But we were still figuring out what that meant.
Zander suddenly went still, his body tightening like a bow pulled taut. His eyes flicked toward the cliffs where Hein perched, motionless but alert, a silent sentinel above the grounds.
Something passed between them, unspoken, heavy.
When Zander turned back, his face was composed… but his eyes locked onme.
“Ashe,” he said, voice low but urgent. “I need you. It’s important.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I nodded and fell into step beside him as we moved away from the squad, away from the watching eyes of other riders and curious whispers. We moved in silence until we were beyond the courtyard walls and nearing the eastern wing of the castle.
Only then did I ask, “What’s going on?”
He didn’t look at me as he answered.
“My father is dying.”
The words landed like lead.
We didn’t stop.
The corridors grew quieter as we ascended the narrow staircase to the king’s wing, cut from the oldest stone in the castle, the torches flickering against polished gold trim and velvet drapes muted with dust. The air here felt heavier. Older. As though it remembered the weight of every crown worn within its walls.
We passed two guards at the archway of the king’s chambers, who bowed but didn’t question Zander’s presence—or mine. Their faces were grim, their eyes hollow.
Inside, the chamber was cloaked in shadow despite the afternoon light. The curtains were drawn, and the once-grand chandelier hung low, unlit, its crystals dulled with time. Thescent of tonics and wilted flowers lingered in the air, along with something bitterer… like magic that had curdled.
The king lay in the massive bed, barely more than a silhouette beneath heavy blankets. His skin was drawn tight over his bones, his lips dry and pale. This wasn’t the commanding figure I remembered from court.
This was a man unraveling from within.
Zander stood at the edge of the room, his posture locked, but his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I thought I’d have more time,” he said quietly.
The silence of the king’s chamber pressed down like stone.
Zander stood beside the bed, the dying weight of his father barely breathing beneath layers of velvet and silk. The light from the stained-glass windows filtered in through dust and time, casting fractured colors across his cheek.
He turned to me, his voice a whisper, rough and raw.
“Ashe… will you use your blood to try to save him?”
I blinked.
The request rooted me to the floor.
“The healers have tried everything else,” he said, eyes flickering over his father’s frail form. “He’s slipping fast.”
I hesitated only a heartbeat. “I can try?—”
NO.
Kaelith’s voice slammed into me like a wall of force, rippling through my mind in acrackof violent thunder.
I flinched, breathing uneven.Why?I asked,It worked on Zander?—
