Page 172 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

Zander tilted his head slightly, his lavender eyes cool and measured as he regarded his older brother like a puzzle that had suddenly stopped making sense.

“I have no desire to be king,” he replied evenly. “Both you and Dorian would ascend before that burden was placed on me. So, tell me, Theron… why have you made this accusation?”

That was when Theron’s gaze slid to me.

I felt it before I saw it. The heat. The loathing.

His voice turned to poison.

“You allowed that unclean commoner to use her blood to heal you. You let her touch you, merge her filth with royal blood. And now…” his lip curled, “you follow her around like a lost puppy.”

My heart stilled.

All across the grounds, heads turned, toward me. Toward Thrall Squad. Toward Kaelith, who loomed in the skies above like a silent sentinel.

How had he found out?

That night, the blood, the healing, had only been witnessed by people I trusted.

But Remy could find out. If he wanted to.

I swallowed hard, feeling the ground shift beneath my feet.

Remy wouldn’t.

Would he?

He could have found out. That much I knew. Whether he told Theron… that was another question.

Zander’s posture didn’t change, but his voice dropped low, threaded with warning. “Watch your next words carefully, brother.”

Theron sneered. “You’ve allowed her to become your weakness. You’ve given her power she doesn’t deserve.”

Kaelith’s voice blazed into my mind like dragon fire.He’s wrong. He fears what he cannot command. And I will not be commanded.

Neither would I.

And if Theron wanted a war?

He’d just called down the storm.

The sharp, sudden laughter broke through the tension like glass shattering on stone.

Heads turned instantly.

The royal messenger, the one who had just handed the major the missive, now stood at the edge of the platform, cloak billowing slightly in the breeze, a smirk stretched wide across his face.

“The throne is so predictable,” he sneered, his voice carrying easily across the stunned crowd. “Our leader said you’d turn oneach other. All I did was give Theron a fake message. And here you are, like blind dogs fighting over scraps.”

Every muscle in my body locked tight.

Theron’s face went crimson, his mouth twisting into fury and humiliation. “Apprehend him!” he barked, jabbing a finger toward the messenger.

But the man didn’t run.

He moved—too fast.

From beneath his cape, he pulled a small crossbow, already loaded with a frost-tipped bolt.