CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE #2
“My fierce girl,” my mother murmured, her voice thick with emotion as she brushed a curl from Ember’s cheek with trembling affection.
Then my father stepped forward, something rare and vulnerable softening the hard edges of his gaze.
After Jasmine’s death, Ember had been left without either of her parents. Her mother was gone, and there had never been a father waiting in the wings to claim her.
Her father had never been part of the picture—not before the massacre, and certainly not after.
There was no name, no stories, and no grave. Some whispered he had died years earlier; others claimed he was a wandering sellsword, a nobody who vanished before Ember could even speak.
. The truth had dissolved into a silence no one dared disturb while the Ravager uprising tore noble territories apart.
Ember had grown up believing she was unwanted. Abandoned.
It had been my father who stepped into that void. Not as a king making some cold, strategic calculation, but as a male protecting the family of his mate.
He had brought Ember into the palace himself. He had given her tutors, guards, training, and a future. And eventually, he had given her our name.
Ember Pyreson.
A royal declaration carved into law and fire. It was a warning to every noble court and rebel clan alike that she stood beneath Zymarra’s protection—no longer a lost girl from a shattered house, but a daughter of the throne. Second to the Flame.
“My other daughter,” he said now, his voice thick with a pride that didn't need to be performative.
For the briefest heartbeat, I saw Ember’s walls tremble. They didn't fall. They never would. But they trembled.
“Ava,” my father said, finally turning his full attention back to me.
His expression was warm, but I could see the calculation sitting just beneath the surface—something sharp and deliberate.
“I received a letter from General Eldrethine. He is… not entirely pleased about the dissolution of the betrothal.”
My heart lurched. Jeremy. Guilt flickered through me before I could suppress it. I hadn’t meant to hurt him; I had only meant to survive.
“But,” my father continued, his voice rising as he turned toward the surrounding nobles, projecting his words to every corner of the hall,
“I am pleased that you are happy, Ava. That has always been my priority.” His smile widened—perfect, regal, and entirely political.
“And of course… having Umbra at our side is not a disadvantage.”
Of course. Alliances. Power.
Strategic marriages wrapped in silk and smiles.
My fingers curled into the heavy crimson folds of my skirt, nails biting into my palms as I forced my face to remain a mask of royal composure.
Then, suddenly, his entire face lit up with genuine excitement.
“Ah,” he beamed. “And here she is—the queen herself.”
I turned, and the air seemed to grow heavy.
Queen Sailene entered the hall like a living shadow draped in luxury. Her black gown clung to her curves like liquid darkness, catching the firelight with every step.
A raven boundling perched elegantly on her shoulder, its obsidian feathers shimmering with an unnatural, piercing intelligence.
Her high ponytail swung behind her like a weapon, and when her violet eyes found mine, the entire room seemed to tilt on its axis.
Gods. Those eyes did not simply look. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she turned gracefully toward my mother.
“King Solren,” she purred, sliding into his embrace with a familiarity that made it clear this was not their first dance across a political battlefield.
“Queen Sailene,” my father greeted warmly.
Then her gaze moved. Slow. Deliberate. It landed on me with the precision of a blade finding its mark. A dangerous smile curved her lips, one that didn't reach her cold, violet eyes.
“Zymarra’s flame,” she said, her voice like velvet over steel. “At last, I meet the girl who has managed to twist half the Umbra males into knots.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Ember, then to Ezra.
Ezra went still beside me. He didn't show any obvious tension, but somehow I felt it anyway, something inside him drawing tight and lethal.
Her wicked smile returned to me.
“Asher sends his regards,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
“He says he cannot wait to see you.”
My heart seized so violently I nearly forgot how to breathe. The mere mention of him was a physical blow to my chest, a reminder of the void where our bond should have been.
I forced a polite smile into place, though I felt it tremble at the edges. “Thank you for coming, Queen Sailene. It is an honor to finally meet you.”
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as if weighing the truth of every word I’d spoken, before she turned gracefully toward my mother.
My father followed, their voices already blending into the low murmur of politics and strategy, as though our exchange had been nothing more than a minor opening move on a very large chessboard.
I was still trying to steady my pulse when another voice slid across the space beside me.
“Princess Pyreson.”
The voice was like silk dragged across serrated steel. I turned. Kieran Duskbane stood there—devastatingly beautiful and utterly lethal. His black hair fell carelessly across his brow, and his lilac eyes gleamed with an amused hunger as they flicked over me, then moved beyond.
His smile deepened, turning into something sharper.
“Ember,” he said smoothly. “Good to see you again.”
Everything inside me went very still. Because I felt it—the shift in Ezra. He was standing beside me like a storm about to break, the air around him growing cold and heavy.
Ember stiffened almost imperceptibly before schooling her features into that careless, dangerous smile she wore like armor.
“Kieran,” she replied, her voice cool.
He stepped forward without a hint of hesitation and took her hand.
It wasn't polite or formal. It was deliberately intimate.
He lifted it to his mouth and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.
I saw Ezra’s jaw tick hard. I saw the cogs turning behind his sunset-orange eyes, the shadows at his feet beginning to writhe.
Then Kieran grinned—sharp, reckless, and entirely too confident.
“I suppose I’ll see you in my chambers again this year, then?”
The words had barely left his mouth when Ezra moved.
It was fast. It was violent. It was beautiful in its absolute brutality. Ezra’s fist connected with the Crown Prince of Umbra’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the vaulted silence of the ballroom.
Gasps exploded from the surrounding nobles. The music faltered into a dissonant mess.
Every glass in the room froze mid-air as the court of Solkaris watched the Umbra Prince.
Even the flames in the chandeliers seemed to hesitate.
Kieran’s head snapped sideways with the force of the blow—but he didn’t fall. He simply straightened slowly, his hand coming up to touch the corner of his mouth... and then he laughed.
Actually laughed. He rolled his jaw once, his lilac eyes glittering with pure delight rather than anger.
“Well,” he drawled, the sound smooth as silk. “I see Ignis females truly do love Umbra males.”
Guards were already rushing forward from the edges of the room, weapons drawn and magic flaring in a chaotic hum of steel and sparks.
I lifted my hands immediately, my power surging just enough to make the air around me shimmer with heat.
“Stand down!”
My voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Every instinct screamed that if this escalated here—tonight, in the heart of Solkaris—it would become something much bigger than a drunken court brawl.
It would become a conflict between kingdoms.
My gaze snapped toward the dais. My father was watching, but he wasn't angry.
He was grinning. Beside him, Queen Sailene’s violet eyes shimmered with wicked amusement, as if she were watching a particularly entertaining play.
Then my father lifted one lazy hand. The music resumed instantly—a royal decree without a single word spoken.
Get back to whatever the fuck you were doing.
The guards hesitated, looking between their king and the Umbra prince, before slowly retreating.
Around us, the nobles began breathing again, their hushed whispers filling the void as they pretended none of it had ever happened.
Ezra calmly straightened his jacket, brushing off an invisible speck of dust as if he hadn’t just punched the Crown Prince of Umbra in the face. Then he turned and looked straight at Ember. She was still stunned, her green eyes wide and her lips parted.
“Dance with me,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t quite a plea.
It was something far more dangerous. He held out his hand, his sunset-orange eyes locked onto hers.
Ember’s gaze flicked to me, then to Kieran, then back to Ezra. A thousand thoughts passed across her face in a single heartbeat—walls, fear, desire, war. Then she smiled wickedly, the fire returning to her eyes.
“Of course.”
Ezra didn’t even look at Kieran again.
He simply swept her onto the dance floor like she already belonged there. I watched them go—flame and shadow moving together through the crowd like they were born from the same storm. Chaos. Perfection. Utterly, terrifyingly dangerous. My chest tightened for reasons I refused to examine.
“Hm,” Kieran murmured beside me, amusement curling through his voice as he lifted his glass.
“Must have hit a nerve.” He smiled over the rim, eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction, then tipped the drink back and melted into the sea of nobles without another word.
I rolled my eyes hard enough to hurt and forced my attention away from the dance floor.
Unfortunately, my stomach chose that exact moment to betray me with an embarrassingly loud growl. Well. Food it was.
I spun toward the banquet tables—and walked straight into something solid.
“Oh gods—sorry,” I blurted, my wine sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the glass.
Strong hands closed around my arms before I could stumble. Steady. Warm. Unmoving.