Zander stiffened beside me, but I only smiled coolly, letting her words bounce harmlessly off the armor I had learned to wear long before the guild had ever laid chains on me.
I would not give her the satisfaction of flinching.
A sudden ripple of unease spread through the hall as the great doors swung open.
The king entered, flanked by two guards.
I froze.
He was pale and his steps were unsteady, his movements jerky and wrong.
He raised a goblet in greeting, slurring his words through a hollow smile. His crown sat askew on his thinning hair, and the hand that gripped the goblet trembled.
Gasps and whispers filled the room.
Theron moved instantly, striding forward with a polished smile. He caught the goblet from the king’s hand, murmuring something that drew a brittle laugh from the council gathered at the high table.
“Rest, Father,” Theron said, his voice pitched just right to carry across the room. “I will manage the council tonight.”
The king blinked slowly, confusion clouding his features.
Theron turned smoothly to the assembled nobles, his smile sharp and gleaming.
As if he already wore the crown.
Zander’s jaw locked tight, fury radiating off him in waves I could feel through my boots.
He stepped forward, voice like a blade. “Our father is not dead, Theron. His rule is not yours to seize.”
The room froze.
Theron only smiled wider, the perfect picture of a grieving son bearing a heavy burden.
But the truth blazed clearly for anyone willing to see it.
The king was faltering.
And Theron was already grasping for the throne.
The low murmur of conversation cut off like a blade slicing through silk. Heads turned, whispers stirring like a brewing storm at the far end of the hall.
Prince Dorian Rayne stepped through the towering doors, his presence hitting the room like a shockwave.
He wore formal riding leathers almost identical to Zander’s, black stitched with silver, the dragon crest gleaming proudly across his chest. His hair was windswept from a long ride, his face set in cool, unreadable lines.
From the muted gasps and frantic whispers rising around us, it was clear his appearance had not been expected.
Zander moved first, cutting through the crowd to meet him. His hand extended without hesitation, clasping Dorian’s in a firm grip.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Zander said, voice low but full of something I couldn’t quite name—relief, maybe. Gratitude.
Dorian’s mouth quirked. The closest thing to a smile he seemed capable of at the moment. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
But before they could say more, Theron appeared, gliding across the marble like a viper dressed in silk.
“So good to see you, brother,” Theron drawled, his smile sharp enough to draw blood.
The air between them crackled, and though their words were polite, the tension coiled beneath them like a predator waiting to strike.
