Page 48 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

Because we had all just witnessed it.

The King of Warriath…

Was unraveling.

Theron’s jaw was as tight as steel, his expression carved from patience stretched too thin. His usual polished demeanor cracked at the edges, a single muscle ticking beneath his eye as he reached for the king’s arm.

“This way, Father,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice still smooth enough to pass for calm, if you didn’t know him.

The king staggered slightly, muttering under his breath about betrayal and dragon blood, his crown slipping further askew. But Theron steadied him with a firm hand and began guiding him back toward the castle with quiet insistence.

“I will handle the disciplinary issues,” Theron called over his shoulder, loud enough for the guild to hear. “All infractions will be reviewed under royal oversight.”

Zander stood motionless at the base of the podium, his dark eyes following his brother and father without moving. Not a word passed between them.

The king continued to rant in fragments as he disappeared through the arched gate.

“Whispers in my court… fire in the eggs… traitors with silver tongues… I see them all…”

The guards followed in stiff silence, eyes carefully averted from the madness unraveling right before them.

As the castle doors groaned shut behind the procession, the silence on the Ascension Grounds held heavy and brittle?—

Like a kingdom balanced on a blade’s edge.

And we all knew…

It wouldn’t take much to tip it.

Zander moved quietly to Major Ledor’s side, his head lowering as he whispered something too soft to catch. The major gave the smallest of nods, his jaw hardening as his eyes swept the crowd, already moving to reassert control over the shaken squads.

Then Zander turned and made his way to us, his steps heavy with more than exhaustion.

“That was…” I began cautiously, still stunned by what we’d all just witnessed.“Something.”

Zander’s face was drawn tight, the shadows under his eyes deeper than usual. “My father is no longer stable,” he said flatly. “Theron is trying to keep him together until Dorian returns.My brother will have to take control of the throne, at least temporarily, until we figure out what’s causing the paranoia.”

Cordelle, ever the quiet scholar, reached beneath his chestplate and pulled out a small, weathered book. “I was reading up on some dark spells,” he murmured, flipping it open with practiced ease. “There are a few that amplify fear. Others that cause illusions or manipulate memory. There are poisons too, subtle ones that mimic madness. But a healer would know more about those.”

Teren rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes dark with unease. “Things are worse here than I thought. If someone’s trying to destabilize the throne…”

He didn’t need to finish.

The implication was clear.

Zander shook his head, his voice low. “Dorian is well-liked. Trusted. He could take the throne easily if my father… fell.”

Teren nodded, but slowly, his gaze sharp. “If he died, sure. But if he’s still alive and mad, that’s different. That’ll have every highborn in Warriath scrambling for regency. He can name anyone as an interim ruler. It doesn’t have to be a blood relative.”

I swallowed hard, the reality of that sinking in like a stone.

“Could that really happen?” I asked.

Zander nodded once, grim. “Yes. And if it does…” He looked out across the grounds toward the sealed castle gates.

“Then Warriath becomes a battlefield of ambition in the midst of a war.”

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