“Watching her magic respond to yours,” he repeats slowly. Something shifts in his expression. “What exactly happened during that training session, Auren?”
“Nothing relevant to her combat readiness.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I hold his gaze. After a moment, I see understanding dawn on his face—and something that looks troublingly like amusement.
“Well.” He clasps my shoulder, the gesture warm despite my attempts to radiate discouragement. “This should be interesting.”
“Nothing is going to be interesting. She’s my responsibility to train and protect. That’s the extent of it.”
“If you say so.” He moves toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “Dinner’s in an hour. Selene’s been asking questions about your new training methodology. Something about Tamsin mentioning that you smiled at one point.”
“I don’t smile.”
“Apparently you do now.” The door closes behind him before I can respond.
I stand in the silence of my quarters, the mountain view forgotten, Drayke’s words echoing in my mind.
Apparently you do now.
I try to remember if I smiled during training. Can’t recall a specific moment. But I remember the way Tamsin’s fire flowed through my frost patterns, impossible and beautiful. Remember the surprised satisfaction on her face when the new approach started working. Remember feeling, for the first time in decades, like I was solving a puzzle that actually mattered.
Maybe I did smile. Maybe that’s the problem.
I force myself to return to the research texts. The Crown’s capabilities. Tamsin’s training protocol. Threats to anticipate. Variables to control.
But somewhere beneath the strategic analysis, warmth lingers in my chest. Her fire, still reaching toward me. Still welcoming.
I don’t know what to do with warmth anymore.
I’m going to have to figure it out.
SEVEN
TAMSIN
The alarm tears me from sleep.
Not a bell or a horn—a sound that resonates in my bones, a deep thrumming vibration that makes my teeth rattle and my fire surge to my fingertips before I’m fully conscious. I’m out of bed and reaching for my boots before I register what woke me.
Dawn light filters through my window. Barely dawn—the sky still holds traces of darkness at the edges, stars fading reluctantly. I’ve been at the fortress for a week. Five days of training with Auren, of learning the corridors and the rhythms of Brotherhood life, of pretending I don’t notice the way his frost reaches for my fire during our sessions.
Five days of peace.
It’s over now.
I throw on the borrowed armor I’ve been training in—leather reinforced with dragon-scale plates, light enough for mobility but sturdy enough to stop a blade. My fire is already burning beneath my skin, responding to the alarm, to the adrenaline flooding my system. The Crown pulses in its warded chest by the window. I hesitate for a fraction of a second, then leave it. Too dangerous to bring into unknown combat. Too valuable to risk.
The corridor outside is chaos.
Dragons in human form pour past, some still pulling on armor, all moving toward the eastern ramparts with grim purpose. I catch fragments of shouted orders—“shadow signatures,” “main gate,” “aerial assault”—and my stomach drops.
Shadow Clan.
Morrigan.
I push into the flow of bodies, letting the current carry me toward the fight. A hand catches my arm and I spin, fire flaring?—
