But it didn’t.
Remy was there, his fingers firm around mine, the pulse of his skin against mine absorbing the magic like it was heat in a storm.
Iknewit shocked him.
I felt it. A distinct zing through the contact. But he didn’t flinch.
His eyes searched mine. “You okay?”
The question was quiet, grounded. Real.
I wanted to lie. To sayyes, to wave it off like I always did.
But the look in his eyes told me he wouldn’t believe it.
“I will be.”
Zander’s footsteps were purposeful. He moved like he was still on the battlefield—even when it was just over an argument.
“Is there a problem?” His voice was even, but his eyes weren’t on me.
They were onRemy’shand. Which was still wrapped around my wrist, steady and warm, like the storm inside me wasn’t crackling beneath my skin.
Remy’s fingers loosened, his touch falling away with careful ease, but not before his lips twitched into that maddening half-smile. The one that said he was entirely too pleased with himself.
“Maybe,” Remy said, turning toward Zander with casual menace. “Maybe you shouldn’t let her fall if you don’t want someone else to catch her.”
The tension snapped tight between them like drawn bowstrings. I stepped between them, pressing a palm to each chest, not hard, just firm enough.
“Don’t start,” I said. “We have to work together.”
Remy’s brow arched, slow and deliberate.
“You didn’t tell him?” I asked.
Zander’s jaw was already tight. “I haven’t had the chance.”
Zander frowned, but before he could demand more, Remy stepped forward, arms crossing. “What’s going on?”
I met both their gazes. “We’re going to infiltrate Blood Isle. The Fae Sanctuary is inside there… somewhere. We just have to find it.”
Zander didn’t speak, but his expression darkened.
“If we don’t,” I continued, softer now, “the king dies.”
Remy blinked once. The amusement vanished from his face like a cloud burned away by the sun.
He nodded, sharp and decisive. “I’m in.”
No hesitation. No question.
Someone shouted and every head on the Ascension Grounds snapped toward the sky.
A small green blur swooped in low, wings flapping wildly, uncoordinated and reckless. A small clubtail.
It hit the dirt with a graceless thud, clawed feet kicking up chunks of grass and dust as it landed in the center of the field. The dragon snarled, swinging its head from side to side, smoke curling from its nostrils as it puffed its narrow chest like it was twice the size it actually was.
“Whose dragon is that?” I asked, already backing a step away, my hand twitching toward my dagger out of habit more than intent.
