Page 52 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

Then maybe the Stormborn prophecy wasn’t about choosing destruction.

Maybe it was about choosing redemption.

Even for the ones who’d already fallen.

Chapter

Twelve

The dining hall buzzed with the low hum of early conversation and clinking cutlery, but Thrall Squad sat in a tight cluster near the back, heads low and mood heavy. The long night of research had left us hollow-eyed and aching, and though the food was warm, it tasted like ash on my tongue.

We’d gone to bed only after Cordelle admitted the books had nothing more to give us. The prophecy was maddeningly vague, and if there was a spell capable of unraveling the mind of a bonded king, it remained buried in shadows older than any of us.

Jax leaned forward over his plate, his voice low but alert. “We spoke to Meri last night after you all passed out. She didn’t know anything about a spell, but…” He glanced at Ferrula, who nodded, still chewing a hunk of bread. “There are several poisons that can induce mental instability. Even in someone bonded.”

I frowned. “And the dragon bond can’t help with that?”

Cordelle didn’t look up from his food, pushing his fork slowly through a pile of eggs. “The bond makes us stronger. We all have some level of innate healing because of it. But the strength of that varies depending on the person.” He stabbed at his plateand sighed. “And if the king’s symptoms are worsening, that suggests…”

“That he’s either being repeatedly dosed…” I murmured.

“Or a spell is involved,” Cordelle finished with a grim nod.

The truth of it settled into my bones. If someone was doing this intentionally, then they weren’t just targeting the king; they were targeting the entire realm.

My hand curled around the edge of my mug, warmth bleeding into my fingers, grounding me.

That was when I felt it.

The heat of a glare like acid on my skin.

I looked up?—

And met Perin’s eyes across the room.

He sat with Iron Fang, a few tables over, shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth. And he wasn’t smiling.

He was staring.

His shoulders rigid. Eyes narrowed with something that wasn’t just anger; it was obsession.

He took a sharp, aggressive bite of his bacon, not looking away.

I raised my brow, unwilling to flinch.

Let him stare.

Because if he wanted to finish what he started,

I wouldn’t be the one bleeding.

We finished the last of our breakfast in heavy silence, scraping plates clean more out of habit than hunger. The conversation from earlier still lingered like a storm cloud, talk of poison, of spells, of kings slowly unraveling beneath a crown that might no longer fit. The mood followed us as we filed out of the dining hall, armor clinking softly, boots heavy on stone.

The Ascension Grounds were cool in the morning light, the wind sweeping down from the northern cliffs carrying thescent of fresh earth and dragonscale. We lined up in our usual formation, waiting for Major Ledor to appear at the podium.

But he never got the chance to speak.

Zander broke away from Crownwatch, his cloak trailing behind him like storm-touched fire. His expression was unreadable as he crossed the yard, his pace quick, direct, with that edge of tension that made every step feel like a prelude to bad news.