Kaelith’s voice slid into my mind, as quiet as a heartbeat.You could. But you would not be whole.
And she was right.
Because part of me had already chosen him. Long before the trials. Long before the court.
I loved him.
And I might have to let him go anyway.
Zander carried Elara the rest of the way in silence, his steps slow and careful, as if he feared jarring her even in sleep. When we reached her chambers, he lingered at the threshold, brushing her hair from her face before turning away to go change his soaked clothes.
I changed her gently, slipping her into her nightgown and tucking her into bed. Her brow furrowed, even in sleep, as if the magic still pulsed behind her eyelids. I smoothed the covers over her chest, brushing my fingers over her cheek one last time.
The door creaked open behind me.
“Thank you,” Zander said, his voice quiet, clothes dry and dark against the pale candlelight.
I nodded. “Can we go check Remy’s room? I want to see if I can find that message—if it even exists.”
Without a word, he turned and led me through the halls. We reached Remy’s quarters, and Zander unlocked the door. The room was neat, too neat for someone like Remy. No mess, no trail of crumbs, no discarded weapons. Just order… and intent.
We split up, rifling through drawers and beneath the mattress, under books and behind shelves. That was when I spotted it—wedged into the spine of a hollowed-out ledger. A folded piece of parchment. Familiar.
I opened it slowly.
My handwriting stared back at me.
Remy, I need your help. There is a contact in the Varnari sect that may be willing to talk. Find them in the village at dawn. Don’t tell anyone. I need to be sure we can trust them. Meet me at the gate. Yours, A.R.
The initials… the flow of the script… it was perfect.
“That’s… that’s my handwriting,” I whispered, a chill curling down my spine.
Zander stepped beside me, reading over my shoulder. “It’s convincing.”
“Someone is trying to weaken us.” My voice tightened. “Say what you will about Remy… but he’s a strong fighter. Losing him makes whoever did this very, very happy.”
Zander’s jaw clenched. “And that someone is still close. Still watching.”
The silence that followed felt like a guillotine hanging above us, waiting to fall.
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
Zander led me through the dimly lit halls of the dungeon with long, determined strides, the parchment still gripped tightly in my hand. The guards posted outside Remy’s cell straightened as we approached.
“Open the door,” Zander ordered.
One of the guards shifted nervously. “I… I’m under orders not to release him.”
Zander took a step forward, his tone dangerously calm. “Since Theron is missing and Dorian is away, whose orders are you following?”
The guard blanched, his eyes darting to the sigil stitched on Zander’s collar—the mark of the royal line. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow, and his hand shot to his keys, fumbling them into the lock. The cell door creaked open.
Remy sat on the narrow cot, hands clasped, his expression unreadable until his gaze rose to Zander.
“You must be in your glory,” he said coldly. “You were never meant to be king.”
