Page 49 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

Naia groaned, rolled over, and flung her pillow across the room, smacking him square in the face.

Jax grunted, struggling with the pillow before prying it off his head. Then, with an annoyed huff, he chucked it back at her.

“Give a man a break,” he said.

“You sound like a sow with twelve piglets!” Naia shot back, rubbing her eyes.

Jax flipped his covers back, grumbling. “It’s time to get up anyway. If we miss our time slot at the dining hall, we’ll be eating with the warders.”

“Yeah, that’s new,” Tae said, pulling his shirt over his head.

I glanced over at him. “How so?”

Tae shrugged. “Fourth Guild always had the last slot. It went healers, infantry, warders, then dragon riders. This year, the last two are reversed. I assume it’s because of the existence of commoners in the guild.”

“But there are commoners in every guild,” I pointed out.

“True. Maybe we have more,” Tae said. “But you’d have to ask command about that.”

“Zander might tell you,” Riven mused, her face perfectly straight.

Jax grunted. “Not likely.”

We finished dressing quickly, strapping on our belts and boots before heading to the dining hall as a group. The air outside was crisp, the sky still tinged with the soft hues of dawn as the castle stirred to life.

As we neared the building, my attention snapped to the right.

A guard passed a piece of parchment to another, the royal seal pressed into the wax.

Interesting.

I slowed my pace, then leaned toward Riven. “Give me five minutes. Grab me some food.”

Riven barely blinked. “Got it.”

As I broke off, I heard Naia ask, “Where is she going?”

“Ashe has a thing for one of the guards,” Riven said smoothly.

I almost laughed, but kept my steps quiet as I moved to the side of the building, slipping around the corner to get close enough to hear the conversation.

I pretended to inspect one of my daggers, angling my body away from them, my ears keenly attuned to their voices.

“I’m telling you,” the first guard muttered, his voice low and tense, “the king has some kind of beast down there.”

“It’s not a beast,” the second guard scoffed. “That prisoner has been there since before my father worked for the castle.”

A prisoner?

My fingers tightened on my dagger.

The first guard snorted. “Then what is he?”

“Some kind of rebel,” the second said. “Though he has to be in his eighties by now.”

“You’ve never seen it, though,” the first one pressed.

“Nobody but the king is allowed in that part of the dungeon,” the second muttered. “And I’m not about to get myself killed trying to find out who it is.”