Not in chains. Not at his side.
Not at all.
The Ascension Grounds held their breath.
And mine… caught in my throat.
Because whatever came next?—
It wouldn’t be justice.
Theron approached the podium with measured steps, his silver-lined cloak trailing behind him like a shadow refusing to let go. The majors flanked him on either side, their expressions unreadable, but their presence made one thing clear.
This was orchestrated.
He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, the rising sun catching the polished trim of his armor as he looked out over the gathered squads. His voice, when it rang out, was cold and precise.
“Prince Dorian,” he announced, “did not come to Zander’s aid when summoned. And he will not be returning to the capital for the foreseeable future.”
A murmur spread across the grounds like a ripple of unease, spreading fast.
“I have reviewed the evidence thoroughly,” Theron continued, “and more has come to light—correspondence that confirms dealings not only with the outlaw Cyran, but with known agents of the Blood Fae. Documents sealed in Zander’s hand. I can no longer ignore the threat he poses.”
He looked over us, unblinking.
“In light of this betrayal,” he said, “I have no choice but to sentence Prince Zander Rayne… to death.”
The words rang out like a blade dropped on stone.
There was a heartbeat of stunned silence?—
Then Cade exploded.
“You fucking pig!” he roared, shoving off his squadmate’s arm and lunging forward.
A Crownwatch soldier tackled him mid-charge, dragging him down in the dirt. Spears lowered—three gleaming tips pressed to Cade’s throat as he thrashed, snarling. “You lying bastard! He’s your brother!”
Gasps and shouts echoed around the courtyard. Ferrula moved to step forward, but Riven caught her wrist, eyes wide as tensions surged like a tide about to crest.
Cade was one of the best fighters among us. Not noble, not legacy—but good. Brave. He trained the newer cadets when the instructors ignored them. He fixed armor without being asked. He’d earned respect from every squad in the Fourth Guild.
So when Iron Fang raised weapons against him?—
Everything cracked.
Iron Fang moved first, stepping to shield the prince regent with drawn steel and smug grins, but Stormforge countered, stepping to Cade’s side, swords unsheathed with a hiss of steel. Warborn followed, no words, just shifting into formation like war was familiar to them.
Our squad moved as one.
And then chaos erupted.
Shouts. Screams. Blades clashed as steel met steel, dragons above circling, screeching. Cadets shoved, fists flew, one of the spears at Cade’s throat was knocked aside as Ferrula threw her entire body into the fray.
I caught Naia pulling Cordelle behind a shield as Riven hurled an Iron Fang cadet to the ground.
Blood hadn’t yet been spilled, but it would be.
Because the prince regent hadn’t just sentenced his brother.
