Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
T he training session had just begun to feel manageable—if getting my ass kicked by Zander could ever be considered that—when he suddenly halted, his head tilting as if listening to something only he could hear.
I barely had time to catch my breath before he turned to me.
“We have to head back down to the Ascension Grounds. My brothers wish for a meeting.”
I tried not to groan. Great. More royals to deal with.
Still, I followed him down the winding stone steps, my legs already protesting after climbing all the way up here earlier.
The warder barracks occupied most of the lower tower levels, rooms carved into the curving walls. As we descended, a familiar face stepped out of one of them—a young man with light-brown hair and kind hazel eyes.
I recognized him immediately.
“Hey,” I called, slowing my pace. “It’s Quinn, right?”
Quinn turned at the sound of his name, brows furrowing as if he didn’t quite recognize me. But after a second, something clicked in his eyes.
“Yes,” he nodded, studying me. “You’re a dragon rider?”
“I am,” I said, falling into step beside him. “We were just training at the top of the tower.”
Zander had already walked ahead, disappearing down the stairs without bothering to wait for me. Which meant I only had a few moments.
“How are you?” I asked. “They treating you good around here?”
Quinn’s face lit up, his posture straightening with something close to pride.
“They’re so good to us,” he said, almost beaming. “I was worried about being one of the first commoner warders, but they treat us as if we’re nobles.”
I stilled for half a second, trying not to let my surprise show on my face.
“Huh. That’s great,” I said slowly. “Can’t say it’s the same for dragon riders.”
Quinn’s smile faltered just a bit. “I’ve heard the infantry and healer commoners have some… struggles, too.”
Yeah. That was interesting.
I forced a wry grin. “Well, I have to go. Nice seeing you, Quinn.”
He waved cheerfully as I picked up my pace, jogging the last few steps to catch up with Zander.
The yelling reached me before I even stepped out of the tower.
Not just one voice, but several, echoing across the Ascension Grounds.
Zander was already ahead of me, his shoulders tense as he strode toward his brothers and the assembled officers.
I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.
Whatever this was… it wasn’t good.
By the time Zander and I stepped onto the Ascension Grounds, the argument had already reached a boiling point.
Two men stood at the center of the storm—Prince Dorian, clad in his usual black leathers, and Prince Theron, dressed in full military regalia, his broadsword strapped to his back.
Soldiers from First Guild stood behind Theron, their faces set in tight, uneasy expressions, while a mix of dragon riders and commanding officers gathered near Dorian.
Zander barely had time to take it all in before Theron turned to him, rage burning in his dark eyes.
“What is going on?” Zander demanded, his voice cutting through the tension.
Theron thrust a finger at Dorian. “Ask him. We were in the middle of training exercises when his dragon riders took over the grounds.”
Dorian crossed his arms loosely, looking entirely unbothered. “You have your own section of the courtyard for training, brother,” he said smoothly.
“It is too small,” Theron snapped. “We were using the full space. My men need endurance training, and you and your riders waltzed in like you own the damn castle.”
Dorian gave a mocking tilt of his head. “I do, in part. Last I checked, we’re fighting a war that requires dragons. You’re training infantry, Theron. Foot soldiers.” His voice turned sharper. “Do you honestly believe your men will survive on the battlefield without air support?”
“You don’t get to dictate how I train my troops!” Theron shot back. “Not all of us get to fly above the fight. Some of us actually have to stand our ground. My men are just as important as yours.”
“Are they?” Dorian asked, his tone mocking, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.
That did it.
Theron lunged forward, his fists clenching, but several of his men reached for him, holding him back before he could get into Dorian’s face.
The entire courtyard went silent.
The soldiers from both sides looked between their princes, their unease obvious.
Zander stepped between them, his shoulders squared.
“Enough,” he said, his voice low, warning. “There’s already tension between the guilds. If we divide our own forces, we’ll be torn apart before we even make it to battle.”
Theron barely looked at him, his focus solely on Dorian.
Dorian sighed as if this whole ordeal were tiresome. “We’re not divided. I was simply reminding our dear brother that his foot soldiers are not the priority.”
Theron’s entire body tensed, his fury boiling over, but this time he didn’t lash out—he turned his glare on Zander instead.
“You always take his side,” he snarled. “Because you’re one of them now.”
Zander stiffened, his jaw tightening.
“I take no one’s side,” he said, his voice controlled. “But I fight to keep this kingdom standing. And that means we work together.”
Theron scoffed. “You stopped being a part of this kingdom the moment you bonded to one of them.”
The words landed like a strike.
For the first time, I saw a flicker of something in Zander’s face—something raw.
Isolation.
Like he had been trying to keep the peace for years and had only ever been met with distrust.
Dorian noticed it too.
“That’s enough, Theron,” he said, his tone no longer mocking.
But Theron was already storming off, his men trailing after him.
The tension remained even after he left, the assembled officers shifting uncomfortably.
Zander stood still for a moment, his expression blank. Then he let out a slow exhale and turned back to Dorian.
“You could’ve handled that better,” he muttered.
Dorian just smirked. “Yes. But where’s the fun in that?”
Zander shot him a dark look, but he didn’t argue.
I watched him closely, feeling something I hadn’t before—a strange kind of sympathy.
Because for all the power he had, Zander was still the prince caught between worlds.
And from the looks of it, neither of them fully wanted him.
“Stormforge will train first. The other squads take a break,” Dorian said.
I was about to turn toward our barracks when Zander fell into step beside me, his long strides effortlessly matching mine.
“That was tense,” I said casually, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
Zander grunted. “Unfortunately.”
We walked in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the training grounds fading behind us. The tension of the argument between his brothers still lingered, as thick as storm clouds.
“Do they do that often?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Zander rubbed his hand over his chin. “More than they should. Theron and Dorian have been at odds for years, but lately… it’s gotten worse.”
I arched my brow. “Why now?”
Zander hesitated, his jaw clenching, but he answered anyway.
“Power shifts within the kingdom. The war with the Blood Fae isn’t just bleeding our armies—it’s bleeding our alliances.
Theron believes we should reinforce our own lands, strengthen our defenses, and focus on ground forces.
Dorian thinks we should expand our reach, push forward, and utilize the dragons to reclaim lost territory. ”
“Sounds like they’re both right.”
Zander gave me a sidelong glance, his golden eyes sharp. “They are. That’s the problem.”
I frowned, considering that. “And what about you?”
Zander’s expression tightened, as if I had hit a nerve. “What about me?”
“Where do you stand in all of this?”
A shadow flickered across his face, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked ahead, his expression shuttered, unreadable.
“Warriath is stronger when we fight as one,” he said at last. “But lately, it seems we’re too busy fighting each other.”
His words hung between us, heavy with meaning.
As we neared the barracks, I stole a glance at him. There was something in the way he had spoken to me just now—like he had forgotten who I was for a moment.
Not a commoner.
Not an outsider.
Just another dragon rider.
The realization must have hit him, too, because he slowed his pace, as if only now realizing how much he had said.
His usual cool mask slipped back into place as he stepped away from me.
“Warborn is up after Stormforge,” he said, his tone clipped, his walls back up. “Take the break while you can.”
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing at my door.
The moment I stepped into the barracks, I could feel the tension. My squad was huddled around Cordelle’s bed, their faces lit with a mix of curiosity and something else… something almost reverent.
Jax glanced up first, his usual smirk in place, but there was something more serious beneath it.
“What’s going on?” I asked, shutting the door behind me.
Cordelle, perched on his cot, gestured to the worn book in his lap.
“I had my dad pull some ancient texts,” he said, voice laced with excitement.
“Did you find something about the war?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Better,” Jax said, crossing his arms.
My brows furrowed. “What?”
Cordelle pointed to a faded page, its edges yellowed with age.
“I think it might have something to do with you.”
My stomach dropped slightly, but I forced myself to sit down on the cot beside him.
“What are you talking about?” I pressed.
Cordelle carefully turned the book toward me, his finger tracing a passage written in elegant, looping script.
“This text is over a hundred years old,” he explained, “but fae live ten times longer than humans. That’s why halflings can reach a hundred and fifty years of age under the right circumstances. Longer if they’re dragon riders.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes lingering on the worn edges of the book in his hand.
“What does an old book have to do with me?”
He passed it to me.
“Read,” he urged.
I lowered my eyes to the aged parchment, my pulse picking up speed as I took in the words.
And as I read, the blood in my veins turned to ice.
The passage described a true fae, one of the last of his kind. The fae of old, before the Blood Fae corrupted their magic, before their skin turned gray and their eyes bled crimson.
He was impossibly old, yet his appearance remained unchanged, untouched by time like a relic from a forgotten era.
He who walks between realms, untouched by death, unseen by fate.
His silver hair shimmered like starlight, his violet eyes burning with ancient knowledge—the mark of a fae born before the Unification. But it was the final part of the passage that sent a chill down my spine.
The child of prophecy was taken from him before the first frost, hidden from fate’s eye, but the bloodline endures.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
“You think this is connected to me?” I finally said, my voice hushed, almost reluctant to say it aloud.
Jax rubbed his chin. “You are the first white-haired halfling in fifty years. I’d say odds are pretty damn good.”
Riven touched my arm, her fingers gentle, hesitant. “This could be… your biological father?”
My mouth felt dry. “But what happened to him?”
Cordelle shrugged, but I could see the frustration in his expression. “I don’t know. The book doesn’t say what became of him, only that he… disappeared from the records.”
A memory slammed into me.
The guards whispering outside the dining hall.
“No, I’m telling you, the king has some kind of beast down there.”
“It’s not a beast. That prisoner has been there since before my father worked for the castle. It’s some kind of rebel—though he has to be in his eighties by now.”
I sucked in a breath, my heart hammering.
“He’s in the castle,” I whispered. “I heard the guards talking about a prisoner. He’s been locked away for decades.”
The room went silent. A light fae was not the enemy. If the king had enslaved him, he was breaking the law.
Jax eyed me with curiosity. “What are you thinking?”
I met his gaze and said the only thing I could.
“I’m going to break into the dungeon.”