Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Dinner with the squad felt like breathing again—real breathing.
The kind that came with laughter and the occasional snort from Tae, who’d managed to charm one of the kitchen stewards into slipping him extra dessert.
We ate like soldiers between battles, grateful for the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last.
Afterward, we returned to the Ascension Grounds; the sky turning violet as twilight crept in. We trained together under the fading sun, running drills, sparring in pairs, pushing through the past few days with movement and muscle.
I’d just finished a mock-round with Ferrula when I spotted Zander striding across the grounds toward me. He looked better, still tired, but the color was back in his face, the edge of magic no longer draining the light from his eyes.
“Feel like a walk?” he asked, stopping just short of me.
I nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”
We moved side by side through the castle halls; the torches flickering along the stone walls as the shadows grew long.
“Alahathrial is expecting us,” Zander said quietly. “I’d like you to help me.”
“Something wrong?”
He nodded once. “Theron is hosting a war council tonight.”
My brows lifted. “And you weren’t invited?”
“No,” he said, jaw tightening. “Which is exactly why we need to find out what’s going on.”
He glanced at me as we neared the arch leading toward the lower chambers. “I’ve asked Alahathrial to glamour us.”
“As who?”
“Palace guards,” he said, smirking faintly. “They’ll be stationed along the inner walls of the chamber. Useless for security, but they look imposing.”
I laughed under my breath. “Theron does love his theatrics.”
Zander nodded grimly. “And we’re about to use that against him.”
The air grew colder as we descended into the lower levels of the castle; the torchlight flickering over damp stone walls. I followed Zander through the winding passageway to the suite hidden in the dungeon. The one that belonged to Alahathrial.
When we reached the ornate door etched with ancient fae script, it opened before we could knock.
Alahathrial stood within, impossibly elegant even down here. He smiled warmly. “You’re just in time.”
He stepped toward me first, raising a hand with a gentle grace that belied the storm always humming behind his eyes.
“May I?” he asked.
I nodded.
His fingers brushed my temple, cool and light, and a strange warmth spread beneath my skin. A soft tingling sensation danced across my scalp, like static or rising magic.
I blinked, then glanced down at my hands. Still mine.
“It didn’t work,” I said, lifting my palms.
Zander chuckled beside me. “Oh, it worked. And it’s weird looking at a man and hearing your voice.”
I frowned and stepped toward the tall standing mirror in the corner.
I gasped.
A middle-aged man stared back at me. Scraggly beard, rough skin, cropped hair just beneath a guard’s helmet. My armor was gone, replaced with a plain but sturdy palace guard uniform.
“That is… unnerving.”
I turned back to see Zander had transformed too. His lean frame disguised in polished leathers, golden-blond hair, and soft, boyish features that made him look deceptively harmless.
“Of course you get to be the cute one,” I muttered.
Alahathrial chuckled behind us. “I chose these forms for a reason. These two guards are always stationed together. I arranged for them to be… occupied this evening. Some private entertainment in the village.”
“Thank you for helping us,” I said, sincerity wrapping tight around my voice.
He inclined his head. “It’s my pleasure, Ashlyn.”
Then his tone shifted, more serious now. “But go. My glamour will only hold for about an hour. You must leave before it drops.”
“What happens if we don’t?” I asked.
“You’ll feel a tingling sensation about a minute before it expires.” He offered a faint smirk. “Don’t linger.”
Zander turned to me, and even in that unfamiliar face, I saw the glint in his eyes.
“Let’s go crash a war council.”
The marble halls of the castle echoed with the quiet murmurs of nobility as Zander and I made our way toward the war council chamber, our boots clicking steadily in time with the other guards that flanked the arriving royals.
Cloaks of deep velvet swept past us, voices low and elegant, masks of diplomacy stitched across their faces.
No one looked twice at us.
In these borrowed skins, mine older and grizzled, Zander boyish and bright-eyed, we blended in seamlessly. We walked beside each other like shadows in a procession, each step calculated, purposeful. Guards were expected to be silent. Present but invisible.
Tonight, that worked in our favor.
We entered the chamber with the last of the nobles, a pair of court officials barely sparing us a glance as we moved to the side of the long obsidian table that dominated the room.
The walls were high, hung with banners bearing the crest of Warriath and the lesser sigils of outlying noble houses.
Candlelight danced along polished surfaces and golden trim.
We took our positions along the far wall, just behind the council table. Several other guards were already stationed there. They barely glanced at us, shifting just enough to make room.
It was a tight fit, and I could feel the press of tension in every breath of the room. This wasn’t a meeting. It was a performance.
Once the final noble took their seat, a herald struck his staff against the stone.
“His Highness, Prince Theron of House Rayne,” the voice called, ringing through the chamber.
The doors opened.
Theron strode in as if the world belonged to him and the rest of us were merely in it. His ceremonial jacket shimmered dark-blue, high-collared and tailored to frame him. His chin was lifted, his pace slow and measured to draw every eye.
At his side walked Inderia, draped in a gown of shadow-silk and starlight, her pale hands resting lightly on his arm. Her expression was poised, serene, but her eyes? They gleamed like frost.
Theron didn’t sit right away. He stood at the head of the table, drinking in the attention like wine.
The chamber was so still you could hear the shift of silk, the faint clink of goblets as nobles adjusted in their seats. All eyes were on Theron, his hands braced against the polished obsidian surface, gaze sweeping the room as if he already owned every life within it.
“War is coming,” he said, voice calm and confident, like he was announcing the weather.
No dramatics, no hesitation.
Just certainty.
“And unlike my predecessors, I have no intention of waiting for it to reach our gates.”
A few nobles leaned forward, curiosity stirring. One, older and stiff-backed in his seat, lifted a brow. “You speak of strategy, Your Highness. But how do you intend to fight when the Fourth Guild—the Riders—remain fractured?”
There was a murmur of agreement, the tension in the air sharpening. Even the guards around us shifted subtly.
Zander and I didn’t move.
We couldn’t.
Inderia leaned in beside Theron, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her hand ghosting along his sleeve like a lover offering comfort. Or a queen offering command.
Theron’s eyes flicked toward her, then to the nobles.
He nodded once and straightened.
“The royal houses,” he said clearly, “have relied on dragons for far too long. They are powerful, yes, but they are also unpredictable. Dangerous. And the wards protecting this kingdom? They will not last forever.”
My heart stuttered. He knew. He knew the wards were failing.
And he was already preparing for what came after.
“I have access,” Theron continued, “to a weapon that will win this war, with or without the dragons’ allegiance.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber—uneasy, questioning.
“What kind of weapon?” a noble asked, suspicion coloring every word.
Theron smiled.
It was small. Cold.
“Fae Fire.”
The words dropped like a stone in water.
A noblewoman near the end of the table inhaled sharply. “Fae Fire was banned under the Dragon Accord—”
“Yes,” Theron interrupted smoothly, “because it kills dragons. Which makes it… uniquely suited for the times to come.”
My stomach turned. The sorrow of the truth settled hard in my chest.
This wasn’t a war council.
It was a declaration.
Theron wasn’t just preparing for war.
He was preparing to burn the dragons out of it.
The council continued, but the air had shifted.
What had begun as strategy now felt more like theater—Theron, center stage, delivering carefully chosen lines. But the more I watched, the more I realized he wasn’t directing the show.
Inderia was.
She stood just behind his right shoulder, her fingers barely grazing his sleeve, lips moving in whispered suggestions that he echoed moments later—sometimes word for word.
A noble asked about troop deployments in the northern borderlands.
Theron paused, eyes flicking to her.
Inderia leaned in, her voice a whisper only the closest could hear. Theron nodded and spoke smoothly, “Several squads from First Guild will be relocated to the cliffs near Breckan Pass. It’s a stronghold position and aligns with intelligence… provided by my trusted envoy.”
Envoy.
He meant her.
Then, as if to bolster his next move, Theron straightened and said, “Lady Inderia’s contacts in the southern kingdoms have expressed interest in forming new alliances.”
My blood ran cold.
He wasn’t just using her charm and reputation, he was using her connections. Inderia, raised on diplomacy and poison, had been his in to other kingdoms this entire time.
Theron had been using her like a blade hidden behind a silk fan.
And she let him.
How many foreign officials had she spoken to? How many treaties or favors had been traded in secret, hidden beneath her coy smiles and polite court appearances?
How many riders had she whispered to?
How many nobles had she turned?
I looked around the room, at the nodding heads, the lack of resistance, the way no one challenged her presence or questioned her input.
How many others were doing his bidding… and didn’t even realize it?
Theron kept speaking, voice steady, powerful.
But it wasn’t his strength.
It was hers—weaponized, sharpened, and slipped into every word.
And the council?
They didn’t even see the knife being drawn.