Page 128 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

Perin lunged, but Remy moved like liquid shadow, easily twisting away from the strike. His foot barely kissed the groundbefore he pivoted and struck out with an open palm—not to hurt, just to mock. His hand tapped Perin’s cheek with insulting ease.

“That’s all you got?” Remy asked, his voice soft with contempt.

Perin growled and attacked again, faster this time. Remy dodged, sidestepped, and delivered another light slap to the back of Perin’s head. His movements were fluid, effortless. He didn’t bother blocking—he just wasn’ttherewhen Perin swung.

“You’re slow,” Remy said, dodging another strike. “Sloppy.”

Perin’s face twisted with fury, and I knew what was coming before he reached for the dagger strapped to his back.

“Don’t,” I whispered under my breath, but it was too late.

The blade flashed, but Remy’s hand shot out like a viper. His fingers locked around Perin’s wrist, twisting it sharply until somethingsnapped. Perin’s scream rang out across the courtyard as the dagger clattered to the ground. Remy didn’t stop—he hooked his leg behind Perin’s knee, driving him down to the stone with bone-crushing force. Perin hit so hard I heard the breath rush from his lungs.

Remy knelt over him, one knee pressing mercilessly into Perin’s ribs as his broken arm twisted at an unnatural angle. His free hand wrapped around Perin’s throat, fingers flexing like he was moments away from finishing the job.

Perin’s face turned red, veins bulging at his temples as he gasped for air.

“Enough!” Major Kaler barked.

For one terrible second, I didn’t think Remy would stop. His fingers flexed again, eyes black with that cold, predatory look I knew too well.

Then, just as quickly, he released Perin and stood. Perin rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping.

Remy turned his back on him like he wasn’t even worth the effort.

“Next time,” Remy said quietly, “bring a bigger knife.”

Remy approached with that same guarded expression I used to know too well—distant, calculating—but this time there was something else. Something softer that I didn’t want to believe was real.

“You’re injured,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “Let me escort you to the healers.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but Zander’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “I oversee the Thrall Squad,” he said firmly as he stepped between us. “Return to Warborn, Lieutenant.”

The air shifted, heavy and dangerous. Remy’s eyes locked onto Zander’s, his shoulders squaring. “We have the same rank,” Remy said in a low tone, each word intentional. His hand drifted unconsciously toward the hilt of his blade, though he didn’t draw it.

Zander’s lavender eyes darkened, swirling with black like ink bleeding into water. “Do we?” he asked, voice low and lethal. His tone wasn’t a question, it was a threat. One that everyone nearby could hear.

Several squad members shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. The courtyard seemed to hold its breath.

“So,” Remy said softly, “you’re finally using your royal title.” He smiled, but there was no humor in it.

Zander shook his head slowly, a cold smirk curling his lips. “Not my royal title.” He paused, then added with a chilling finality, “Ask your dragon.”

Remy’s face hardened, his gaze flicking toward the Dragon Isle. Whatever he saw there, whatever Katama showed him, was enough to turn his expression grim.

“I do love a challenge,” Remy muttered. His gaze lingered on me for half a second longer before he turned and stalked away, his shoulders rigid.

I had no idea what Zander and Remy were talking about, but my ribs throbbed with sharp pain and my legs felt like they were made of lead. The ground swayed under my feet, and I staggered slightly.

“Then stop wasting time threatening me and take her to a healer,” Remy growled over his shoulder.

Zander was there in an instant, his arm slipping around my waist, warm and solid against my side. His grip was tight but careful, like I might shatter if he held on too tightly.

“Come on,” Zander said quietly, his voice losing its edge as he guided me away from the courtyard. “Let’s get you patched up.”

I didn’t argue. For the first time in hours, I felt like I could breathe.

“Why aren’t you healing?” he whispered as we walked.