I nodded.
Tae adjusted his collar and whistled. “Well, we clean up alright, don’t we?”
We filed out together, Thrall Squad in formation, Iron Fang just ahead, and followed Zander down the winding hallways toward the castle. Torches lit the path, casting dancing shadows on the stone. The deeper we moved into the heart of power, the heavier the silence pressed.
When we reached the banquet hall, its massive oak doors swung open, and the heat of too many voices and too much perfume spilled out like a wave. Gold banners draped the walls. Nobles and officials filled the space like pieces on a gameboard.
And we had just entered the arena.
Theron lounged at the head of the long banquet table like it was a throne, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Inderia sat to his left, all golden curls and smug satisfaction, her mouthquirked into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. To his right was a man I didn’t recognize, broad-shouldered, white-bearded, with rings on nearly every finger and a gaze that swept the room.
“Do you know who that is?” I leaned toward Zander, my voice a whisper meant for him alone.
He didn’t look directly at me, just nodded once. “That’s the Dirian Duke.”
A chill crawled down my spine. “The one with the reputation?”
Zander’s jaw tensed. “Keep an eye on Ferrula. He’s rumored to have a fondness for young girls. There is no way she isn’t aware of his activities.”
My fingers clenched at my sides, nails digging into the flesh of my palm to anchor myself. Not here. Not now. Stay composed.
I glanced toward Ferrula.
She wasn’t composed.
She was staring daggers at the duke, her green eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in her cheek. The duke caught her glare and offered her a smile too polished to be anything but lecherous. Ferrula didn’t flinch, she just raised her chin like a soldier facing a firing squad.
Theron’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Please, be seated.”
The nobles obeyed, a rustling of fine fabrics and armor echoing through the hall as chairs scraped and bodies shifted. Thrall Squad sat near the end of the long table, close to the outer wall and as far from the center of power as protocol allowed. Iron Fang claimed the opposite end, closer to the duke.
I sat beside Zander, his posture stiff, his gaze bouncing between his brother and the duke. Ferrula didn’t sit until I nudged her gently. Even then, she chose a chair with a clear line of sight to the Dirian noble.
The air grew heavy.
This wasn’t just a banquet.
It was a game board.
And someone had just made their opening move.
Theron raised his goblet again, his voice smooth and painfully rehearsed, “We must all remember that unity is the spine of a kingdom. Without it, we crumble. With it, we stand tall and cast our light across the realms.”
Oh please, I thought, picking at the roasted pheasant on my plate. The meal was extravagant, too extravagant for a kingdom at war, but the nobles didn’t seem to notice or care. Zander shifted restlessly beside me, his expression unreadable, eyes flicking occasionally toward Theron as if he were calculating something. Iron Fang sat with stony faces, barely touching their food, and across the table, Ferrula was still keeping one eye on the Dirian Duke.
Course after course arrived, steamed root vegetables, stuffed vine leaves, spiced lamb, a sorbet to cleanse the palate. Theron didn’t stop talking.
He droned on about legacy. Duty. The strength of Warriath’s throne. He praised Inderia’s family for their unwavering loyalty, praised Iron Fang for their tactical brilliance, and never once acknowledged the dragons or their riders.
By the time dessert was served, I was about to excuse myself for some air. Plates of honey cakes and tarts dusted with powdered sugar were placed delicately in front of each guest, including a pink-glazed slice for Cordelle.
The moment the server leaned in to place it before him, everything shifted.
In a blur, the server’s hand darted beneath his tunic and came back with a narrow blade, aimed straight for Cordelle’s chest.
“Cordy!” I screamed, but Riven was faster.
She stood from the table and kicked the server with enough force to send him sprawling into the dessert cart, sending silver platters crashing to the floor in a clatter of chaos.
