Page 93 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

I turned to Thrall Squad. “Jax. Take them back to the barracks.”

Jax didn’t move at first, his gaze hard and locked on Remy like he expected this entire thing to be a trap. But after a long moment, he gave me a stiff nod, grabbing Ferrula by the elbow and muttering for the others to follow. They all looked reluctant, but obeyed.

I watched them go, the back of Jax’s head stiff with tension until they disappeared into the shadows of the yard.

Then the three of us turned toward the castle.

The entrance doors loomed ahead, tall and ornate, carved with dragons and flame and the history of a crown that now sat too heavily on a crumbling king. Guards gave us a curious glance but didn’t stop us. Remy walked ahead like he belonged, because he did, and I fell into step between him and Zander as we passed into the dimly lit halls.

Stone arches curved above us. The scent of parchment and steel hung in the air. Footsteps echoed against polished floors as we moved deeper into the heart of the palace.

We moved through the castle’s winding halls, the silence between us filled with many unspoken things. The tension clung to me like mist, and I couldn’t decide if it was mine or theirs, as if I were waiting for another fight or a revelation I didn’t want.

Remy’s room was on the second floor, above the battlements and higher than Zander’s private chambers. Normally, that placement alone meant something, status, influence, proximity to power. The closer you were to the throne, the higher yourroom. Apparently, Remy had climbed more than one kind of ladder.

When he opened the door, I felt like I’d stepped into another world.

The space was opulent, every corner of it steeped in luxury. A massive carved bed dominated the center, the headboard etched with the symbol of the Flame Guard, gilded and polished. Rich crimson and black drapery pooled around the arched windows, casting the room in warm shadows. A silver-plated armor stand gleamed in the corner, and the fireplace burned low, scented with some expensive incense I didn’t recognize but associated with Remy instantly.

I blinked at the contrast, it was a far cry from the cramped, stone-cold barracks of the Order where we used to steal moments in the dark and whisper plans we barely understood.

Zander glanced around the room with mild disdain but said nothing.

Remy crossed to a side desk near the balcony, where a neat stack of parchment and a heavy dragon-headed quill sat waiting. He dropped into the chair and began writing, the sharp strokes of ink loud in the quiet.

When he finished, he folded the parchment with practiced precision, sealed it with wax, and pressed his insignia into the stamp without hesitation.

Then he opened the door and spoke to the guard outside. “Fetch the king’s courier. Now.”

The guard saluted and vanished down the hallway.

Remy closed the door and turned back to us, his expression unreadable.

I crossed my arms. “What do we do once the courier has the message?”

Remy and Zander responded at the exact same time.

“We see where he takes it.”

Their voices overlapped perfectly, the same grim certainty in both.

I looked between them.

This was about who was giving the orders… and if the king was even one of them.

The private courier returned not long after the guard disappeared, his boots barely making a sound on the stone floor. He entered the room with a bow so fluid it seemed more like muscle memory than respect. His eyes flicked between the three of us, lingering a second too long on me before settling on Remy.

His fingers twitched as Remy handed him the sealed message, just a flicker, like a nervous tic he was trained to hide. But I saw it. So did Zander.

Without a word, the courier turned and left, the wax still warm beneath his gloved hand.

We followed immediately, stepping into the corridor with silent urgency. Zander moved like a shadow, his eyes narrowing on the man ahead.

“I can blur my image,” he said under his breath. “Dark Fire can muffle light, make me blend in.”

Before I could respond, he was gone, still present, but faint, like he’d become part of the torchlight itself. His steps made no sound, and his outline flickered at the edges, like heat over stone.

The courier moved swiftly down the halls, glancing back once near the stairwell. We all froze.