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“I was just speaking with Vasquez about the girl,” the king said. “We’ve been watching her progress with great interest.”

Vasquez turned his head, smiling like a man who enjoyed breaking things. “I took the liberty of observing her training with Phoenix. Is it true she can now shape shadow into armour? Project force?”

I narrowed my eyes. “When did you watch her?”

He shrugged, smug. “I have my ways.”

I turned my attention to Ashton. “Yes. It’s true. But there’s more beneath the surface. We’re working with her to unlock it—carefully.”

The king and Vasquez exchanged a glance. Something passed between them. Something I didn’t like.

“The recent surge in attacks from my brother has me... concerned,” Ashton said. “And then there are whispers—something is brewing in the north. I’ve called a summit. I want Elira at my side.”

I stiffened. “Sir—she’s not ready. She’s barely begun to control her power.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t need control. I need spectacle.”

Vasquez stepped forward, all false politeness. “We’ve discussed methods to accelerate her compliance.”

I felt my magic coil in my chest.

“No,” I said flatly.

“The mirror room has... proven useful,” Vasquez continued, his voice syrupy. “It worked wonders for Allison.”

Something snapped in me.

Power surged from my hand before I could stop it. Vasquez flew back, slammed against the far wall, blood pouring from his nose.

“Youwill notspeak her name to me again,” I snarled, locking him down with raw will.

He staggered to his feet, blade half-drawn. “You little punk—”

“Gentlemen,” Ashton sighed, amused. “Not in my presence, thank you. Save your venom for Vael and his monsters.”

I kept the pressure on Vasquez’s mind. He fought back—hard. The room crackled with restrained violence.

“Thorne,” Ashton said quietly.

And I felt it.

The brand on my chest flared—searing and absolute, forcing my body to obey. I let go. Stumbled a step back.

“Excellent,” Ashton said smoothly. “So. The timeline has shifted. I want Elira ready for hermarkby the end of the month.”

I froze. “Sire—the mark requires a willing participant. If she resists—”

“You dare explain my own magic to me?” Ashton’s voice dropped to a whisper, more terrifying than a shout.

I swallowed my fury. My pride.

“No, sire.”

“Good,” he said. “She will be marked. And she will be loyal to me—andonlyme—by the end of the month.”

And now, here I sat alone, wondering how in all Gods names would I be able to convince my little shadow to take the brand.

I had seen what happened to those who refused. I never wanted to see that again.