ChapterSeven
The sun dipped lower as the evening wore on, casting long shadows over the still-smoking ruins. We did what we could.
Jax and Ferrula helped stack the bodies, their movements grim but efficient. Cordelle whispered quiet prayers over the fallen while Riven and Naia distributed waterskins to the few survivors left, their faces hollowed by smoke and grief. I knelt beside a child, maybe ten, eyes too old for his age, and assured him that supplies would be en route before the next dawn. He didn’t speak, just nodded once and clutched the strip of bread Naia had pressed into his hands.
It wasn’t enough.
It never was.
But it was what we had to give.
By the time we took to the skies, dinner had long passed. The wind had turned colder, and the stars stretched out across a velvet-dark sky by the time we descended toward the familiar spires of the castle and the broad stone stretch of the Ascension Grounds.
Our dragons landed in practiced silence, wings stirring the dirt and grit as we slid from saddles. The leather groaned under our hands as we unfastened straps and hauled gear to the rails along the edge of the field.
Kaelith snorted, her wings already rising as she turned toward the night sky again.
Rest,I urged, but she only answered with a huff before launching upward, disappearing into the dark with Hein and the others.
Zander didn’t say a word. He finished with his saddle, dropped the last strap onto the rail, and walked away, his posture tight, and his shoulders squared like the silence weighed heavier than the flight.
The rest of us lingered, exchanged glances, but no one stopped him.
We returned to the barracks quiet and exhausted, peeling out of gear, brushing ash from armor, trying to scrub blood from hands and smoke from skin. Riven passed me a cloth, and I wiped grime from my face with a sigh. The room smelled like metal, soap, and fatigue.
Then the horn blew.
A sharp, echoing blast. One loud enough to rattle the mirror in our washroom.
We froze.
Then, as if pulled by the same string, we moved. Armor buckled hastily, blades strapped to hips, gloves pulled tight. Adrenaline shoved the exhaustion aside as we sprinted back to the Ascension Grounds, the gravel jagged beneath our boots.
We reached the edge just as the crowd gathered.
And there, under the harsh torchlight at the podium, stood Theron. His cloak stiff in the wind, a silver circlet gleaming like ice across his brow.
Beside him stood Inderia.
Draped in a gown of midnight-blue and embroidered with flame-threaded gold, she looked every bit the crown’s favorite. Her lips curled in the faintest smile.
But her eyes locked on me with the promise of war.
The torchlight flickered against the polished stone of the Ascension Grounds, casting long, eerie shadows across the faces of those gathered. The courtyard was packed—soldiers, nobles, guild officials, all pulled from their evening routines by the blast of the horn and the promise of royal news.
Theron stood tall at the podium, his hands folded behind his back, the silver circlet on his brow catching the flames like a blade catching light. He motioned to Inderia beside him, who wore smugness like perfume, thick and cloying.
“I have excellent news,” Theron announced, his voice booming across the grounds. “As her marriage to my younger brother has been nullified by my hand, I have given her a choice.”
Inderia stepped forward, her dress shimmering with golden thread that curled like fire across velvet-blue. Her chin lifted, proud and cold, as her eyes swept the crowd—and settled, of course, on me.
“With both beauty and strong lineage,” Theron continued, “she will make an excellent wife. And I am pleased to announce… she has agreed to become a favored bride.”
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. I stiffened.
My gaze slid instinctively to Zander.
He stood among Crownwatch, his arms crossed, expression unreadable, though I caught the twitch of his jaw and the tired disgust in his eyes, like he wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here.
