Page 4 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

Ihadn’t realized just how massive the outer walls were until I stood before them. They were at least fifteen feet wide, though I had heard the barracks for the guilds were actually inside them. The courtyard sprawled before me—a vast, open arena stretching nearly half a mile to the towering castle beyond.

My gaze moved toward a vibrant patch of yarrow flowers swaying in the gentle breeze to my right. “That must be the healers’ guild section,” I whispered. I’d heard about it from an informant. The delicate blossoms contrasted with the stone fortress, their soft hues offering comfort amid the chaos.

“Over here, check it out,” someone called out. I turned to see groups of men and women assembling in neat sections, each clutching short swords. Their disciplined formation marked them clearly as the infantry of the First Guild, every blade glinting in the light of the sprawling courtyard.

“Ascension grounds to my left,” I said aloud, drawing closer to a grand area where proud warriors stood before flags emblazoned with majestic dragons. I read the names proudly stitched along the banners—first, Iron Fang; second, Warborn; third, Stormforge; and lastly, Crownwatch—the highbornnobles, their black leather uniforms adorned with intricate gold accents that set them apart from the rest.

I scanned the crowd, searching for the Thrall Squad, but only found a small, unassuming group of commoners standing off to the far right of those with banners.

“You looking for Thrall Squad?” a tall red-haired woman asked, her tone laced with confidence as she smiled at me.

“I’m Riven,” she declared, stepping forward and motioning toward the group. “That’s Jax,” she said, indicating a burly man with arms crossed. Jax gave me a curt nod, his gaze still fixed on the cluster of royals gathered around their flag.

“I’m Ashe,” I said.

“Nice hair,” Jax said, barely sparing me a glance.

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice catching slightly.

“And that is Ferrula,” Riven continued, introducing a woman in her late thirties with a shaved head and a distinctive scar on her left cheek. Ferrula acknowledged me with a curt nod—definitely not one for warm greetings.

“And that’s Naia.” Naia didn’t even look at me, and I assumed she was more interested in the other squads.

A young man with a slight build stepped toward me and placed his hand on his chest. “I’m Cordelle. You do have nice hair. Beautiful eyes, too. I’ve never seen such a pale-blue,” he remarked, his tone unexpectedly soft.

Riven reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black tie. “I can braid it for you while we wait for the rest of our team to arrive,” she offered cheerfully.

“Thanks,” I said, setting my rucksack down on the cool, hard ground. Riven deftly began pulling my hair into a simple braid reminiscent of her own style.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man with striking lavender eyes fixated on me. His gaze was icy and disapproving.But he wore the royal crest boldly on the chest of his leather and steel armor. He was also the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.

“Who is the guy with lavender eyes?” I asked, lowering my voice slightly.

Riven glanced in his direction and replied, “That’s Zander Rayne. The King’s fourth son.”

“Shit,” I muttered, realizing too late that he undoubtedly knew who I was. Though this was the first year commoners were allowed into the guild, his expression told me he intended to remind me of my place. And that he could easily put a dagger through my heart.

“I see,” I managed, forcing a casual tone as Riven finished off the braid.

“He has three older brothers, but one was assassinated,” she added quietly, her words laced with implication. Every commoner knew who was responsible for a royal hit. I swallowed hard, the unspoken truth of my own father’s ruthless deeds hovering between us.

Naia approached me and stood a little too close. While I was average height, she stood a few inches taller.

“I heard a rumor that Cyran Rebec had a white-haired daughter… is that you?” Naia’s voice cut through the murmur of our little gathering like a sharpened blade.

“You got a problem with that?” I replied coolly, though every fiber of my being tensed. Solei had taught me never to back down from a fight, it was better to lose than to show weakness. My hand drifted subtly toward the dagger concealed under my jacket.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Your father had my brother killed,” she spat, the venom in her tone unmistakable.

“He has a lot of people killed,” I countered, my voice low and steady. “I don’t control him. Nobody does, but you already know that.”

Before the tension could ignite further, Riven stepped between us, her arms spread wide in a placating gesture. “Stop it,” she commanded. “The nobles are staring at you. They’d love to see us fight amongst ourselves.”

Naia’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped back with a huff. “Until we have a more private setting, then,” she muttered.

“Until then,” I replied, my fingers still hovering near the hilt of my dagger.

As the tension settled, a noble from Iron Fang stomped over, his heavy boots echoing across the flag-strewn stone. His stern frown softened into a sly smile as he greeted us. “Hey gang. How are you enjoying the peacock festival?”