Theron was already inside.
He turned, his jaw tightening the moment he saw me.
“What isshedoing here?” he demanded, his voice like shattered ice.
Zander didn’t flinch. “It’s her dragon who’s trying to save Father. Remember?”
Theron scoffed, stepping forward. “She’s agutter rat.The only reason she’s still breathing is because?—”
A raspy groan cut through the room, hoarse and sudden.
The king.
He stirred in the massive bed, silks bunching beneath his pale fingers. His eyes snapped open, unfocused at first, then narrowing with eerie clarity.
“Theron,” he rasped.
Theron stepped closer, his posture too stiff. “Yes, Father,” he said, voice strained but practiced. “The prince regent stands ready.”
The king’s gaze drifted, drowsy and piercing.
“Where is Dorian?” he asked.
Theron hesitated. “He’s scouting the Outer Kingdoms… looking for more commoner recruits. As you ordered.”
The king’s breath hitched, and for a moment I thought he might fall back into sleep—but then he spoke, clearer than before.
“He must act as regent.”
Theron froze, his mouth opening slightly—no words came out.
Zander’s jaw clenched beside me, but his eyes never left his father’s face.
And mine…
Mine went to the fading magic curling around the king’s chest, pulsing gold and violet, like Kaelith’s essence was still holding him in place.
But barely.
Theron looked like someone had slapped him.
“Father,” he said, his voice clipped with disbelief. “I am seeing to the day-to-day operations of the castle until you are better.Dorianis better suited for recruitment.”
“Because he is a rider,” the king murmured, his voice gravelly and fading.
“Yes,” Theron admitted. But his hand slid to the hilt of his sword, white-knuckled. He didn’t like being questioned, especially not by a man he’d already begun writing off.
The room fell still for a moment, thick with tension.
Then—shouting.
Voices echoed from beyond the chamber doors, and Theron strode to the window, yanking back the heavy curtain. His eyes narrowed, face twisting in irritation as he leaned forward to see.
“What is happening?” he barked.
Zander didn’t move, didn’t follow. His attention stayed on the king, who had slipped back into unconsciousness, breathing shallow, the faint gold-violet glow around his chest flickering like a dying flame.
“Hein shared the king’s words with the guild,” Zander said calmly. “Many of your followers have decided they’d rather not go against the king’s wishes.”
