Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Dorian’s boots echoed softly on the stone as he approached, posture straight despite everything he’d endured.
I instinctively stepped away from Zander, though I doubted it made much difference.
The heir apparent wasn’t a fool, he noticed the heat still lingering between us, the space just a little too tight for a lieutenant and a prospect.
“Zander,” he said, pausing just a few paces from us. “I was looking for you. Remy said you’d be here.”
Zander muttered under his breath, “Of course he did.”
Dorian, cleaned and composed, wore a fresh tunic beneath his breastplate, only a faint dent marring the steel where he’d been struck. He looked every bit the prince again, well-rested, sharp-eyed, and unreadable.
“What do you need?” Zander asked. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m good. Meri patched me up,” Dorian said with a nod. “But we have an issue.”
Zander’s posture stiffened. “What kind of issue?”
Dorian’s eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, something flickered behind his gaze, hesitation, calculation.
“Can we trust her?”
Zander didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Dorian accepted that without protest, but his next words came faster. “I just received an order from our father. He wants me to gather more commoners with magic, prospective riders, warders, even infantry.”
My brows lifted, but I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“The nobles are already unhappy with the recent additions,” Dorian added.
I let out a short, humorless grunt. “That figures. Because only nobles make effective soldiers, right?”
Dorian shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. The issue isn’t with the army. It’s with the Fourth Guild. Infantry, healers, and warders are acceptable. But riders…” He looked at me again. “That’s different.”
“You don’t want commoners in Fourth Guild,” I said flatly.
“I was skeptical,” Dorian admitted. “Until Foran explained something I didn’t expect. Dragons who bond with commoners aren’t bonding with nobility. There’s a difference in our magic.”
I blinked. “Kaelith said something like that. She told me she’s never bonded a halfling, because my magic didn’t exist in your bloodline.”
Zander nodded slowly. “So they’re not just picking outliers. They’re choosing riders who can complete the bond.”
“Exactly,” Dorian said.
“Which means if we add more riders… we’re not taking dragons from the nobles. We’re adding dragons to the realm,” Zander said.
“I agree,” Dorian said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “But we have another problem.”
Zander’s eyes sharpened. “What now?”
Dorian’s expression shifted, frustration rippling across his otherwise composed face as he glanced between me and Zander.
“Since we both know our father didn’t write that order,” he said tightly, “we can assume that Theron has a plan.”
I nibbled my lip. “He likely needs to replace the warders you lost. But he doesn’t want to alert the other kingdoms that our defenses are failing.”
Dorian paused, considering that, then arched a brow. “That’s astute. My brother is in charge of Warriath’s internal security. If the wards are falling, and he’s keeping it quiet… he’s already controlling the narrative.”
“And deepening his hold,” Zander muttered. “That’s a concern.”
“It’s more than that,” Dorian admitted, voice low. “Some of the nobles are already whispering. Suggesting Theron should be next in line. That he’s ‘better suited’ for leadership. That he has the political mind for it.”
Zander’s eyes flickered, not with fear, but fury. A pulse of black cut through the lavender, that telltale ripple of Dark Fire when he was barely holding back.
“He is not the heir apparent,” Zander said coldly. “You are. Their opinion is irrelevant. And the king, our line, has always been a rider. Theron lacks dragon magic. He wasn’t chosen.”
“I am aware,” Dorian said, calm despite the tightness in his shoulders. “And I don’t yet understand how he intends to seize power. He doesn’t have the military… not yet. He doesn’t have a dragon. And he doesn’t have our father’s blessing.”
“But he has the court,” I murmured. “And in a kingdom like this? That’s enough to start a war.”
Zander said nothing.
But I could see it in his jaw, in the way his hands curled into fists.
He knew I was right.
And so did Dorian.
“There is more,” Dorian said, his voice dropping into a murmur as he stepped closer, glancing down the corridor to ensure we were alone. His posture was tight, controlled, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away.
“Rumors swirl that something is wrong within the guilds,” he continued. “Not just favoritism or political infighting, deeper. There are whispers of corruption. Of manipulation.”
“Of who?” Zander asked, his lavender gaze sharp.
“No names,” Dorian said. “But the whispers keep circling the same idea—someone is influencing cadets with latent magic. Not all of them, but enough. The theory is that someone, or some group, is testing how far they can push certain riders. Seeing what kind of magic they can draw out. How far they’ll go. ”
“Sounds like blood magic,” I said softly. “But that’s outlawed.”
Dorian met my gaze. “It’s only outlawed if they admit they’re doing it. But again, these are rumors, and who knows what they are looking for.”
Zander’s lips pressed into a line. “You think it’s coming from inside the guilds?”
“I don’t want to,” Dorian said. “But the way the Inquisitor is asking questions… the way certain nobles are shifting loyalties, especially in the Fourth Guild... it feels too orchestrated. And then there are the assignments, sending prospects into dangerous situations, especially those from commoner bloodlines. That is unheard of.”
I frowned. “They’re looking for a reaction. For something to snap. Or a certain magic to manifest.”
“Exactly,” Dorian said. “And if they’re manipulating riders, especially those who haven’t completed their bond... they might be hoping to create something volatile. Something powerful.”
“Or something they can control,” Zander added grimly.
I shivered, the existence of Kaelith’s presence reminding me I wasn’t alone, even if she was currently hunting.
“Whatever they’re doing,” I said, “they’re setting us up like chess pieces. And I don’t think we want to find out what happens when we fall.”
Dorian nodded. “No.”
Zander touched my shoulder. “Can you give me a moment with Dorian. I want to discuss my father in private.”
“Of course,” I said and moved down the hallway until I heard two men speaking.
Zander and Dorian stood a few paces from me, deep in quiet discussion, their postures sharp, brows furrowed as they exchanged words I couldn’t quite make out. I let their voices fade into the background, not out of disrespect, but because something else caught my attention.
I stopped as the subtle scrape of armor echoed just around the corner.
Guards.
I stayed where I was, quiet and still, turning just slightly so I could listen. I couldn’t see them, but I didn’t need to. They were mid-shift change, judging by the lazy pacing and the relaxed cadence in their voices. No urgency. Just idle chatter.
“—I’m telling you, the king’s getting worse,” one muttered, voice low but clear. “Last week he threatened to exile a healer for waking him up too early.”
A snort. “Yeah, well, he nearly gutted a steward for wearing blue in the upper halls. Said it reminded him of drowning.”
“That’s insane.”
“Everything’s insane right now. And don’t even get me started on Theron. Bastard acts like he’s already wearing the crown.”
“He’s still better than Dorian, though. At least Theron stays in the castle. Dorian keeps vanishing when his brother needs him most.”
That jab landed like a stone in my chest.
The guard continued, oblivious to how close I stood. “If he’s supposed to be the heir apparent, why’s he always off flying with that dragon of his? Half the staff think he’s stalling. Like he doesn’t want the crown.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” the other said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard whispers that some of the villagers… they’re hiding magic users.”
“Hiding them?”
“Yeah. You know, the really strong ones. Especially the ones from outside noble lines. Keeping them out of sight. They’re afraid the king’ll order them to enlist. Or worse.”
My blood chilled.
“That’s treason,” the first guard hissed.
“It’s survival,” the other shot back. “You’ve seen what he does when someone shows unpredictable magic. Even dragons can’t always protect their riders.”
I leaned back against the wall, heart pounding.
Zander’s voice drifted back to my ears, but I didn’t look at him.
Because those guards weren’t mistaken. Something was very wrong in Warriath. Even if I didn’t agree with some of their assumptions.
Zander finished whatever quiet words he was trading with Dorian, the elder prince nodding once before turning and disappearing down a corridor in the opposite direction, shoulders straight but heavy with the burden only a crown-in-waiting could carry.
But Zander strode toward me.
There was something in the way he moved—grace and fire wrapped in command.
The leather of his flight jacket clung to his frame just right, the faint bruises along his jaw only making him look more dangerous, more real.
My insides fluttered, and Kaelith chuckled in the back of my mind like she was teasing me for it.
He didn’t say a word at first.
Just leaned in, brushed his lips across my cheek, soft and warm, and so infuriatingly gentle that it left my pulse stumbling.
I blinked up at him. “What’s up?”
Zander’s gaze was shadowed, thoughtful. “Dorian’s grown uneasy with the king’s latest orders.”
“Because they’re really Theron’s,” I said, voice quiet but certain.
He nodded. “Exactly. But Dorian’s afraid to confront him outright. He’s walking on a tightrope, trying not to challenge Theron. They need to keep the kingdom stable before we go to war.”
“That’s true, but I heard the guards speaking and they are disillusioned about Dorian’s intentions to say the least.”
“The commoners always think we are lazy and entitled. It goes with the territory.”
I looked at him, studying the worry behind the calm. “Do you think Theron had anything to do with the attack on Dorian?”
Zander’s jaw clenched.
His lavender eyes darkened.
And for the first time, I saw hesitation. Not doubt. Not fear. But the kind of restraint that came when you wanted the answer to be no… but couldn’t swear it was.
Zander’s eyes followed the direction Dorian had gone, his posture rigid as if held together by the sheer force of will. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tight with something heavier than frustration.
“Theron is a bastard,” he muttered. “There was never a time when he and I got along. Not as boys, not as men. But... he always put the family first. Even when Darmon died.”
I took a step back, breath catching. The pain of those words sank into me like cold stone.
His older brother.
Killed by my father.
The pain flickered in Zander’s lavender eyes, so raw and unhidden it struck something deep inside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Zander turned to me slowly, his eyes focused. “Don’t ever think I blame you for what Cyran did. You weren’t the blade.”
I swallowed hard, unsure if it made it any better.
He continued, “Besides... someone paid him for that assassination. And I know how the Order works.”
“But you never found out who?” I asked gently.
He shook his head once. “No. There was speculation it was Dorian. People whispered he felt threatened by Darmon. But I never believed that.”
“And Theron?” I asked, the name falling like poison between us.
Zander exhaled through his nose. “He didn’t have the political pull back then to orchestrate something like that. He was ambitious, yes. But unpolished. And your father was paid very handsomely.”
I stared at him. “Cyran took the risk knowing it could lead to Warriath eradicating the Order. He wouldn’t do that for just anybody.”
Zander nodded. “My father almost did.”
I tilted my head. “What stopped him?”
Zander was quiet for a moment. So quiet I thought he might not answer at all.
Then he looked at me, voice grave.
“Remand.”