Chapter 4
Thorne
I walked the path with my brothers, my boots grinding against the stone with every reluctant step. The cheers were deafening, echoing off the towering obsidian walls of Blackspire Keep, but they meant nothing. Just noise. A lie dressed in velvet and gold.
People threw themselves to the ground as the king's carriage passed, hands clasped in fake reverence, tears streaking their faces.
They wept and wailed about how much they adored him, how blessed they were to breathe the same air.
But it was all for show. All of it. I could see the fear behind their eyes, the desperation to survive another day.
Ashton didn’t see it. Of course he didn’t. He only saw what he wanted to see—adoration, loyalty, power. He drank it like wine, let it bloat his ego until he believed his own mythology.
“Isn’t this momentous, friend!” Ashton cried from his golden throne atop the carriage, his voice booming with manufactured joy as he leaned toward me, the sunlight glinting off his crown. His gut protruded over his tailored clothes in a distinctive flap. “They love me! They truly love me!”
I stepped beside him, forcing a half-smile. “Of course, sire,” I drawled, voice soaked in sarcasm. But Ashton never noticed. He heard only praise in everything spoken near him.
Ahead of us, pulled by six white steeds, was another gilded carriage—this one carrying the real prizes: wealth, relics, and people.
Spoils, he called them. Inside, the scent of perfume and fear mingled.
Behind the gold-trimmed lattice, I glimpsed the faces of the new harem—women from Duskfall, draped in silks that shimmered like liquid jewels.
They walked in chains, dragged behind the horses, wearing thin, worn sandals on their poor abused feet.
Silk and silver manacles bound their wrists, trailing behind them like cruel accessories. Their expressions were vacant, but I saw the spark in a few eyes—the kind that came before fire or blood. One girl, her head held a little too high, met my gaze. Not with pleading. With challenge.
I looked away.
I told myself it wasn’t my fight. That we all had our roles to play in this theatre of decay.
But the bile in my throat said otherwise.
The other Shades and sentinels laughed around me, jostling each other with the kind of easy camaraderie that came from too many shared battles and too many nights soaked in blood and wine.
To them, this was a celebration. A reward.
Another victory in the king’s endless pursuit of praise.
To me, it was a circus—gaudy, hollow, and on the verge of collapse.
I stayed silent, walking through the screams and celebrations, my jaw tight. My senses were prickling with unease. There were too many people, too many blind spots. I scanned the crowd with practiced calm, but inside, everything was taut wire.
Leo, of course, was thriving.
He grinned like a golden god, his blond hair catching the sun, waving as if he were the king himself. Especially at the women—always the women. He blew a kiss to a pair near the barricades who promptly lost their minds, hands fluttering to their throats like they’d just been touched by divinity.
“Lighten up, Thorne!” he called out, elbowing me. “Think of the revelry tonight! The drinks, the women—what’s not to like?”
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself. Of course, Leo would be balls-deep in a whore—or two—before the moon reached its peak. His Lion wouldn’t have it any other way. Lust and dominance were part of his blood, just like heat was to Phoenix or secrets were to me.
Still, I couldn’t shake the tension crawling up my spine.
There was something bothering me. The scattered symbol of the Shattered Crown sketched on walls and shop fronts hadn’t escaped my notice.
The threat of the resistance was ever at the forefront, but Ashton would not be swayed from his celebration.
The enemy could be anywhere right now and this whole parade seemed to be a stupid risk.
Slade walked just behind us, spinning his daggers in lazy circles.
His expression was unreadable, as usual.
Detached. Dangerous. Of all of us, Slade was the hardest to place.
His silences weren’t born from pride or disdain.
He simply didn’t know what to say to the world—and the world, wisely, never pressed him for answers.
His daggers were his voice. And they spoke plenty loud when they needed to.
I caught his eye for a moment. He gave the barest nod, the kind that said I feel it too. The tension. The wrongness.
And still the people cheered.
Still the music played.
Still the golden carriage rolled through the gates of a kingdom too blind to see its time on this earth fading.
If someone lit the right match... Varrowmere would burn.
And gods help us, I often thought it should.
As we approached the looming castle gates, a ripple of unease swept through me.
I slowed near the golden carriage, drawing the attention of Phoenix and Slade, who flanked my sides like living shadows.
Phoenix, my ever present second, immediately stepped toward me, his brows pinching together beneath his coppery hair.
His fingertips glowed faintly, out of habit or caution, I wasn’t sure.
“What is it?” he asked, voice low.
I didn’t answer right away. My gaze drifted toward the far wall, the one that bordered the old water banks. The area was coated in shadows, soaked in the kind of stillness that didn’t feel natural. Nothing moved. No breeze, no insect, no sound. Just a heavy, watching quiet.
“Is there something there?” he asked me.
I squinted, sharpening my vision. Glamour never worked on me. My mind was a fortress—unclouded and precise. If someone was hidden there, I would see them.
But there was nothing.
Just darkness. And yet... something tugged at me. Not sight. Not sound. Something deeper. A pull, sharp and inexplicable, right in the centre of my chest. Like a string had been tied around my ribs and someone was gently, insistently pulling.
I glanced at my brothers. Phoenix had gone still, his glowing fingers curling into a loose fist. Slade stood rigid, his daggers paused mid-spin.
They felt it too.
That same invisible pull.
That same... presence.
I murmured, almost to myself, “I don’t know.”
“Gentlemen,” a bark cracked through the moment like a whip. “Is there a problem?”
I turned to see General Vasquez storming toward us in full armour, jaw clenched, suspicion etched into every line of his face.
General Vasquez had been the King’s advisor for the last six years, ever since the split that had led to the resistance. He was a vulture, picking at weaker prey to claim power for his own. He ran the sentinels with an iron fist.
He was ugly, both inside and out and his ability to sense lies was the only reason he held his position so long. It was him who outed Vael’s intentions for the throne, after all. And there was no one Ashton trusted more.
His black eyes were fathomless and full of predatory intelligence, like a basilisk. Though we stood equal in rank, he and I chose different methods in our training regimens and Ashton loved to watch us fight for his attention like dogs for scraps.
Where I chose to build a trainee’s strength, the general loved nothing more than breaking a person down until they became nothing but a mindless automaton. So many Shades were like that now. He disgusted me.
“No problem,” I replied coolly, schooling my features into neutrality.
Vasquez narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced, but unwilling to challenge me further in public.
Behind him, the procession continued like nothing had happened—like the shadows weren’t breathing around us, like something ancient and unseen wasn’t watching from the cracks.
But I knew better.
Something was out there.
I took a step towards the thickest section of shadows, but the moment I did, the world exploded.