Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
The sun sat low in the sky, casting a pale amber hue across the training grounds as our squads moved in synchronized rhythm, the sharp clink of steel and the low grunts of exertion filling the silence we all seemed to wear like armor.
We trained with Warborn Squad today. There was tension, unspoken and thick, but the major barked orders with clipped indifference, keeping us busy with the excuse of refining formation work—simple maneuvers, easy to mask as mindless repetition, but we all knew what this was.
Distraction. Or maybe preparation.
I paired with Riven for sparring, both of us grateful to take our frustrations out on something that wouldn’t splinter from the weight of our emotions. She circled me, eyes sharp and calculating, her stance loose but ready.
“Try not to cry when I knock you on your ass.” She smirked.
I grinned. “I’ll cry when your dragon actually follows a command.”
Her laugh was short-lived, I struck. She blocked, barely. We moved fast, blades crossing, feet shifting, the clash and hiss of steel ringing out as we matched blow for blow. Riven was faster, but I was more ruthless, and that made us a good match.
“Still letting Zander sleep in your bed?” she whispered between clashes, smug.
I twisted around her blade and hooked her elbow, spinning her off balance. “I’m letting him dream there. There’s a difference.”
We both grunted as she recovered and launched back at me, this time striking low, and I vaulted back, flipping once before landing hard.
I laughed. She scowled.
But as we reset for another pass, something prickled along the back of my neck. I turned my head and saw him.
Cade.
He stood with Iron Fang, arms crossed over his chest, his posture sharp and rigid—but it was his eyes that caught me. They weren’t on me. They were locked on Zander, across the field, as if he were a viper coiled for a strike. And the expression—hatred, cold and etched deep—shocked me.
What had Zander done? Or... what had Cade been told?
Remy stood farther off, saying nothing, watching the same moment unfold with tight lips and unreadable eyes. I looked away before Riven could ask what I was thinking, before the truth of it could splinter me mid-battle.
We were being divided. Subtly. Quietly. From the inside.
We trained until the sun sat high overhead, its heat baking the sweat into our clothes and turning the field to dust beneath our boots.
Ferrula ran drills with mechanical precision, rotating us through partners with the detachment of a commander assessing her legion, but it wasn’t cruelty. It was discipline.
She corrected Naia’s footwork with a firm tap of her own boot.
She showed Cordelle how to pivot his blade on a tighter arc to use his smaller frame to his advantage.
Even when she took me down, a sweep of her leg and a roll I didn’t see coming, she offered her hand and said, “You left your left side open. You always do that when you’re distracted. ”
I nodded, brushing dirt from my hip. “I was thinking about Cade.”
“Don’t. Any kind of distraction will get you killed.”
Ferrula didn’t smile. She didn’t joke. But her voice softened slightly for me. For all of us. Her sharp edges, it seemed, were for anyone not in Thrall Squad.
And that included Perin.
The Iron Fang rider had strutted around most of the morning like he owned the training grounds. The way he laughed when Tae missed a catch. The eye-roll he gave when Jax offered a tip. The way he kept glancing toward Zander, as if every success Thrall Squad had was some personal insult.
So when Major Ledor called him up to spar against Ferrula, a hush fell over both squads.
Perin sauntered forward with that cocky smirk of his, twirling his short blade. “Don’t go easy on me,” he purred, “I like a challenge.”
Ferrula didn’t respond. She just nodded once, stance loose, shoulders angled just so, like she wasn’t even taking him seriously.
And then the match started.
It lasted eight seconds.
Perin lunged. Ferrula side-stepped, ducked, twisted her elbow into his ribs, and dumped him to the ground with brutal efficiency that made even Riven wince. She didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk. Just turned her back on him as if he weren’t worth the effort.
Perin growled, pushing himself to his feet, and for a moment, his fingers twitched, the pulse of power coiling low in his stance.
“You even try it,” Major Ledor barked from the sideline, “and I’ll put you on leave so long your squad will forget your name.”
Perin froze, then spat into the dirt and stormed off without another word.
Ferrula watched him go, her face unreadable.
We continued our instruction. The courier arrived just as Ferrula landed a final strike on Tae, and he groaned dramatically from the ground.
“You all have one hour,” the courier announced, voice clipped with urgency. “Prince Theron has requested the presence of Thrall Squad and Iron Fang at the council banquet. You’ll be escorted to the castle shortly.”
Major Ledor gave us all a tired once-over. “You heard him. Go get presentable. That means no weapons unless ceremonial, and clean your damn boots.”
We scattered like windblown leaves.
The barracks door creaked open and we filed in, muscles aching and tempers frayed from a day in the dirt. Veyna sat upright in one of the lower bunks, Cordelle’s book in her lap and a tray beside her half-filled with leftover cheese, meat, and soft biscuits.
She looked up as we entered, and her smile bloomed like dawn. “How was training?”
“Grueling,” I groaned, kicking off my boots. “But you don’t have to hide away in here, Veyna. You’re not a prisoner.”
“I know.” She closed the book and stretched, slow and feline. “I actually ventured to the food hall earlier. I wasn’t sure how much to take so… I may have overdone it.” She motioned toward the still-neatly-arranged tray. “But I’m working on it.”
I laughed and tugged off my outer tunic. “Well, we’ve got a banquet to survive. Council function. Fancy armor. Politics. All the things I love.”
“I’m planning a walk later,” she said softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
“Good.” I nodded, meaning it.
I scrubbed the dirt from my hands and arms, then donned my formal armor—silver-brushed plating polished to a dull gleam, embossed with the Thrall insignia Kaelith had scorched into the leather shoulder. I adjusted the straps, then reached for the arm guards.
There was a knock.
Jax crossed the room and opened the door, then stepped aside with a mock bow. “Your prince has arrived.”
Zander stood there like something out of a fever dream, his formal leathers sleek and fitted, the royal insignia stitched into the chest. His eyes found mine instantly, and something in them softened as they lingered.
“You ready?” he asked, voice low and rough from too many nights without sleep.
I nodded.
Tae adjusted his collar and whistled. “Well, we clean up alright, don’t we?”
We filed out together, Thrall Squad in formation, Iron Fang just ahead, and followed Zander down the winding hallways toward the castle. Torches lit the path, casting dancing shadows on the stone. The deeper we moved into the heart of power, the heavier the silence pressed.
When we reached the banquet hall, its massive oak doors swung open, and the heat of too many voices and too much perfume spilled out like a wave. Gold banners draped the walls. Nobles and officials filled the space like pieces on a gameboard.
And we had just entered the arena.
Theron lounged at the head of the long banquet table like it was a throne, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Inderia sat to his left, all golden curls and smug satisfaction, her mouth quirked into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
To his right was a man I didn’t recognize, broad-shouldered, white-bearded, with rings on nearly every finger and a gaze that swept the room.
“Do you know who that is?” I leaned toward Zander, my voice a whisper meant for him alone.
He didn’t look directly at me, just nodded once. “That’s the Dirian Duke.”
A chill crawled down my spine. “The one with the reputation?”
Zander’s jaw tensed. “Keep an eye on Ferrula. He’s rumored to have a fondness for young girls. There is no way she isn’t aware of his activities.”
My fingers clenched at my sides, nails digging into the flesh of my palm to anchor myself. Not here. Not now. Stay composed.
I glanced toward Ferrula.
She wasn’t composed.
She was staring daggers at the duke, her green eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in her cheek. The duke caught her glare and offered her a smile too polished to be anything but lecherous. Ferrula didn’t flinch, she just raised her chin like a soldier facing a firing squad.
Theron’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Please, be seated.”
The nobles obeyed, a rustling of fine fabrics and armor echoing through the hall as chairs scraped and bodies shifted.
Thrall Squad sat near the end of the long table, close to the outer wall and as far from the center of power as protocol allowed.
Iron Fang claimed the opposite end, closer to the duke.
I sat beside Zander, his posture stiff, his gaze bouncing between his brother and the duke. Ferrula didn’t sit until I nudged her gently. Even then, she chose a chair with a clear line of sight to the Dirian noble.
The air grew heavy.
This wasn’t just a banquet.
It was a game board.
And someone had just made their opening move.
Theron raised his goblet again, his voice smooth and painfully rehearsed, “We must all remember that unity is the spine of a kingdom. Without it, we crumble. With it, we stand tall and cast our light across the realms.”