For a heartbeat, he looked every inch the powerful third-in-command—composed, focused, present only to gather information about what had happened.

  But his gaze devoured Lincatheron’s form, cataloguing every visible wound, every drop of blood on his leathers. Then it landed on the deep slice that carved through his cheekbone, bleeding crimson that dripped down his jaw and soaked into his collar.

  Fenric’s breathing went shallow. Fast. A pattern of rapid inhale-exhale that preceded either panic or murder.

  Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with every muscle locked rigid.

  The healer’s glowing hands went straight for the makeshift bandage I’d wrapped around his shoulder, peeling away blood-soaked fabric. The moment the wound was exposed, Fenric made a sound.

  Not a word. Not even really a sound a person should be capable of making. Something between a snarl and a broken sob, raw and animal and absolutely wrecked.

  “What the fuck.” The words tore out of him like shrapnel. His composure fucking shattered, exploding into a thousand jagged pieces that left nothing but rage and terror in their wake.

  He was moving before anyone could stop him, closing the distance between them with the sort of speed that spoke of centuries of training and absolutely none of the control that should come with it.

  “Who.” His voice dropped to something lethal, something that made the air itself feel dangerous. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

  Around us, the healers paused in their work, clearly sensing the dangerous shift in the air. Even the courtiers who’d been edging closer to get a better look at the spectacle took a collective step back.

  “Fenric—” Linc started, but Fenric cut him off with a look that could have melted steel.

  “I asked you a question.” Each word was precisely enunciated. “Who. Did. This.”

  I cleared my throat, drawing Fenric’s attention before this could escalate into something the entire court would remember. “It was Xyliria.”

  Every person in the courtyard went rigid. The healers’ hands stilled. Servants froze mid-step. Even the guards shifted uneasily, hands drifting toward weapons that would be utterly useless against what we’d faced.

  “Did you—” The words cracked apart, and he forced a swallow. “Please tell me you didn’t engage her directly.”

  Lincatheron nodded. “I did.”

  “What?” Fenric’s face went white.

  He took a step forward, hands reaching out before catching himself, remembering where they were.

  I moved without thinking.

  One step brought me to Fenric’s side, close enough that when I could slip my hand into his, our fingers interlacing. Like we’d done this a thousand times before. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  His attention snapped to me, expression torn between shock and gratitude.

  “Sir, we need to get you to the healers,” one of the white-robed figures said, stepping forward with professional urgency. “That shoulder wound needs immediate attention.”

  But as the healers moved to surround Lincatheron, as Fenric stepped back to maintain appropriate distance while his eyes tracked every movement with ill-concealed desperation, a new presence made itself known.

  The temperature around us dropped ten degrees in an instant. The air itself seemed to thicken, flooding with power that made the hair on my arms stand on end. At the edge of the courtyard, a storm was forming in the shape of a man.

  Varyth appeared like lightning given form, ashen hair whipping around his face, those silver eyes blazing with a fury so pure it was terrifying to witness. He moved across the stones with deadly purpose, his magic radiating from him in waves that made the very air shimmer with menace.

  And his face—gods, his face was absolutely blazing with rage

  “What. Happened?”

  Lincatheron winced as he straightened, pressing his good hand more firmly against his wounded shoulder. “Nyxarian forces attacked the war camp we were visiting. Xyliria was there.”

  “Xyliria?” Varyth spat the name like poison. “And you engaged her?”

  “Didn’t have much choice,” Linc replied, steady despite the pain etched across his features.

  Then Varyth’s focus shifted to me.

  His gaze tracked down to my hand, still laced through Fenric’s fingers like we belonged that way.

  Something cold and utterly lethal flashed across his face.

  Fenric must have felt the shift in the air because he dropped my hand like I’d become molten metal, stepping back with enough force that he nearly stumbled. His face had gone ashen.

  “Sir,” he said, his voice harsh even as it cracked around the edges. “Commander Lincatheron engaged Xyliria directly and sustained significant injuries. The healers⁠—”

  “I can see what the healers are doing,” Varyth cut him off. He remained entirely focused on me. “What the hell were you doing at a war camp?”

  “Lincatheron invited me. I accepted.” I did my best to ignore whatever the fuck had just crossed his face. I made no mention of Linc’s secret dragon squad.

  Gods, I hope they’d made it out alive.

  “Most of them did,” Kaelen whispered through my mind, answering my unspoken prayer. “Not all. But most. I confirmed with their dragons after the battle.”

  The relief that flooded through me was short-lived as Varyth’s fury blazed higher. “He dragged you to a war camp?” He rounded on Linc. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Linc’s jaw set, stubborn as stone. “I offered. She makes her own damn decisions.”

  “Those decisions don’t matter if she’s dead,” Varyth snarled, stepping closer. “You hardly protected her.”

  “And you think you would’ve?” Lincatheron’s eyes sparked, just for a second, with something dangerous. “She’s not some precious relic to be shelved when things get messy. She’s stronger than half the warriors we lost today. She’s standing here, isn’t she?”

  Varyth took another step closer. “She is not expendable. She’s not some soldier to be thrown into battle.”

  I caught Fenric tensing in my peripheral vision, his professional mask slipping as he fought what was clearly a powerful urge to step between them. The distance he’d been maintaining wavered as both men bristled like wolves preparing to tear each other apart.

  Varyth growled, mist beginning to bleed from his skin.

  “She’s under my protection.”

  “She doesn’t need your protection from me.”

  “Watch yourself, Commander.” Varyth’s wings flared behind him, a motion that sent the healers scurrying backward and Fenric a step forward.

  The air buzzed with the unique energy of two men who’d rather die than be the first to blink. But the weight in the air wasn’t strength. It was the gravitational pull of two egos orbiting the same point of stupidity.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” I stepped forward, placing myself between the pair. “I’m standing right here. Stop talking about me like I’m not.” I ignored the way Varyth bristled as I stood in front of Linc. “Lincatheron offered me an opportunity, and I took it. He’s not responsible for my decisions.”

  They both turned to me, wearing twin expressions of stubbornness that would have been comical if I wasn’t so irritated.

  “Varyth,” I said firmly, “I chose to go. Lincatheron invited me to meet some warriors. What happened wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t his fault.”

  Varyth’s nostrils flared. “You could have been killed.”

  “I’m aware of the risks. I’m not interested in hiding in this castle.”

  “And throwing yourself into the middle of a war is how you survive?”

  “You were content with that plan when you took me to the Veil.”

  “That is different.”

  “Oh? How?”

  A snarl finally slipped free. “Because I was there. To protect you.”

  I waved a hand at him—loose, dismissive, like he was fog I could walk through. “I don’t need protecting.”

  Varyth snarled again, and I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “Lincatheron told me to run the second he saw Xyliria.” I held up my hand, sensing he was preparing to cut me off. “He didn’t put me in any danger.”

  “Right,” Varyth drawled, every syllable slow, simmering. “And did you run? Or did you put yourself in danger?”

  “I didn’t run,” I admitted, choosing my words with care. “I knew I was safer near Lincatheron, and I was.”

  “What exactly happened?”

  I knew better than to give him the full truth.

  “She attacked,” I said, keeping my voice measured, almost bored, as if offering a battlefield report. “Injured Lincatheron. Mocked us. Gave us a message, then was gone.”

  Varyth’s expression remained unreadable, but disbelief lurked beneath the surface. “She didn’t try to kill you?”

  “She seemed to be under instructions not to kill anyone important.” I shrugged, ignoring the way the words made my stomach tighten. “If she’d wanted to, she could have. But she didn’t.”

  The silence was thick, charged, dangerous. Varyth watched me, the weight of his stare pressing heavily against my skin. Behind me, Linc shifted, his movements stiff from the pain.

  He hadn’t corrected me. Hadn’t said a word. And I knew, without looking, that he wouldn’t.

  Varyth’s eyes flicked between Linc and me. “Very well,” he said finally, deceptively calm. “Fenric, ensure Lincatheron is treated by the healers. Now. We’ll discuss this... incident... in detail later.”

  Linc gave a stiff nod, his jaw clenching. He glanced at me, unspoken words hanging between us. A silent question. A final chance to correct the lie. I didn’t. He gave me a tight smile. Then he was gone.

  The moment Linc was out of sight, Varyth’s attention snapped back to me.

  “And you,” he said, “will come with me.”

  It wasn’t a request. I stiffened but said nothing, my body moving before I even processed the command. He turned on his heel, striding through the castle halls, his presence imposing in a way that sent servants scattering, soldiers stepping aside without hesitation.

  I followed, my pulse steady, my mind racing.

  37

  We reached a large study, the doors swinging shut behind us. And the moment we were inside, the instant the door sealed, Varyth turned.

  His hands slammed against the wood beside my head, his body a breath away, his eyes blazing.

  “Do you have any idea,” he growled, his breath hot against my skin. “How worried I was?” His voice was low, feral with something dark and consuming, something more than anger.

  I flinched but held my ground. The study walls closed in around us, the air charged with tension.

  “What happened?” Varyth demanded. “And don’t lie to me this time.”

  “I already told you⁠—”

  “No,” he cut me off. “You gave me a bullshit version to protect Lincatheron.” He glared down at me.

  “What. Actually. Happened?”

  My heart stuttered, then lurched. “Why do you think I’m lying?”

  Varyth’s laugh was humourless. “Because I know Xyliria. She doesn’t just show up, deliver a message, and leave. She enjoys the chaos too much.”

  I hesitated, weighing my options. My protectiveness for Linc warred with the truth Varyth deserved.

  “Fine.” I clicked my tongue in irritation. “When Xyliria hurt Lincatheron, I stepped between them.”

  His whole body stilled, a statue of fury and restraint. “You what?”

  I lifted my chin, refusing to back down. “I stepped between them. She was toying with him. Lincatheron tried to stop me. But I ignored him.”

  Varyth’s expression transformed unrecognisably, unfiltered rage mixed with what bore a startling resemblance to terror. His hands slammed harder against the wall on either side of me, his body closing the distance, the heat of him washing over me.

  “You stepped between Lincatheron and Xyliria?” The words were soft, yet they filled the entire room. “Do you even understand what she is capable of? What she could have done to you?”

  I refused to cower. “She didn’t hurt me.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it better?” he exploded, his composure finally shattering. “She could have erased you in an instant, Isara. She could have torn you apart, could have—” He cut himself off, his breathing ragged.

  His fingers dug into the wood behind me, so hard I heard it splinter. “She kills for sport, Isara. For amusement.” His voice dropped, taking on a rough edge that made my spine tingle. “And you stepped between them?”

  “Yes.”

  Varyth’s chest rose and fell with breaths he was struggling to control. “Why?” The single word held a weight I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “Because he was hurt.” I didn’t dare to even blink. “And she was going to kill him.”

  “So, you thought that you would sacrifice yourself for him? That your life was worth risking for his?” His eyes searched mine, looking for regret, perhaps, or fear. But I offered neither. Only the truth.

  “I wasn’t thinking about worth. I was thinking about what was right.”

  “What was right,” he repeated, the words hollow. “And did it occur to you what your death would do to those who care about you? What it would do to—” He cut off again, his jaw clenching so tight I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin.

  I stared at him. This wasn’t just anger. This was deeper; it reached beyond mere frustration or authority challenged.

  “I didn’t die.” I didn’t raise my voice. “I’m right here.”

  “But you could have.” The words tore from him, making the air tremble. The paintings on the walls shuddered, and I swore the floor beneath us vibrated with his fury.

  His hands left the door, one gripping my arm, the other tangling in my hair, desperate, as if he needed to know that I was solid, that I was real.

  “You could have died,” he repeated. “You didn’t even consider what that would⁠—”

  He crumbled. The walls, the rigid control he maintained over every aspect of himself all of it was falling apart. It was like watching a fortress collapse stone by stone, the foundation shaking beneath a force too powerful to contain.

  “Varyth, I’m⁠—”

  He didn’t let me finish.

  His hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth crashed down onto mine with devastating force. The kiss was consuming. A storm breaking after too long held at bay. His lips claimed mine with a ferocity that stole my breath, his body pressing me against the wall.

  For a heartbeat, I froze, caught in the shock of his sudden move. But then, I ignited, a flame that had been smouldering since the first time he’d touched me.

  I kissed him back.

  My hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer even though there was nowhere left for him to go. Varyth made a sound against my mouth—half growl, half groan—my response shattering the last of his restraint. His hand slid from my arm to my waist, fingers splaying across my lower back.

  The hand in my hair tightened, angling my head to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept against the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and I opened for him without hesitation.

  The taste of him was intoxicating, dark and rich and addictive. I moaned as his tongue slid against mine, the sound swallowed by his mouth. The hand at my waist slid lower, gripping my hip with bruising intensity, pulling me against him, against every hard line of his body.

  Varyth growled, the sound vibrating through me. His teeth dragged over my lip.

  “Isara,” he breathed against my lips.

  My hands moved instinctively, sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. His lips left mine, trailing down my jaw to my throat, his mouth hot and demanding against the sensitive skin of my neck.

  “Do you realise,” he murmured against my throat. “What you do to me?”

  His teeth nipped at my skin, sharp enough to make my fingers fist in his hair, earning another growl from deep in his chest.

  “I was out of my mind.” His words were punctuated by kisses that burned against my skin. “The thought of you in danger⁠—”

  He pulled back enough to look at me, his eyes molten, chest heaving.

  “Never do that again,” he growled. “Never put yourself in danger like that.”

  Before I could respond, his mouth found mine again, and Varyth’s hand slid from my hip to the back of my thigh.

  His hips rocked forward, and Varyth groaned in my mouth as the hard length of him ground against me. Every touch, every kiss, every press of his body was wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

  “Do you understand now?” His voice was a rough caress against my lips. “Why I can’t bear the thought of you in danger?”

  I couldn’t think, couldn’t form words with his body against mine. My hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing the hard planes of his abdomen. His muscles jumped beneath my touch. Varyth hissed, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

  When he opened them again, they were dark, hungry. “Answer me, Isara,” he demanded.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “I understand.”

  His lips trailed down my throat again, teeth grazing my collarbone, and I gasped, my head falling back against the wall. “Gods, Varyth.”

  But the second I said his name the guilt lashed through me.

  Navaire.

  No. Not now. Not now.

  I wanted Varyth. Gods, I wanted him with a ferocity that terrified me, wanted his mouth on mine, his hands mapping every inch of my skin, wanted to lose myself in the heat and hunger of him until there was nothing left but us. I wanted to stay in this moment, to let it consume me, to let him brand himself into my bones.

  But my body betrayed me. Froze like a creature caught in a snare, every nerve screaming two different commands—pull him closer and run.