Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
The scent of spiced grains and bacon filled the dining hall as the morning buzz carried around us.
Plates clattered, laughter rang from other tables, but our corner was quieter, more thoughtful.
The squad was huddled around a plate of fresh bread and dried fruit, a moment of calm after too many days on edge.
“I was only able to activate it for a few seconds,” I said, breaking a slice of bread in half. “Long enough to hear someone say they were looking for the crystal. That’s it.”
Riven leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll be stronger once the bond is complete,” she said confidently, her eyes gleaming. “Your magic won’t feel so… fractured.”
“It feels different,” Jax admitted, leaning on his elbows. “Not just more powerful, but stable. Like it finally fits.”
Cordelle nodded, picking at a handful of nuts. “It’s not just strength. It’s clarity. Like your magic finally knows what it is.”
Tae crossed his arms, quiet as usual. “I suppose.”
I forced a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”
But inside, I felt like I was failing.
Naia hadn’t said anything. Neither had Ferrula. And though they sat close, their eyes didn’t quite meet mine. Maybe they felt the same. That quiet fear that we weren’t enough. Not yet.
The scrape of a bench pulled my attention up.
Zander.
He had been sitting with Crownwatch, but now he was striding toward us with purpose, and no hesitation. He sat down beside me without a word, eyes shadowed and unreadable, tension radiating from him like heat off a forge.
“We’ll be doing hand-to-hand combat trials,” he said, reaching for a piece of bread and tearing it with clean precision.
I stared at him. “You didn’t have to come over here to tell us that.”
His jaw tightened, but his expression didn’t change.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice lower now. I could feel it, the storm rolling just beneath his skin. His posture was calm, but I knew him too well.
Something was wrong.
Zander rubbed his jaw. His gaze was fixed on the table in front of him, jaw clenched hard enough I saw the muscle twitch.
“My father’s taken a turn for the worse,” he said finally, voice tight.
We all went still.
But before any of us could speak, he added, “That’s not all. He had Theron named as regent.”
“What?” I asked, my stomach tightening. “Shouldn’t that be Dorian?”
Zander nodded slowly. “Under normal circumstances, yes. But the regent title is… flexible. It’s meant for times of temporary illness. When the king is expected to recover. The monarch has the right to appoint anyone to act in his place, usually a magistrate, sometimes a trusted relative.”
“But the king’s illness…” I started.
“Could be permanent,” he finished for me. “I’m aware. Everyone is. But no one will say it out loud. Not yet.”
Cordelle leaned forward. “And Theron?”
“He’s using the king’s condition to gain favor in the court,” Zander said with a bitter snort. “He’s already given orders to the royal guard. He’s consolidating power, making deals. It’s all happening.”
“What happens if the king dies?” Jax asked, voice low.
Zander met his gaze. “Then Dorian would ascend the throne. No votes, no politics, he’s the firstborn, and everyone respects him. But if my father dies while Theron still holds regency, then there’s no telling what he’ll try to do to block the succession. He could claim Dorian is unfit.”
Naia hissed through her teeth. “That’s suicide.”
“Not if he gains enough noble support,” Cordelle said quietly. “It’s a long game.”
A heavy silence settled over the table. The kind that spoke of shifting tides and battles we hadn’t yet begun to fight.
Zander pushed back from the bench and stood. “We’re late.”
We followed him across the yard to the Ascension Grounds, the sky heavy with thick gray clouds, as if even the heavens knew something was about to change.
We took our place near our assigned training ring, worn stone surrounded by a low lip of dragon-scorched earth. Around us, other squads were stretching, sharpening weapons, or simply watching.
But Thrall Squad stood ready.
Zander stood with arms folded as we circled the ring, tension rising like the slow draw of a bowstring. Then his voice cut through the early morning haze.
“Ashlyn. Naia. You’re up.”
I exchanged a glance with Naia, both of us already stretching from the moment we arrived, then stepped into the stone ring. Our boots crunched against sand and cracked earth scorched from dragon fire and past battles. We squared off, though our attention was already shifting.
Because movement rippled through the far end of the Ascension Grounds.
A cluster of armed guards emerged from the northern gate, each one in full ceremonial dress armor, crimson and gold polished to a gleam. At the center, draped in obsidian-plated finery, strode Theron.
No Sophisticants. No smug courtiers. Just a column of soldiers, and Dorian walking beside him like a man who had just swallowed broken glass.
Theron moved like a king already crowned, his chin high, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of his blade. His eyes swept the grounds and landed on his younger brother.
Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, he motioned to Zander like he was a stablehand.
Zander’s jaw clenched, but he moved. He walked toward the podium, toward them, and every rider on the grounds fell still. Iron Fang, Warborn, even Stormforge. Eyes locked on the trio like they might explode.
Theron relished it. Drank in the attention like wine. But Dorian? Dorian looked like he’d rather be facing down a Blood Fae war camp than standing beside his brother.
Theron leaned in and gestured to Thrall Squad with a sweeping hand, disdain curling his lip. “Zander,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “you’re wasting your talents with those commoners. Let Remy take over your duties. He’s trusted. Leading them is beneath you.”
Zander’s face didn’t move, but I felt the fury pulsing off him like a dragon just shy of flame.
“I decline,” he said flatly.
The silence that followed was razor-sharp.
Theron smiled thinly. “That wasn’t a request.”
“And this isn’t a monarchy, yet,” Zander replied. “They’re my squad. Until Dorian takes the throne, you don’t get to decide where my loyalty lies.”
Gasps rippled from the assembled squads.
Theron’s smile faltered for half a heartbeat before his voice cut through the air like a poisoned blade.
“You’re weakening the kingdom’s military focus because you want to fuck a prospect.”
Gasps rippled across the Ascension Grounds, and for a heartbeat, all I could hear was the ringing silence in the aftermath of his words.
Zander didn’t even blink.
“You wish that were the case,” he said, voice low and lethal. “But you’ve got your head shoved so far up Father’s ass, you wouldn’t know what military focus looked like if it spat fire in your face.”
The guards surrounding Theron tensed. Dorian stepped forward instantly, hands half-raised in peace. “Enough, both of you.”
But Theron wasn’t done.
He turned his glare on Dorian like a man disappointed in his favorite weapon. “Fine. Then you’ll take the next diplomatic mission. You’ll go to Thubia. Cement relations. We need more commoners in our ranks.”
He cast another pointed look toward Zander, sneering.
“Since my brother only cares about certain dragon riders, it falls to you to recruit the guilds we actually need.”
I felt Naia’s eyes flick to mine, and I didn’t need to say it aloud, we were both thinking the same thing.
He wasn’t talking about swordfighters or medics.
He meant warders.
Dorian’s face was stone. He gave a single sharp nod, but I saw the strain in the way his jaw clenched. His lips pressed together like he’d swallowed whatever protest he’d wanted to make.
The entire field had gone silent.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Theron turned, as if the moment had passed and he was already bored. With a flick of his fingers, his guards turned with him, cloaks sweeping behind them in perfect unison.
The prince walked away with military precision, like a conqueror on parade.
And just like that, he left the field.
Theron had just drawn the line in the sand.
And the rest of us were left staring at it, wondering who would survive crossing it.
We stepped back into the ring, Naia and I standing shoulder to shoulder, but neither of us really present.
Her eyes kept drifting toward the path Theron had disappeared down, and I, well, my focus was somewhere between the fire burning in Zander’s eyes and the sharp reminder of just how fragile our place in this kingdom truly was.
We moved, blades raised, but our swings were off, our rhythm scattered.
Zander watched for a beat longer, then blew a sharp breath through his nose.
“Cordelle,” he said, without turning. “You had something you wanted to check?”
Cordelle nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Permission to be excused?”
Zander flicked his hand in dismissal, already turning his gaze back to the rest of the squad.
Naia and I lowered our blades and stepped out of the ring. Jax and Ferrula were already approaching, stretching out their limbs and rolling their shoulders. We made room for them as Cordelle disappeared toward the edge of the grounds, his long coat flaring as he moved at a jog.
Jax grinned at Ferrula as they squared off. “Don’t hold back. I won’t.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, flashing a sharp grin of her own.
The clash of their blades rang out across the training ring. Ferrula moved like a viper, quick, precise, slipping past Jax’s broad strikes with fluid rolls and spins. She used her smaller frame to her advantage, darting in to strike and flipping away before Jax could catch her in a grapple.
Jax grunted as her boot connected with his side, but he caught her ankle on the second pass and spun, sending her skidding across the sand. She landed in a crouch, grinning.
It was brutal. Beautiful. The way real warriors fought, not to show off, but to prove they were still standing.