It’s quiet wherever we are. Remote. I’m sure that’s not by accident, and it has me buzzing with uneasy anticipation. I’m led toward a large metal building with two massive sliding doors, one of which is open. Light spills past the threshold, and bugs fly around in a frenzy, searching for the source. Bats feast on the mania, swooping down through the melee to eat their fill. Three towering males step out of the building, their presence instantly chasing the feast and feasters away.
“Is this her?” one of them asks, and I can feel his eyes raking over me even though his face is hidden in shadow. “She doesn’t look in bad shape.”
“Typical healers, always getting hysterical over nothing,” another male I can’t make out grumbles. “We’ll take her in, Commander. Lorn asked that you and your Flight do a security sweep before you debrief. He’d like to leave within the hour.”
Ogdan stiffens infinitesimally, but Aeson simply nods and gestures for Jori and Ogdan to follow him. Alarms blare in my head, and every sense I possess goes on high alert. I watch the group of dragons that brought me here stride off into the dark, and even though they’re Horde and ran me down in the street like a dog, I can’t help feeling like they’re the safer option compared to the trio before me.
The strangers step from the shadows and silently surround me. They don’t say a word as they start to walk, apparently expecting me to fall into step simply because they will it. I play along—not that I have much choice—but this new group of drakes doesn’t know what to expect from me, nor I them, and it might be wiser to keep it that way for the time being.
I squint against the bright interior as I’m herded inside the building. The first thing I notice is the tall arch of a jump portal and the two sorcai standing at attention on each side of it. I don’t get much time to marvel as my eyes are drawn to the dozen or so gigantic drakes all lining the perimeter of the other half of the structure.
However, it’s the single empty chair, waiting like the open maw of a shark in the middle of the group that has the wasps in my stomach stinging the ever-loving shit out of me. My flinty stare skips from the chair back to the surrounding Horde, snagging on an alarmingly familiar male.
Neatly trimmed, stark white hair. A handsome face steeped in arrogance and entitlement. Offensively gigantic frame. And a set of bright blue eyes that, before today, I would have said were the brightest I’d ever seen. That was until I met Commander…
My brain stalls as I make a connection that should have been obvious but didn’t bite me in the ass until right this second.
Fuck.
Kill me now.
How did I not piece together who that big fucker Aeson was? Did the chase and mounting adrenaline fry my fucking mind? Because there’s no doubting it, not when I’m staring at his brother, Scion Lorn Noctis, firstborn son of King Kathal Noctis, and Crown Prince of The Dragon Horde.
What the flying fuck are he and his little brother, Aeson Noctis, doing here?
Trepidation and shock ice my insides, but my gait is smooth and my mask firm as I’m guided toward the single chair. The scion approaches the Throne of Doom at the same time I do, and I’m unsure which of us is supposed to sit in it. A hard, unyielding hand presses down on my shoulder, indicating that it’s my ass that’s expected to occupy the hot seat, and I’m too rattled to fight or even object to the unnecessary and rude manhandling.
My thoughts reel, spinning turbulently in my head as I try to make sense of this disturbing development. The Heir and the Spare, far from home just to investigate a lone female?
Not a chance.
They have people who have people for that kind of thing, or at least I thought they would. Not that I’ve ever heard of anything like this happening before. Random dragon females aren’t just dropping out of the sky, much to the disappointment of The Horde.
Then again, Enslee and the rest of us operate on dated news and questionable gossip way out in The Scorch. We have our own spies working for our best interests in Paragon City, but their reports are understandably few and far between, and they’re usually focused on bigger issues and threats.
This scenario, however unexpected, seems out of character for the Crown. Why would the king chance it? Why would he risk his sons?
“I can see you know who I am,” Lorn observes, his voice infused with authority.
So much for my impenetrable mask.
“Good. That makes things easier,” he continues, stepping away from the two drakes he was speaking with, guards probably, and moving closer to me. “With one half of the introductions done, let’s get right to what everyone wants to know. Who are you?”
Wariness moves through me like a rising tide, and I fight the need to stand up so that Lorn Noctis can’t tower over me the way he wants. He approaches me slowly, and hundreds of different scenarios play out in my mind of how I carefully need to navigate this. I pause, realizing that this time, I actually don’t need to be cautious.
It’s too late for that.
I didn’t run into The Horde by accident. I don’t need to throw them off my trail so I can slink away unnoticed. There’s no escaping this. It doesn’t matter what I do or say now; I’m caught and no sleight of hand or witty retort is going to undo it.
It’s a liberating thing to realize that I don’t have to watch my tongue or perform any mental gymnastics. Too bad that big helping of freedom comes with a side of completely fucked.
The prince of dragons stares at me expectantly, his bright blue eyes telling me he’ll wait all night if he has to, but he better not have to.
“Ever Tenebrae,” I answer after a lengthy pause.
Just as I expected, the scion’s blue eyes narrow. He inhales deeply, scenting me for deception, and then his gaze flicks to a male with black hair, bronze skin and deep red scale armor.
A Thrasher.
