Page 52 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)

Rhydor

The solar smelled of ash and oil, the remnants of half-burned candles and the steel polish Thariac never seemed to wash from his gloves.

The narrow chamber had been a map room once, its walls painted with constellations of ink-stained stars.

Now every surface was scarred from my pacing, boot leather against stone, impatience digging grooves into the floor.

I braced my hands against the long table, its lacquer chipped from years of planning wars that never stayed finished.

Torian hovered at my shoulder, steady as always, his quill scratching notes into a slim ledger as if a plan could be bound into parchment alone.

The other veterans filled the shadows beyond, their presence grounding me more than I would admit aloud.

“We are outnumbered.” Thariac’s growl was low, meant to scrape against nerves and force a man to react.

His shoulders looked broader than the room deserved, his jaw set like the anvil he trained his soldiers on.

“This is not a battlefield, Highness. It is a nest. You don’t beat a nest of hornets by standing still in it. ”

I straightened, letting the silence stretch until the steam from the braziers coiled between us like smoke ready to choke.

“You forget,” I said, my voice a controlled rasp, “that a dragon doesn’t always burn what threatens him. Sometimes, he teaches it to bow.”

Torian lifted his eyes at that, approving, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if he doubted how far I would carry the metaphor.

“Perimeter,” I told him. “Hold the galleries. If the Masks advance from the left, you call retreat. If they advance from the right, you buy me seconds, no more. Seconds are all I need.”

He dipped his quill, wrote the instructions down as though one day we might survive long enough for someone else to read them.

I turned to the veterans. “Brenn, distract. You know their fondness for humor. Use it. Trip them in their own arrogance.”

The redhead grinned, teeth flashing like he’d been waiting to be told to cause mischief in the middle of a war. “With pleasure.”

“Draven,” I continued, meeting the blond’s knowing smirk. “Charm them. Turn the courtiers. Every ally in a mask is one less blade raised.”

He toyed with the small medallion at his throat, the one he claimed was from some shrine he’d defiled and I suspected was the only holy thing he owned. “A room full of eager ears? I’ll make them sing for me.”

“Korrath.” My voice dipped lower. The one-eyed veteran stood straighter, cane tapping once against the stone. “Watch. Nothing slips by you. If they breathe wrong, if they so much as glance at Elowyn, I want to know before the whisper finishes leaving their tongue.”

The man inclined his head, his blind side angled away from me. “They’ll think me half-gone,” he said. “But I see more than any of them trust. I’ll mark them.”

Thariac crossed his arms, unimpressed. “And while we play at courtiers, their law sharpens the knife. They will Mask her, Prince. You think you can outwit centuries of ritual with a smirk and a favor token?”

The weight of the token pressed cold against my chest where I’d pocketed it earlier, the slim disk carved with Lunareth’s sigil of balance and falsity. It felt like carrying a live coal, burning not skin but pride.

“I don’t think,” I told him, “I know. They built this cage of rules to keep themselves untouchable. Fine. I will chain them with their own laws until their wrists bleed.”

The room stilled. Even Thariac’s grumble folded into silence.

I let my gaze sweep the chamber, taking in every scarred stone, every gleam of armor, every expectant eye.

My blood thrummed with the old rhythm of war, but this was no battlefield of ash and fire.

This was politics sharpened into knives.

And the woman at its center, my wife, my curse, my salvation, stood on the line they wanted erased.

I pulled the token free, turning it once in my hand before slipping it into my sleeve. A single coin of law, a single chance to stall. It was all I had.

Then I drafted the note.

The ink bled darker than it should have, thick and deliberate. The words were short, precise: Stand where I can reach you.

No ornament. No plea. A command disguised as warning.

Torian raised a brow when I slid it across the table. “She won’t like that.”

“She doesn’t have to,” I said, tying the parchment with black cord. “She only has to live long enough to hate me for it.”

The courier slipped through the door with the message. My heart beat once, hard, as if it had flung itself against a cage.

“Positions,” I ordered.

The veterans moved, shadows peeling from the walls, each man and woman folding into the narrow hallways and galleries of Shadowspire.

Brenn whistled once, careless, before vanishing into the western corridor where the courtiers liked to linger.

Draven smoothed his hair, the predator in him already scenting gossip like blood.

Korrath’s cane tapped a warning rhythm as he melted into the upper gallery.

Torian adjusted his ledger, lips pressed into the line of a man who knew the plan was foolish and knew he would follow it anyway.

Only Thariac lingered. His voice came low, meant for me alone. “Your father would have razed this palace and taken her home.”

I met his stare. “My father is dead. And my wife is not going to be paraded in chains.”

He gave a curt nod, the soldier in him conceding, even if the man still doubted. Then he followed the others.

I was alone with the braziers and the scent of burning cedar.

For a long moment, I let my forehead rest against the cool stone of the window.

The city below stretched in endless twilight, silver mist coiling around spires, banners snapping with whispers of power that weren’t mine to command.

The Shroud trembled faintly tonight. As if even the veil knew something had shifted in its court.

My chest ached with something I refused to name.

I pushed away from the stone. My boots rang against the floor as I stepped into the hall, shadow swallowing me whole.

Ahead, the corridors branched like veins of a dying heart. Somewhere beyond them, Elowyn stood where I had told her to. Somewhere, the Masks whispered her name like a sentence already written.

And I knew, with a clarity that bit into bone, that when they came for her, I would put myself between their law and her skin.

Even if it burned both of us.