach.
I couldn’t read every face, but I saw the shift—small, but real.
The poison. The papers. The accusations.
But now they’d brought Inderia into it.
And with that, Theron had turned his neat little story into a court scandal.
Because no matter how many lies he fed them, everyone watching knew this—
Hell hath no fury like a noble woman scorned.
The tension still clung to the air like a shroud, but Remy stepped forward through it all, as casual as ever, one brow arched and that infuriating smirk already curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Theron,” he said with a light chuckle, “you’re an idiot.”
The ripple that followed wasn’t quite laughter, but it wasn’t silence either. A few gasps. A few shocked glances. Even a few suppressed snorts from the Lowborn Squad behind us.
Theron snapped toward him, spine rigid. “I beg your pardon?”
But Remy didn’t flinch.
He met the prince regent’s gaze with unshaken amusement. “You’re the envy of most men in the kingdom,” he said, voice as smooth as velvet, only slightly edged. “Your future bride is considered the most beautiful woman in Warriath. Maybe the entire continent.”
Theron blinked—once.
His lip twitched.
Almost a smile.
And I saw it then, Theron liked being envied. He craved it. It was likely why he chose Lady Belana in the first place. Why Inderia clung so tightly to his arm now. She made him look powerful.
Remy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pausing as if truly puzzling it out. “You could very well be the next king. It’s yours to lose. But Zander?” He tilted his head. “Zander was never a contender. And you know why.”
A few riders shifted behind Theron. Crownwatch’s own commander looked down at his boots.
“So, it’s difficult,” Remy continued, his voice dropping a note, “to understand why you would trade a throne… for a tomb.”
The words landed like a sword driven into stone.
Theron’s jaw clenched, the near-smile erased in an instant.
Remy stepped back again, hands behind his back, as if the warning hadn’t just shaken the entire Ascension Grounds.
But it had.
Because he was right.
This wasn’t about justice. It wasn’t even about power.
It was about pride.
And if Theron didn’t pull back soon, he’d bury more than his brother.
He’d bury his crown with him.
Theron stood still for a beat, his eyes scanning the broken stillness of the Ascension Grounds, his supporters subdued, his detractors controlled, the rest waiting in tight, uncertain silence.
The power had shifted. And he knew it.
“I will need to review the evidence further,” he said at last, his voice loud enough to carry but laced with the edge of retreat. “Before making a permanent decision.”
He paused, gaze flicking across the riders, then toward the palace steps. “I’m hoping Dorian will return tonight, so I can seek his counsel. We will make final decisions… tomorrow.”
And with that, he turned.
Inderia stumbled a step to catch up, her skirt snapping behind her as she rushed to match his stride. Her chin lifted high, but the court wasn’t looking at her with admiration anymore. The damage had been done.
Zander was pulled to his feet.
The chains scraped again, iron biting into skin. He didn’t look back, not at me, not at Elara, not at the grounds he had once ruled from a dragon’s saddle. He held his head high, but there was a heaviness in his steps, and I knew the Dragonsbane still burned in his blood.
Elara sobbed quietly into my chest, her slender fingers fisting the fabric of my coat as Zander was led back toward the castle.
Then a shadow fell beside me.
Remy.
His voice was gentle, softer than I’d ever heard it. “Honey,” he said, holding a hand out to the trembling girl. “Let me escort you to your room.”
Elara sniffed, looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. “Okay, Remand.”
Remand.
The way she said it, familiar and without fear, made me blink.
“You know him?” I asked quietly.
Elara looked up at me, her lavender eyes still wet but bright with quiet trust. “Of course. I’ve known him my whole life.”
I nodded, my heart thudding. There’s more I don’t know about Remy than what I do.
He met my gaze and held it, no smirk, no sass, just that steady, soldier’s promise. “I’ll keep her safe.”
I nodded again. “See that you do.”
And with that, Remy took Elara’s hand in his gloved one, and together, they disappeared through the castle doors, leaving the rest of us to face a kingdom teetering on the edge of truth, betrayal… and war.
We quietly returned to our barracks as chatter echoed around us.
The squad was quiet at first, shell-shocked quiet, like the air had been sucked out and replaced with confusion, rage, and sorrow.
We sat in a rough circle, scattered across bunks and crates, our squad too alert to sleep but too worn to keep pretending we hadn’t just watched an innocent prince accused of treason.
Riven leaned forward, hands resting on her knees. “Where the hell would Theron even get something like that? A vial like that doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.”
“Unless he had help,” Naia murmured, frowning. “And if he did, then who in the guilds is feeding him information?”
Ferrula snorted from where she was sitting on her trunk, arms crossed. “Please. If Zander wanted to poison the king, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep the godsdamned vial in his room.”
“I agree,” I said, folding my arms. “It’s too neat. Too perfect. Planted just well enough to be found and just damning enough to force a decision.”
Cordelle spoke up quietly. “So… someone’s framing him?”
Tae sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And whoever it is knows exactly how to stir the court into war.”
The room went still after that, each of us lost in thought. Warborn had spoken up for Zander. Elara had cried in my arms. And yet… he was still in chains.
Eventually, one by one, we climbed into our bunks, exhaustion dragging us under. But I waited until the last whisper faded and the room went still with sleep.
Then I slipped out.
Boots silent on the stone floor, I eased into the hallway and made for the narrow passage I’d found a while ago. A secret that now felt like a lifeline. It wound behind the outer wall, dark and cramped, but it let out behind one of the secondary hallways near the royal chambers.
I expected a guard outside Zander’s door.
There wasn’t one.
I hesitated, heart thudding, and pressed my palm to the handle. The door creaked open beneath my touch.
Unlocked.
The room beyond was dim. The fire had gone cold in the hearth, and moonlight filtered through the tall windows. My breath caught in my throat.
Zander was chained to his own bed.
His wrists were shackled to the headboard, metal biting into raw, torn skin. His tunic was half-ripped, blood crusting at the collar where someone had struck him—multiple times. His cheekbone was swollen, split, his bottom lip cracked. Bruises mottled his ribs like they’d taken turns.
And yet… his eyes opened when I stepped forward.
Tired. But clear.
“Didn’t expect you tonight,” he rasped, voice rough from disuse and pain. “I thought you’d be out saving the realm.”
My heart cracked.
He tried to smile, but it faltered. “Turns out I just needed you to save me.”
I crossed the room without thinking, already reaching for him, fury burning hotter than my magic had in weeks. Because Zander Rayne may have been chained—
But this war wasn’t over. Not by a godsdamned long shot.