“Thaya, right?” I asked as I approached.
She gave me a cautious nod. “Ashe Rebec.”
“Yup,” I said with a faint smile. “I just want to ask some questions.”
“Then you’re braver than most.”
I leaned in slightly. “What do you know about Mattin? Did anyone from your squad ever hear him talking about the Varnari?”
She frowned, eyes narrowing. “He tried to approach one of ours once. Ryll. Said the crown needed order. Structure. That dragons were a threat without tighter reins. Ryll nearly broke his nose.”
I nodded slowly, filing that away. “Anyone else?”
Her voice dropped. “A few from Crownwatch still talk like they’re quoting Theron’s doctrine.”
I glanced around the courtyard and spotted Riven casually talking with someone from Warborn. Cordelle was laughing with a quiet girl from Stormforge—his smile wide. Even Jax, stoic as ever, was speaking low to a Crownwatch rider, arms crossed, posture tense but open.
We were doing it.
We were mingling,but not to make friends.
We were drawing the lines.
And finding out which side of the fracture each rider stood on.
The sun had started to dip by the time we circled back near the mess hall. We’d been talking for hours, questioning, listening, watching the way other riders responded when the Varnari were mentioned. Teren joked with a Stormforge lieutenant, but I saw how his expression sharpened at any mention of Theron. Naia, always so poised, was quietly taking note of Crownwatch riders who suddenly had too much to say about control and security.
Three more riders returned from the castle interviews. They didn’t say anything, just slipped back to their squads, clearly cleared. The tension on the field loosened by degrees, but the undercurrent of suspicion never really left.
I was mid-sentence with a Warborn rider when I felt Zander before I saw him.
He approached from behind, his presence all quiet command. “We have to go,” he said softly, but firmly.
I turned, nodding. “Let’s hope your court’s in the mood for theatrics.”
He led me across the grounds, into the castle, and up to his chambers, his pace smooth but unhurried. I followed without a word, the evening ahead settling into my stomach like lead.
As we stepped inside his room, I glanced around at the polished wood, the golden inlays, the bed too neatly made. “How conspicuous will I be in armor, exactly?” I asked, one brow raised.
He didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he crossed the room to his wardrobe and pulled out a gown.
Not just any gown.
A masterpiece of midnight silk, embroidered with delicate threads of silver and stitched with tiny crystals that shimmered like stars. The sleeves were sheer and tapered, the neckline elegant, with just enough bite to draw attention. The skirt flowed like water—light, graceful, too expensive for someone like me to even look at, let alone wear.
My face paled. “No way. I can’t—I’ll break it. Just touching it feels like a crime.”
Zander smiled, unbothered. “I had it made for you.” He held it out. “It’ll go to waste if you don’t wear it.”
I stared at him. “You had this made?”
“The court likes to gossip about you,” he said. “Let’s give them a reason.”
I hesitated, then finally sighed. “Fine. But if I rip it, it’s your fault.”
He stepped closer. “Do you want help?”
