Page 31 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

The compound smelled the same, incense masking the ever-present scent of steel, ink, and blood.

Cyran looked up from his desk as I strode into his immaculate office. The moment his sharp gaze landed on me, his eyes widened slightly, though it wasn’t surprise that lingered there, it was calculation.

“You are a dragon rider?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “And apparently, I would have been dead if I’d entered the Healers’ Guild.”

Cyran shrugged, as if the loss of my life would’ve been nothing more than an unfortunate misstep in his grand design. “There are always risks in war.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And you and I are at war now?”

Cyran smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not at all. You are my most valuable asset.”

“Is that what I am?” I asked, my voice dripping with bitterness.

His smile remained. “I need you to infiltrate the royal vault.”

I blinked. “The royal vault? As in the one in the castle?”

“Yes.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Not at all. I’ve invested a great deal of money and resources into your training.”

Rage simmered beneath my skin. “No, you didn’t. Octavia trained me herself.”

Cyran’s expression didn’t change, but his voice took on a razor’s edge.

“Yes, but no one gets that training without my approval. Every aspect of your life has been carefully guided since you landed in Stella’s lap.”

A cold, nauseating dread curled in my stomach.

“Stella and Dalila died because of you, didn’t they?” I whispered.

His lip twitched, the first sign of irritation. “No, my dear. They died because of you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“Stella was murdered because I showed her favor. I gave her my business when she was a mediocre tailor at best. A decision I made after she showed me her white-haired daughter. I suspected she knew more about your mother, but she maintained her story, no matter how much I offered.”

Bile rose in my throat.

“But Octavia… she was caught stealing.” My voice wavered.

Cyran leaned back in his chair, watching me with a detached sort of amusement. “When Stella died and Octavia became your caregiver, I gave her preferred jobs—ones with lower risk and higher rewards.”

“And that got her killed.”

Cyran’s expression didn’t shift, but his voice was softer—almost mocking.

“One of my competitors heard about you. She was murdered in your suite while you slept. They planned to take you, but I had someone guarding you. He eliminated the would-be abductors, and you were placed under Dalila’s care.”

My chest tightened, my lungs struggling to expand.

“So you never loved Dalila,” I whispered.