“Please,” I say. “Come with us. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, but he’s not lying. I’m not either. If Asher says it wasn’t safe for us in the palace, I believe him.”
Before I can change my mind, I turn to trail after my friend, feeling my heartbeat pound with every step. Behind me, there’s nothing but shrouded silence, emphasizing that there’s no turning back on the decisions I’ve already made.
I didn’t kill your soldier, Asher said.
Oh, how I hope that’s true. I’ve never doubted him—but then I’ve never seen him like this. Full of violence and ruthlessness. He might not have killed that soldier, but he could have. And now he’s leaving the king in the snow to freeze.
Please, I think.Please follow us.
But maybe that would be worse. We did take him prisoner. He surely doesn’t see me as an ally now.
Oh, Asher.
I wish I’d known it would be like this. But maybe it couldonlybe like this.
Either way, after an agonizing minute, I hear the king give a ragged sigh. Then he must shove to his feet, because his hobbled footsteps are heavy in the snow as he begins to follow.
Chapter Eleven
The Warrior
Most of my earliest memories include my father and a battlefield. My mother died in childbirth when I was four, leaving my father with tough choices. Victoria, my baby sister, was given to nannies and nursemaids, but from the instant I was old enough to walk, I had learned to ride a horse and handle a weapon, so my father kept me by his side. I was thrust into my first battle at age twelve, when soldiers from Draegonis attacked our encampment. I was ready. I hadn’t discovered my magic yet, but I’d already spent years in my father’s shadow, learning all the ways a man could wage war. Seeing all the ways a king shouldlead. I was full of pride to be the youngest in his retinue, so when I turned sixteen, I was surprised when he ordered me to return to the capital city to enlist as a recruit.
At first, I didn’t mind—I had years of experience that the other young soldiers hadn’t yet imagined. I expected to be the best in the training arena, and as the crown prince, I knew I’d be glorified for my skills. But instead of running drills and sparring with the others, my captain gave me every chore, every poor assignment, every torturous duty. While other recruits were practicing swordplay or galloping between army points, I was shoveling manure or cleaning sweat-stained tack. I complained about it daily, never earning a single reprieve. I finally wrote to my father, frustrated about my lowly treatment, begging to return to the battlefield where I could be ofuse.
Every duty is essential, he wrote back.Nothing you do for your fellow soldiers is lowly. These are your people, and they risk their lives for you. Remember that when you are scrubbing latrines.
And then, to add to the sting, the grueling assignments gotworse. But I shut my mouth and stopped complaining—and to my surprise, the other recruits began to help me: relieving me early from long overnightguard duty, soaping up the mess hall by my side, and even scrubbing latrines. Instead of finding glory, I gainedfriends.
When we eventually made it to the battlefield, I saw that loyalty in action, as my fellow recruits did indeed risk their lives for Incendar—and for me. It led to my father’s next lesson:If you are to lead them, you must understand them.When he brought me back to his side, I was no longer in his shadow. He’d have me walk among the regiments every day, watching training drills, listening to complaints, mediating arguments. It taught me to pay attention. I learned how to tell which soldiers were too confident, too fearful, too aggressive, too lazy. I learned how to read the signs for when someone was lying, when someone was telling the truth, and all the gray areas in between.
By the time my magic manifested, it became a tool, a weapon to wield like any other. Because my father’s lessons were so deeply ingrained, I realized that the people around me were so much more important than any power I could draw from a flame. Even after he died, I continued my daily rounds. I figured out how to tell the difference between a soldier who needed a friend, who needed a king and commander, and who just needed to be left alone. I learned to spot the signs of a person who’d cave under pressure, or a soldier who’d only give his best in the heat of battle. I determined who I could trust—and who I’d have to watch.
Thanks to those skills, I’ve been able to form tight-knit regiments that are relentless in battle. It’s how I knew Nikko would dive right back into a fight despite the torture he endured, or how I came to trust that Roman could strategize a mission with his eyes closed. It’s the way I can watch Callum and Garrett bicker like siblings—with the certainty that they’ll stand strong when it matters.
It’s how I knew Jory’s disguise was more than just deception.
Right now, it’s how I know Asherdidn’tplan this—or if he did, it’s a complete fucking disaster.
He has no pack, no supplies, nothing beyond what seems to be a spontaneous decision to drag me out of the palace. When he first got that garrote around my neck, I thought this might be an insidious attack by Draegonis. But I simply can’t make that work in my head anymore.
A Draeg spy wouldneverleave me alive.
And he might know how to kill, but Asher has definitely never been a soldier. There’s a lack of discipline, ofcontrol, that’s unmistakable. It’s a disquiet behind all the belligerence. He hides it well, but once my adrenaline from the attack wore off, I could see every sign. He’s defiant and hostile, but it’s a bluff. A feint. He’s got the vicious skill to back up his threats, and in the short term, it’s clearly effective. He took down Nikko in two seconds. He forced me out of the palace by vowing to kill my soldiers.
But when I don’t flinch away from his aggression, Asher clearly falters. The moment he put that knife against my throat, I refused to move—and it became clear that he wouldn’t push it farther. I’ve had soldiers like that before: skilled men who hesitate when they meet true resistance. It’s a lack of resolve. Ofconviction. If he were one of my recruits, he’s the kind of man I’d have to pair with less experienced soldiers to build his confidence—offering nothing less than candor to gain his trust.
It’s no surprise that he had to attack from above and behind. I rather doubt he would’ve had the mettle to come at me face-to-face.
He’s faltering now, too. It’s in the way he left me alive, leaving me the choice to follow. Or the way he insists that he didn’t kill Nikko—when he absolutely could have. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to believe him, but he sounded so...annoyedwhen I accused him of killing my soldier. He seemed hurt when Jory doubted him. That speaks to truth. But if he left Nikko alive, that was reckless—and there’s certainly no advantage to telling me. Asher should want to appear as vicious as possible.
But he’s not.
He’s certainly convinced Jory. She’s following him willingly now, striding through the snow ahead of me, but there were moments where she seemed genuinely afraid. I wonder how they know each other. They share a casual manner that suggests familiarity—but the princess seemed truly shocked by his brutality. Not just shocked. Horrified.
That said, she helped him do this. I just can’t tell if he coerced her or if she was willing.
I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d balked in the washroom, if I’d called his bluffthen,before we were so far outside the palace.He vowed to kill the rest of my soldiers one by one—but I’m beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t have done anything more than take the princess and flee.
