Dorian gave him a faint, weary smile. “I know you’ll try, Zander. But this isn’t on you.” His gaze flicked toward the castle behind us, toward the sleeping city and the people inside who had no idea what storm gathered beyond the horizon. “What matters now is keeping Warriath safe. For our people… for Elara.”
Zander’s jaw tensed again, emotion working its way through his carefully held expression. He looked like he wanted to argue, to protest, to scream. But instead, he just nodded. Quietly. That promise settling on his shoulders like iron.
Dorian sat atop, the blue Striker giving a low rumble of discomfort that made my heart twist. His wings, once flawless, now bore the faintest ripple of scarring magic through their membranes.
Just as he adjusted his reins, the Stormforge leader stepped out of the door that led to her squad’s quarters. Her black hair was braided down her back, her armor catching the morning light like moonlight on steel. Dorian stilled.
He looked at Lirane as if she were the one thing he wanted to fight for more than the throne.
She didn’t speak. Neither did he.
But when Dorian raised a hand in salute, there was a tenderness to the motion that spoke volumes. Regret. Love. Things unsaid and never to be spoken aloud.
Then he took to the skies, Foran struggling briefly before finding his rhythm. They flew high and east, toward the Dragon Isle—at least, that’s what anyone watching would think.
But I knew better.
So did Zander.
Dorian wasn’t returning to safety.
He was flying into the shadows—alone.
We stood at the edge of the courtyard, the last wisps of Dorian’s trail vanishing into the clouds. Zander hadn’t moved since his brother disappeared into the horizon, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“He’s hiding it well,” I said quietly, watching the direction Dorian had gone, “but Foran looked bad. If it’s the same poison with which the king was afflicted…”
Zander didn’t move for a beat, and then his voice came, low and sharp.
“Then whoever did this… dies. For my father… and for my brother.”
There was no hesitation. No softening. Just conviction. The kind that left scorch marks in its wake.
I turned to face him, the wind tugging at my braid. “And if we can’t stop it? If Dorian doesn’t make it, and you have to ascend the throne?”
His jaw ticked. “That won’t happen.”
“But if it does,” I pressed. “You know no one in that court will accept me. Not as your queen. Not as a commoner. And not with my bloodline.”
His eyes flicked to mine, then away—just for a moment. And in that heartbeat of silence, my chest tightened. He didn’t say I was wrong. He didn’t say I’ll marry you anyway.
He didn’t say anything at all.
I looked away, the silence louder than any answer could’ve been.
My heart cracked open just a little.
Then we heard the footsteps.
Lirane approached, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Regal. Calm. Calculating. She bowed slightly, her icy gaze flicking between us with far too much understanding.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said smoothly.
Zander straightened, his composure falling back into place like armor.
“Not at all,” I murmured, though my voice felt brittle.
Because whatever came next, I already knew it would only push us further into the storm.
