Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
The sun had just dipped behind the towers when we returned to the Ascension Grounds, our dragons peeling off to their respective nests as we landed in silence. No cheers. No pride. Just the reality of a fractured victory and too many eyes.
Dinner in the hall was a quiet, uncomfortable thing.
Warborn sat clustered around their end of the table, sullen and cold, pushing food around like it was ash.
Remy didn’t look at me once, though I could feel him behind the silence, like static in the air.
Stormforge didn’t speak much either, clearly still licking their wounds from Crownwatch’s sweep.
Iron Fang, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the tension, casually laughing and clapping Perin on the back like he was some kind of hero. Perin nodded to their praise, always the performer, but his gaze kept cutting toward me—sharp, dark, burning.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t look at Zander. Didn’t look at Remy. I was too tired to care, too wrung out to manage the weight of whatever they were carrying.
We returned to the barracks as a squad, quiet and stripped of pretense. One by one, we took turns in the washroom, passing the warmth of steam and silence between us. The kind of quiet only earned after a battle.
A knock came at the door just as I was toweling off my hair.
Jax answered, as always.
He came back a moment later, holding out a sealed scroll with a resigned look on his face. “Here we go again.”
I took the summons and cracked the seal. The parchment rustled faintly in the dim light.
“The king wants to see me.”
Naia whistled low from her bunk. “He didn’t waste any time.”
“I expected this one,” I said, folding the letter. “I’m sure he wants to know how I summoned Kaelith’s magic through the wards.”
Jax leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What are you going to tell him?”
“That I have no idea.” I smirked. “And that if he really wants answers, he should ask her.”
Jax snorted. “I’d pay good money to see a Flame-Broiled King.”
Naia burst into laughter, and even Riven cracked a grin.
I shook my head, grabbed my jacket, and headed for the door.
The moment I stepped outside, the courier was waiting—same gray and crimson uniform, same stiff posture. Wordlessly, he turned and led me through the winding paths toward the castle, the silence between us almost companionable now.
When we entered the now-familiar sitting room, I didn’t hesitate. I dropped into the plush velvet seat across from the fire and waited.
But the door opened. And it wasn’t the king who entered.
The door creaked as Prince Theron entered as if he owned the air in the room.
He always did carry himself like that. With his shoulders drawn back, and his chin lifted just enough to look down his nose at anyone beneath his station. And judging by his eyes, that was everyone.
Trailing behind him were three of his ever-present royal sophisticates, lowerborn nobles dressed in pristine silks and polished boots, each one so desperate for a claim to the throne they practically oozed sycophancy.
I didn’t know them by name, but I’d seen them often enough, fluttering at his heels like overfed lapdogs.
One of them wore a crimson coat tailored so tightly I wondered how he breathed, and another had slicked-back hair that shined like lacquer. The third… he wore far too many rings for someone who’d clearly never lifted a sword in his life.
Theron’s lips curled into a sneer the moment his eyes landed on me.
“Ashlyn,” he said smoothly, voice dipped in condescension. “It’s good to see you.”
I didn’t rise from the plush velvet seat.
“Why did you summon me?”
One of his sophisticates, a tall, narrow man with a pointed goatee, clicked his tongue and stepped forward. “You will show respect when addressing a member of the royal family.”
I gave him a flat look. “For what?” I gestured lazily. “He’s not a rider.”
Kaelith rumbled in the back of my mind, low and unimpressed. I am watching. She wasn’t angry—yet. That was the only reason I stayed seated.
The man with the goatee bristled, taking a step toward me. “You insolent little—”
His hand rose.
Thunder rolled overhead like a war drum.
I tilted my head, eyes never leaving his.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” I said calmly. “Even if you manage to land that slap, you’ll wake up in the royal chamber surrounded by fire.”
The man faltered, visibly paling.
“You can’t threaten me—” he started, his voice cracking with that oh-so-noble whine.
But Theron waved his hand dismissively, bored. “Enough.”
The man stepped back, cowed.
My eyes fixed on Theron, no mask, no pretense. Just exhaustion and fire.
“What do you want?” I asked again, this time sharper.
Because Theron never came for pleasantries. Only schemes.
Theron’s eyes narrowed slightly as he circled the sitting room, the velvet hem of his cloak whispering along the stone floor. His royal sophisticates fanned out behind him like smug shadows, still rattled from Kaelith’s thunder but too proud to admit it.
“How did you summon magic during the Blackbind Run?” he asked, keeping his voice smooth and sharp. “The Hallows are warded with some of the strongest protections on the continent.”
I leaned back in the chair, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Kaelith did that,” I said plainly. “She’s older than any of your wards. If you want answers, you’ll have to ask her.”
“I am asking you,” he snapped, the pretense of civility cracking just a hair.
I shrugged. “I already asked her. She said she decides when I die.”
That did it.
A twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth, his jaw tightening. His hands moved behind his back, fingers lacing, controlling himself with visible effort.
“She hasn’t bonded you yet,” he said, almost to himself.
“No,” I answered truthfully. “But I’m close.”
He didn’t like that.
Not at all.
“Your magic is unstable,” he said after a pause, his voice cool again, calculated. “It puts others at risk. And so do you.”
My brows lifted, slow and sharp. “What exactly are you saying?”
“It is no longer safe for you to be part of the Fourth Guild,” he said carefully, like he was trying to wrap poison in silk. “I would like to—”
SLAM.
The door burst open with a crash that echoed off the stone walls.
Remy strode inside, fury radiating off him like heat, his boots thudding with purpose.
Theron didn’t move, but his sophisticates flinched.
Remy’s eyes locked on the prince. “That’s enough.”
And just like that, the air shifted.
The tension crackled in the air like a live wire as the door slammed shut behind Remy. His shoulders were squared, jaw clenched, the storm in his eyes aimed straight at Theron.
“Back off, Theron,” Remy growled, not bothering with a bow or a title. “This isn’t your decision to make.”
Theron turned slowly, eyes narrowing, like a cat playing with its prey. “This is a matter of guild safety, not your bedmate’s feelings.”
Remy took a step closer. “You don’t give a damn about safety. You’re just pissed you can’t control her.”
Theron’s voice dropped to ice. “She is taking too long to complete the bond. That dragon is dangerous. Unstable. She—”
“—That’s bullshit and you know it,” Remy snapped, cutting him off. “Half of Iron Fang hasn’t bonded yet, and you’re not calling them unstable. You’re targeting her because she doesn’t grovel at your feet.”
The prince’s nostrils flared, his sophisticates bristling like they wanted to defend his honor with empty threats. But Remy didn’t flinch.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Remy said, stepping right into Theron’s space. “Tell me this isn’t about politics and bloodlines and your fragile little ego.”
“You forget your place,” Theron hissed, voice trembling with rage.
“No,” Remy said with a cruel smile. “I know exactly where I stand. Which is why I’m offering you a chance to settle this like real men, in the ring.”
The air snapped taut with silence.
Theron’s fists balled at his sides, his pale face flushing with fury. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dragging me down to your level.”
“You’d never survive my level,” Remy muttered.
Theron stared at him a moment longer, shaking with the effort of restraint. Then he turned his head and spat the words like venom.
“Take your commoner whore and go.”
My body stiffened, hand twitching toward my dagger, but Remy beat me to the response.
Without a word, he turned to me, placed a steadying hand on the small of my back, and guided me toward the door.
He didn’t look back.
Neither did I.
Because we both knew—
Theron had just made a powerful mistake.
The corridor was dim, lit only by a few wall sconces casting flickering gold across the stone. My boots echoed softly as we walked in silence, until Remy suddenly reached for my arm, stopping me with more hesitation than strength.
“I’m sorry about the report,” he said, voice low, regret bleeding through every word. “I should’ve left you out of it.”
I grunted, not looking at him. “Like that’s the worst part.”
His hand rose slowly, and his fingers brushed my cheek. Light. Familiar. Too familiar.
Just like the day he left me.
My breath caught. I stared at him, at the softness in his eyes, the ache in his touch, and I almost leaned in.
Almost.
Until a voice, as sharp as a blade drawn across stone, cut through the hallway.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Zander’s boots hit the stone hard as he stalked toward us, eyes locked on Remy, fire already building behind his expression.
Remy turned slowly, jaw tightening, but his hand didn’t leave my face. For a second, I thought he might actually draw steel.
He didn’t.
“Your dear brother,” Remy said with venom-laced sweetness, “wishes to remove Ashlyn from the Fourth Guild because she hasn’t bonded yet.”
Zander’s growl was instant. “Over my dead body.”
Remy arched a brow, as calm as ever. “Is that an offer?”
Zander’s eyes darkened, the deep-black of storm clouds brewing.
“I’d happily take our differences out in the ring,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “but let’s make it somewhere without prying eyes. Perhaps a Blackbind meeting would be more appropriate?”
Remy’s smile curled, sharp and satisfied. “I would like that, Prince Rayne.”
I stepped between them before they could rip each other apart. “Let me save you both a lot of trouble.”
They paused.
“You both have big dicks,” I said flatly. “You’re both good in a fight. And if one of you kills the other, I will kill the victor or die trying.”
That shut them up.
Both stared at me like I’d just snatched their favorite toy out of their hands.
But behind Remy’s eyes, I saw something darker—rage. Focused and personal.
“You slept with him,” he said, quiet and lethal.
“Not only that,” I said, my gaze fierce. “I dosed him with Lucorin.”
Remy blinked. “What?”
Zander closed his eyes briefly, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “She didn’t know she’d been dosed.”
Remy glanced between us, voice thick with disbelief. “Someone dosed her… and she kissed you?”
He choked on the words like they burned going down.
“Yes,” I said simply.
The heat drained from his face, leaving only cold stone in its place.
“I will find whoever did this,” Remy said, his voice cold. “They’re already dead.”
Zander huffed. “I’ll find them first.”
He glanced at me, then back at Remy.
“You can have what’s left.”