Page 111 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

His face darkened, the smile fading. “I made you what you are. Don’t forget that. If I tell you to find out what Prince Dorian’s power is, or how powerful Prince Zander’s Dark Fire is—you will do it.”

“No,” I said again, louder this time. “I won’t.”

“You will,” he snarled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll burn your precious squad to the ground. Do you understand me?”

“Did you order the death of that warder?” I asked, my voice low.

Cyran’s gaze sharpened like a knife. For the first time in the entire conversation, he hesitated—just for a heartbeat, but I caught it.

“You think I’d be stupid enough to kill a noble inside the castle walls?” His words were low, but they carried a dangerous undercurrent. “If I’d wanted him dead, he’d have died in the field, not in his bed.”

“But you wanted him dead,” I pressed. “Didn’t you?”

He smiled thinly. “That, my dear, is none of your concern.”

I stared at Cyran, feeling the weight of every word he’d just spoken. My heart hammered in my chest, but I refused to let him see my fear. He thrived on weakness, on control—and I’d spent too many years dancing to the strings he pulled.

“Your days of controlling me are over,” I said, my voice low but steady.

Cyran’s dark eyes flickered with something dangerous—amusement, maybe, or irritation that I dared defy him. He took a slow step closer, forcing me to look up at him.

“You forget who you’re talking to,” he said, his voice cold enough to freeze steel. “I don’t need to control you, Ashlyn. I can end you. Right here, right now.”

“I know,” I said, and I meant it. If he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t leave this room. Hell, Cyran probably wouldn’t even break a sweat. He’d been a notorious assassin before he’d become the leader of the Order of Thorn—a man whispered about in fearful tones across every kingdom. If he decided my life was worth ending, there’d be no escape.

But I still lifted my chin. “If killing me is what you want, then get it over with. Because I’ll never help you betray my squad.”

His smile was thin and sharp. “You think you’re so noble now. Like those pampered princes and spoiled riders would ever accept you. They’ll toss you aside the moment you’re no longer useful.”

“Maybe,” I shot back. “But they’ve already done more for me than you ever have. They were honest with me.”

His smile twisted into something cruel. “I gave you everything,” he hissed. “I shaped you, trained you, made you strong enough to survive.”

“You made me a puppet,” I said, voice rising. “You stole my childhood, sold me to the crown like livestock, and called itlove.”

“I kept youalive,” Cyran barked. “And this is how you repay me? By turning your back on the man who protected you?”

“You didn’t protect me.” I stepped closer now, anger outweighing my fear. “You used me. And I let you—for too long. But not anymore.”

Cyran’s gaze narrowed into thin slits. “You’ll regret this.”

“No.” I swallowed hard. “The only regret I have is ever believing you gave a damn about me.”

His nostrils flared, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might actually strike me. But then his expression went cold—colder than I’d ever seen it.

“You’re no longer my daughter,” he said, each word slow and deliberate. “Whatever protection I’ve given you?It ends now.You have no real home. No family. No one will come for you when you fall. You arenothing now.”

I clenched my fists at my sides to keep them from trembling. “I’d rather be nothing than be your pawn.”

I turned on my heel and walked out, my breath shaking in my chest. I half expected Cyran to follow—or worse, for a knife to slip between my ribs before I made it to the hallway.

But no blade came.

His silence was louder than any threat.

And that terrified me.

The air seemed colder outside the castle walls, or maybe that was just me—hollowed out and frozen from the inside.