Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Zander broke away from the Crownwatch cluster, his cloak snapping behind him like a storm in motion. He moved with purpose, his jaw set, the anger still simmering beneath his calm exterior. Cade lingered behind for a moment, then peeled off in another direction, giving him space.
He came straight to me, cutting through our squad. “We need to find Lady Belana’s killer, and hopefully the spellcaster who weakened the wards,” he said without preamble.
I crossed my arms, nodding. “You think they’re the same person?”
Zander’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I certainly hope so. It would save us some time.”
Before I could respond, a familiar voice joined us.
“This is a total clusterfuck,” Remy muttered as he strode into the circle, his dark coat half unbuttoned, his dragon nowhere in sight. He looked tired. Edgy.
Zander grunted in reluctant agreement. “It is.”
Remy glanced toward the castle, then up at the sky where Epsom had vanished not long ago. “The riders don’t know who to trust. And the dragons…” He shook his head. “They’re uneasy. More than I’ve ever felt.”
Zander’s eyes narrowed. “They feel the fractures before we do. They always do.”
I looked between them, Remy with his usual dry disapproval, Zander with his coiled fury, and realized how much ground had shifted beneath us.
“So,” I said, squaring my shoulders, “where do we start?”
Zander’s gaze locked on mine.
“There is a banquet being held tonight in Theron’s honor. You and I are going to attend.”
Cordelle glanced down. “I was told to attend. My father just sent a courier with an invitation. The lorekeeper is to record royal gatherings, and I am to learn court protocols for such events.”
Remy’s gaze drifted toward the towering keep, the royal balcony now empty, the shadows stretching long across the Ascension Grounds. “This is the first event Theron hasn’t invited me to.”
His voice was casual, but the tension beneath it was obvious.
Zander didn’t miss it. “He’s unsure where your allegiances lie.”
He turned, folding his arms. “As are many of us.”
Remy’s jaw tightened. “My allegiance lies with my dragon.” His voice sharp enough to cut steel. “I will never betray Katama.”
I paused, then reached out silently through the bond. Kaelith… do you believe him?
Her answer came without hesitation, a rumble of magic and certainty in the back of my mind. I do. It’s the only reason he’s still alive. His loyalty to Katama is absolute.
I glanced at Zander then.
And he met my eyes with a flicker of something knowing.
He asked Hein the same question, I realized. And Hein must’ve answered like Kaelith did.
Remy exhaled. “The Order’s being framed for Belana’s death.”
I nodded. “The question is… why?”
“Convenience,” Remy said flatly.
“Believability,” I added.
He looked at me. “Exactly.”
And the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with truth.
And the understanding that the game we were in was deeper, and far more dangerous than any of us had realized.
I turned to Zander as we broke away from the thick of the grounds, the tension still clinging to the air like smoke after a fire.
“How am I supposed to get into a royal function?” I asked, already dreading the answer. “You think they’ll just let me walk in?”
He barely looked over his shoulder as he replied, “You’re going as my date.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My presence was requested,” he clarified, voice clipped. “I must attend a royal dinner. It’s during the evening hours and won’t last long. A formality. A show of power. Nothing more.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And dragging me in with you is just part of the performance?”
He glanced at me then, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re more than a prop. But yes. Let them see you on my arm. Let them wonder. It will set Theron’s teeth on edge as well.”
That… was fair.
He stepped closer, voice dropping so no one could overhear. “While I’m trapped smiling through stale wine and empty words, I need you to talk. Everyone who’ll listen. I want to know who knew Mattin was sympathetic to the Varnari, and who else might be leaning that way.”
“Anyone in particular?
“Everyone you can. While we are waiting for the banquet, we will speak with the other squads to see what they know.”
“Every squad?”
“All of them,” he said. Then added, “Except Iron Fang.”
I nodded grimly. We all knew. The Iron Fang riders were loyal to Theron, outspoken, proud, disciplined to the point of brutality.
But none of their dragons had turned on them, not even in the face of Mattin’s execution.
Whatever else they believed, they were still bonded. Still true to their dragons.
For now.
I made my way across the grounds, careful to approach without alarming anyone. The squads were still scattered, murmuring, pretending to stretch or polish their weapons, but the undercurrent of suspicion hummed like a second heartbeat.
I spotted a member of Stormforge leaning against a post near the mess tent, a tall woman with sun-browned skin, a long scar running down one arm, and a gaze sharp enough to cleave through excuses.
“Thaya, right?” I asked as I approached.
She gave me a cautious nod. “Ashe Rebec.”
“Yup,” I said with a faint smile. “I just want to ask some questions.”
“Then you’re braver than most.”
I leaned in slightly. “What do you know about Mattin? Did anyone from your squad ever hear him talking about the Varnari?”
She frowned, eyes narrowing. “He tried to approach one of ours once. Ryll. Said the crown needed order. Structure. That dragons were a threat without tighter reins. Ryll nearly broke his nose.”
I nodded slowly, filing that away. “Anyone else?”
Her voice dropped. “A few from Crownwatch still talk like they’re quoting Theron’s doctrine.”
I glanced around the courtyard and spotted Riven casually talking with someone from Warborn. Cordelle was laughing with a quiet girl from Stormforge—his smile wide. Even Jax, stoic as ever, was speaking low to a Crownwatch rider, arms crossed, posture tense but open.
We were doing it.
We were mingling, but not to make friends.
We were drawing the lines.
And finding out which side of the fracture each rider stood on.
The sun had started to dip by the time we circled back near the mess hall.
We’d been talking for hours, questioning, listening, watching the way other riders responded when the Varnari were mentioned.
Teren joked with a Stormforge lieutenant, but I saw how his expression sharpened at any mention of Theron.
Naia, always so poised, was quietly taking note of Crownwatch riders who suddenly had too much to say about control and security.
Three more riders returned from the castle interviews. They didn’t say anything, just slipped back to their squads, clearly cleared. The tension on the field loosened by degrees, but the undercurrent of suspicion never really left.
I was mid-sentence with a Warborn rider when I felt Zander before I saw him.
He approached from behind, his presence all quiet command. “We have to go,” he said softly, but firmly.
I turned, nodding. “Let’s hope your court’s in the mood for theatrics.”
He led me across the grounds, into the castle, and up to his chambers, his pace smooth but unhurried. I followed without a word, the evening ahead settling into my stomach like lead.
As we stepped inside his room, I glanced around at the polished wood, the golden inlays, the bed too neatly made. “How conspicuous will I be in armor, exactly?” I asked, one brow raised.
He didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he crossed the room to his wardrobe and pulled out a gown.
Not just any gown.
A masterpiece of midnight silk, embroidered with delicate threads of silver and stitched with tiny crystals that shimmered like stars.
The sleeves were sheer and tapered, the neckline elegant, with just enough bite to draw attention.
The skirt flowed like water—light, graceful, too expensive for someone like me to even look at, let alone wear.
My face paled. “No way. I can’t—I’ll break it. Just touching it feels like a crime.”
Zander smiled, unbothered. “I had it made for you.” He held it out. “It’ll go to waste if you don’t wear it.”
I stared at him. “You had this made?”
“The court likes to gossip about you,” he said. “Let’s give them a reason.”
I hesitated, then finally sighed. “Fine. But if I rip it, it’s your fault.”
He stepped closer. “Do you want help?”
My breath caught. I nodded once.
Zander’s fingers moved carefully over the buckles of my armor, undoing them with precision. His touch was gentle, reverent, as he helped lift the weight from my shoulders and set each piece aside. The silence was… intimate. Not uncomfortable, just charged.
I stepped into the dress, the silk cool against my skin, and he moved behind me, fastening the corset in slow, practiced pulls.
When I turned to face the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
The silk clung to my frame like starlight. The crystals caught the light of the room and scattered it in soft glints. My scars, my strength, all wrapped in something impossibly soft. My hair had fallen loose from its braid, curling slightly around my shoulders.
I looked as if I belonged in a ballroom, not on a battlefield.
But my eyes?
Still mine. Still sharp.
Still ready for war.
Zander changed in silence, his fingers moving with smooth efficiency as he fastened the buttons of a deep-navy long jacket, the fabric embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like frost on steel.
The cut was sharp—regal—highlighting the quiet power in his frame.
He looked every inch the prince… and nothing like the soldier I trained beside each day.
When he turned to me, his eyes softened just enough to offer his arm. “Ready?”
I wasn’t.
But I nodded anyway.