Around us, the healers paused in their work, clearly sensing the dangerous shift in the air. Even the courtiers who’d been edging closer to get a better look at the spectacle took a collective step back.
“Fenric—” Linc started, but Fenric cut him off with a look that could have melted steel.
“I asked you a question.” Each word was precisely enunciated. “Who. Did. This.”
I cleared my throat, drawing Fenric’s attention before this could escalate into something the entire court would remember. “It was Xyliria.”
Every person in the courtyard went rigid. The healers’ hands stilled. Servants froze mid-step. Even the guards shifted uneasily, hands drifting toward weapons that would be utterly useless against what we’d faced.
“Did you—” The words cracked apart, and he forced a swallow. “Please tell me you didn’t engage her directly.”
Lincatheron nodded. “I did.”
“What?” Fenric’s face went white.
He took a step forward, hands reaching out before catching himself, remembering where they were.
I moved without thinking.
One step brought me to Fenric’s side, close enough that when I could slip my hand into his, our fingers interlacing. Like we’d done this a thousand times before. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
His attention snapped to me, expression torn between shock and gratitude.
“Sir, we need to get you to the healers,” one of the white-robed figures said, stepping forward with professional urgency. “That shoulder wound needs immediate attention.”
But as the healers moved to surround Lincatheron, as Fenric stepped back to maintain appropriate distance while his eyes tracked every movement with ill-concealed desperation, a new presence made itself known.
The temperature around us dropped ten degrees in an instant. The air itself seemed to thicken, flooding with power that made the hair on my arms stand on end. At the edge of the courtyard, a storm was forming in the shape of a man.
Varyth appeared like lightning given form, ashen hair whipping around his face, those silver eyes blazing with a fury so pure it was terrifying to witness. He moved across the stones with deadly purpose, his magic radiating from him in waves that made the very air shimmer with menace.
And his face—gods, his face was absolutely blazing with rage
“What. Happened?”
Lincatheron winced as he straightened, pressing his good hand more firmly against his wounded shoulder. “Nyxarian forces attacked the war camp we were visiting. Xyliria was there.”
“Xyliria?” Varyth spat the name like poison. “And you engaged her?”
“Didn’t have much choice,” Linc replied, steady despite the pain etched across his features.
Then Varyth’s focus shifted to me.
His gaze tracked down to my hand, still laced through Fenric’s fingers like we belonged that way.
Something cold and utterly lethal flashed across his face.
Fenric must have felt the shift in the air because he dropped my hand like I’d become molten metal, stepping back with enough force that he nearly stumbled. His face had gone ashen.
“Sir,” he said, his voice harsh even as it cracked around the edges. “Commander Lincatheron engaged Xyliria directly and sustained significant injuries. The healers?—”
“I can see what the healers are doing,” Varyth cut him off. He remained entirely focused on me. “What the hell were you doing at a war camp?”
“Lincatheron invited me. I accepted.” I did my best to ignore whatever the fuck had just crossed his face. I made no mention of Linc’s secret dragon squad.
Gods, I hope they’d made it out alive.
“Most of them did,”Kaelen whispered through my mind, answering my unspoken prayer.“Not all. But most. I confirmed with their dragons after the battle.”
