Page 163 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

Ferrula continued, “Even among those who choose to fight… there’s danger. I’ve seen warriors fall prey to the very men they fought beside. Brotherhood doesn’t always mean safety.”

Jax’s hand curled into a fist against the table. “Anyone who touched you is dead,” he said, voice tight with barely leashed fury.

Ferrula looked over at him and offered a small, rueful smile. Despite her shaved head and the scar that ran like a silver strike along the left side of her face, she was striking. Her strength made her beautiful.

“There was one who tried to end it,” she said softly. “A warrior woman named Kashva. She lost her sister… executed bythe king of Diria for refusing to give herself to one of his lords. That warrior rallied the people. She fought harder than anyone, and she became more than just a leader, she became a symbol of survival.”

Ferrula looked me dead in the eye. “A figurehead is essential to a coup. And for a time… it worked.”

I swallowed. “What happened?”

“She was assassinated,” Ferrula said, her voice hollow. “Poisoned. It’s believed she was killed by someone close to her. Someone she trusted. Her death ended the fight. The rebellion shattered.”

The table went silent.

I nodded slowly, letting the words settle like stones in my gut.

“You think they’ll try to kill me,” I said.

Ferrula didn’t flinch.

“I know they will,” she replied. “If you rise too far, they’ll either put a crown on your head… or a knife in your back.”

And the truth in her words hung heavy in the air between us.

Because in this world, power didn’t just corrupt.

It marked you.

And once marked… you never stopped being hunted.

The table was silent.

Still.

Heavy with the weight of Ferrula’s story, of Diria’s brutal truths, and the memory of a rebellion silenced by betrayal.

But Jax, my big, brash, brawler of a rider-brother, sat at Ferrula’s side, chewing on a gravy-soaked biscuit like it had personally offended him. His muscles were wound tight, shoulders bunched beneath his armor like he was ready to murder someone. There was no joke in his expression, only rage, and something quieter beneath it—something protective.

I knew what he saw in Ferrula’s words. The implication not said. That once, before her blade, before the scars, before the steel in her spine, someone had failed to protect her.

And Jax wasn’t the kind of man who forgot those things.

Ferrula stared at him for a moment, unmoving. Calculating.

Then, without any warning or softness, she said, “Jax.”

His head snapped toward her, fire still in his eyes, until they met hers.

And just like that, his gaze softened.

“What, babe?” he asked, rough around the edges but trying.

Ferrula didn’t blink. “You may perform cunnilingus on me later.”

Jax choked.

A half-mangled piece of biscuit launched from his mouth and hit the edge of his plate with a wet splat. Cordelle immediately ducked his head, eyes glued to the parchment in his hands like the words there might save him from dying of secondhand embarrassment. His cheeks flushed a deep-crimson.