Page 153 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

“Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to knock you on your ass.”

We circled each other, feet sliding soundlessly across the dirt. Riven struck first, a quick jab toward my ribs. I twisted away, her fist skimming past me, but she was fast—faster than I expected—and caught my hip with her other hand, shoving me off balance.

I staggered, but recovered quickly. My instincts kicked in, and I lunged, locking my arm around hers and pivoting hard. She twisted with me, spinning away before I could throw her down.

“Not bad,” Riven grinned.

I answered with a punch aimed at her shoulder. She blocked it and retaliated with a swift kick that nearly took my legs out from under me. I barely avoided it, rolling to my feet just in time to catch her next strike. Our forearms collided with a dull thud, and the shock vibrated up my arm.

The tension from earlier—the power curling inside me like a living thing—was slowly unraveling. Each movement, each strike, forced the storm to burn itself out.

Riven grinned, eyes bright with excitement as she pushed me harder. We traded blows, dodges, and grapples, neither of us giving ground. My breath came in sharp bursts, my muscles burned, but I felt lighter—freer.

Finally, Riven hooked her leg behind mine and swept me to the ground. I hit the dirt hard and stared up at the sky, breathless and spent.

“Feel better?” Riven asked, offering me her hand.

I took it, letting her pull me to my feet. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she said with a smile, draping an arm over my shoulder as we walked back to the barracks.

By the time we returned to our room, the tension in my body was gone. The storm had passed, and for the first time since my run-in with Cyran, I felt like I could breathe again.

“Seriously,” I told her as I grabbed a dry shirt from my trunk. “I needed that.”

Riven grinned as she flopped onto her bunk. “Next time, don’t wait until you’re sparking like a damn lightning rod to ask.”

I chuckled, my muscles aching in the best possible way. “Deal.”

Cordelle sat up abruptly in his bed, book in hand, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“This can’t be right,” he muttered.

I glanced at Riven before pushing off my bunk. “What is it?”

Cordelle stared hard at the page as if the words might change if he blinked enough. “I got the ledger of attacks. It isn’t the one I asked for, but my father sent it, so I’ve been reading through it.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Riven asked, crossing her arms.

Cordelle’s eyes lifted, still wide with disbelief. “The major sent Remand to inspect the damage in Caston, right?”

“Yes,” I said carefully. “He and a few Warborn riders left to assist the town and aid with rebuilding and security.”

Cordelle shook his head slowly, tapping the page with one finger. “But according to this ledger… the attack in Caston happened two weeks ago.”

“What?” I moved to sit beside him and peered over his shoulder at the book. The dates were clear—the entry reported the destruction, casualties, and even the supplies needed to help the villagers rebuild. But the date… the date was two weeks ago.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would they send Remy now?”

“Because someone’s manipulating information inside the castle,” Riven said grimly. Her expression was hard, her gaze cold. “They’re feeding the council false timelines.”

I shook my head. “But why? The Blood Fae have been attacking outer villages for months. Why delay sending riders?”

Cordelle exhaled, frustration bleeding into his voice. “Because someone doesn’t want those attacks stopped. Or worse, they want those attacks to beworsebefore the crown responds.”

“My father was right,” I whispered. “There is a traitor in the castle.”

Riven’s face hardened even more. “It has to be the fae prisoner. He’s manipulating the king.”