Page 190 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

My fingers twitched toward my own weapon. “Don’t test me tonight, Gerane.”

“Or what?” His smile faded, and his gaze darkened. “You’ll start a war right here in the courtyard?”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “If that’s what it takes. Which will reveal where your allegiances truly lie.”

He shrugged and motioned for me to pass. “Go ahead. It’s your funeral.”

The village streets were quiet, the usual bustle of late-night stragglers long gone. Only a few flickering lanterns illuminated the narrow alleys, casting shadows that danced across cobblestone. The tavern’s windows glowed warm and bright,spilling light and noise into the street. Laughter, the clatter of mugs, and the low hum of conversation filled the air—but when I walked in, the energy shifted.

People saw me. They knew who I was—or who I used to be. Eyes darted away quickly, gazes dropping to their drinks or their plates as if ignoring me would erase my presence. The upside of being dead to the Order was that no one dared to stop me. I kept my chin high and walked past their hushed whispers.

I bypassed the main room, weaving between tables until I reached the dimly lit hallway at the rear. Without hesitation, I slipped behind the large tapestry that masked the tunnel entrance. The air inside was cool and stale, the walls damp with condensation. My footsteps echoed faintly as I navigated the twisting path below the tavern.

When I reached my father’s office, I didn’t bother knocking.

Cyran scowled as I stepped inside. His dark eyes locked on mine, as sharp as a dagger.

“You have a lot of nerve coming here.” His voice was low, hard.

“Are you really surprised?” I shot back. “Your treachery caused the death of a rider.”

He grunted like I’d said something foolish. “Riders die. This is a war.”

“We were ambushed by Blood Fae,” I snapped. “They were being supplied by the Order. Wagons full of supplies from Amdar’s port warehouse.”

His eyes narrowed. For the briefest second, I saw something flicker across his face—concern, maybe. Or something darker.

“You think the Order had something to do with this?” he asked.

“Not the Order,” I corrected coldly. “You.”

His face twisted, and before I could react, his fist slammed down on the table, rattling the inkpots and papers scattered across it. “How dare you.”

“How dareyou,” I countered and shoved the scorched letter across his desk. “Recognize this?”

He barely glanced at it before scoffing. “That can be forged. You know this.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” My voice was softer now, dangerous.

His eyes locked on mine. The quiet stretched until it felt suffocating.

“I have evidence too,” he said at last. His voice was clipped, almost amused. “It says a rider has been helping the Blood Fae. This person was recruited before but only recently began to interfere in court politics.”

My pulse thundered in my ears. “And this person is you?”

He laughed without humor, the sound as sharp as broken glass. “No.” His smile widened, cold and cruel. “It’s you.”

For a moment, I just stared, his words turning my blood to ice. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” He sat back in his chair like a man satisfied with his own cleverness. “You’ve been stirring chaos in the castle since you arrived. Strange that the Blood Fae started targeting the kingdom’s warehouses not long after you infiltrated their ranks.”

“I didn’t infiltrate anyone!” My voice rose with frustration.

“Didn’t you?” His gaze sharpened. “You’ve managed to get yourself bonded to the most powerful dragon in the horde, and oh... conveniently keep surviving every attack meant to end you.”

“Because Ifight,” I hissed. “I win because I refuse to die—not because I’m working for the Blood King.”

“You’re a pawn, Ashlyn,” he sneered. “You always have been. The only question now is... whose game are you playing?”