Page 26

The cook brought out a steaming bowl of beet soup and a loaf of fresh sourdough. I stared at it, blank, wondering if he’d asked for this himself—for his birthday.

The silence pressed in until I broke it.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

He leaned back, lifting his dark drink to his lips. “The same reason you didn’t.”

I dipped my spoon into the soup, my voice quieter now. “Potato and beet?”

“Your favorite,” he said without hesitation. “Isn’t it?”

My hand dropped the spoon with a sharp clang. “You tell me to stay away from you. And yet you have Amria plant flowers—flowers I grew for Klaus’s grave. You have my favorite meal prepared. I don’t know what the hell you want. ”

His gaze darkened. “I don’t want to strip you of who you are, Severyn. The Night will bleed you dry until your blood runs gray. This…” his voice tightened, “this is the least I can do.”

Then something shimmered at the edge of my vision. I looked down. His ankles were glowing.

“What is that?” I asked. “Your socks.”

He followed my gaze and groaned. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Amria. She replaced every button on my suits with emeralds. Now this.”

I stirred the soup like it wasn’t the funniest thing I’d seen all week. “I kind of like them,” I muttered, hiding my smile behind a slice of bread as I dipped it into the soup.

His brow arched. “I can’t walk around with glowing feet. That’s not a power. That’s a cry for help.”

“Nothing says Shadow Lord like starlight-woven socks,” I said dryly.

“Cashmere,” he corrected. “Only the softest fabric in Verdonia. Finish your soup before it gets cold.”

I groaned. “Should I be worried about my titling?”

He leaned back in his chair. “After dinner, we’ll work on your shadow-wielding. I won’t go easy on you, Severyn.”

Great. Glowing ex-lovers and blackout powers. What could possibly go wrong?

I laughed under my breath. “I suppose the Serpents want proof I’m worthy of being your heir. That I can wield shadows.”

“You are worthy,” he said.

After dinner, he led me onto the silver balcony. Gold and sapphire veins laced the railings, catching the last glint of dying light. Above us, stars bled through a sky inked in clouds .

Archer pointed to an unlit lantern near the edge. “This is how I trained the students at Serpent. If you can take the light, you can wield shadows.”

I focused on the melted tip of the candle, reaching for it. The wind tugged at my gown.

I understood my flame. I understood it even when it burned out of control. But shadows were different. They were damp and heavy, pressing against my lungs, clinging like a second skin. When I summoned them, they didn’t obey. They suffocated.

And Rok still had some of my powers.

“Maybe I’m not the light in this darkness,” I whispered. “Ciaran gave me shadows, but they aren’t natural to me.”

Archer didn’t move. His voice, when it came, felt distant. “A shadow shield is easier to maintain. Unless you’re facing light.”

I leaned against the railing, staring at the crescent mark folded into my palm. “I have no Night blood in me. Why… why did Naraic choose Klaus?”

“Do you know who Veravine’s dragon was?”

My head snapped up. “Naraic.”

“And my grandfather, Theodore, rode Ciaran. You don’t need to be a Seeker to see our families have been tied for decades.”

“Do you regret keeping that lindworm?”

“Things would’ve ended very differently if I hadn’t.”

“How?”

He leaned back slightly. “If I hadn’t found you with the snake, it would’ve been the Summer students in a death match. And Damien... would be against you. Damien would be alive.”

“I would never ask you to choose between us. My life or his.”

“If you’d won,” Archer said quietly, “my father would’ve kept you from me. You’d have been forbidden from ever seeing me again.”

“Is that why you kept the lindworm? ”

“Partly.” He looked away. “And yet... now that you’re here, I feel like I’ve taken something from you.”

“You didn’t,” I said softly. “I’m supposed to be here. I just don’t know how our grandparents did it, yours ruling in the dusk, mine in the daylight. How did they survive that kind of distance?”

“I think you already know,” Archer murmured. His gaze flicked to my palm.

“Ciaran gave you the choice. I would’ve hidden the serpent and let you choose. Every hundred hatchlings, a dragon’s root fractures, and a bloodline splits. That’s why Naraic carries flame, and Ciaran carries shadow. Ciaran hatched first.”

“Our grandparents severed that root,” I whispered. “I inherited my grandmother’s flame. But the shadows…” I flexed my fingers. “They weren’t mine. They were given.”

“Ciaran’s true power was always shadow,” Archer said. “Naraic and Ciaran’s ancestors all carried shadows.”

“And Naraic’s flame came from Veravine?”

He nodded. “His first rider. But Gemini dragons were never meant to be split. One shouldn’t carry two powers across two riders. When the root divides, it births a new bloodline. New rules. New bonds. If Naraic hadn’t been the hundredth hatchling, my grandfather would’ve bonded with both.”

My chest tightened. “So Ciaran bonded to me by choice?”

“She saw you,” Archer said. “And she gave you shadows so she could choose you. And Naraic… he can’t choose me.”

“Why not?”

“Because his flame is antecedent,” Archer said. “He carries it only because Veravine died.”

“So… should Naraic give you flame?”

He shook his head. “He can’t. Antecedent powers are only passed when a rider dies.”

I frowned. “You lost me at ‘dragon root’ and ‘bloodline.’ ”

“Gemini dragons weren’t meant to split powers,” Archer said. “When they do, they leave complicated legacies like ours. Ciaran will only bond with a shadow-wielder. Naraic, only with someone from your bloodline.”

“But Malachi bonded with Astoria. My mother’s wyvern. I thought dragon bonds were tied to blood only?”

“They are,” Archer said. “But it’s deeper than blood. It’s about roots.”

“Roots?”

He nodded. “Think of a dragon root like a family tree. Power doesn’t just follow blood. It follows the lines beneath it. When Ciaran gave you shadow, she made you part of her root… and mine. You’re bonded to both dragons now.”

My brain hurt from the history lesson. “Well,” I muttered, “I guess I’d better learn to wield a shadow.”

“No one leaves this balcony,” he said. “Not until I see one.”

I tilted my head, holding his gaze. “Is this the version of you I’m supposed to hate? The demanding one?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, a ribbon of shadow uncoiled from his palm, winding around my wrist and guiding my hand upward, palm exposed.

“We’re going to quell-share,” he said. Then his crescent scar brushed mine.

Cold spilled beneath my skin as his magic slipped into me like black silk weaving through bone. We’d never shared shadows before. It felt like being struck by lightning and kissed by the wind in the same breath.

He stepped back. My shadow followed, stretching with him, curling like smoke across stone.

I gripped the railing, shivering.

“How does it feel?” he asked softly, dark lashes low over his eyes. “Quell-sharing shadows, I mean. ”

“Like drowning,” I whispered. “But being resuscitated every time my heart stops.”

“Good,” he said. “Now light the lanterns.”

I glanced at the wick in the corner of the balcony just as he gave the thread between us a subtle tug.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, like I was being dragged underwater by something ancient and merciless.

The lantern sputtered. Then every light in the city blinked out.

“Your quell seems off,” he murmured.

I wanted to tell him the truth, that Rok was still borrowing my power, that our bargain in Malvoria hadn’t ended.

My back slammed into the railing. I threw up my arms, breath sharp and uneven, and then the flame answered. Ash burst from my fingers, wild and untamed. Across from me, he lifted his hand. Starlight flared in his palm, and one by one, the lanterns flickered back to life.

“I’ve never trained my shadows before,” I said, voice cracking. “At the last trial… all I did was steal the light.”

He stepped closer and brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Why do you have a new scar?” His voice stayed low. “This was healed weeks ago.”

I pulled back, brushing his hand away. “Malvoria initiation.”

His posture shifted. “Rok cut you?”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “It’s over.”

His voice hardened. “I’ll kill him.”

“No,” I whispered. “What happened to me there doesn’t matter.”

But that one sentence told him everything. There was more. And he knew it.

“It matters to me.”

I hesitated. “Let’s just say I didn’t rise in the ranks. ”

His voice dropped. “I need you to tell me exactly where he fucking touched or hurt you. I need to make sure he pays for it.”

I looked down. “He was the first to know I was a Serpent. After he branded me.”

“After?” His voice was tight now, strained around the edges.

“I’ve healed.”

“Where did he brand you?” His voice cut. “I didn’t see it when we...”

“It doesn’t matter,” I hissed. “None of it matters. That place is horrible. Something needs to change.”

A wild flicker crossed his face. “It matters to me when a worthless guard touches something that is mine.”

“Yours?”

He reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together, shadow to shadow.

“My greatest suffering began the moment I couldn’t care for you the way I wanted. I failed you.”

Then, of course, the bond intruded.

“This is tragic, Severyn.”

I shut it out. Buried it. But part of me, some desperate part, wondered if the false voice could be Klaus. Because all this talk of dragons and bonds had my thoughts wandering. Maybe it wasn’t someone from the institute at all. I had seen a ripper beast masking Klaus.

Could he still be alive?

“I need a distraction,” I murmured. “Tell me about your time at the academy, when you were a student. Was it hard learning your shadows?”

His jaw ticked. “Not really. What do you want to know?”

I hesitated, then asked, “Was Klaus your best friend?”

He gave the faintest nod. “He was my only friend. When I bonded with Ciaran, it took us weeks to figure it out.”

“Why? ”

A flicker of memory softened his gaze. “He’d kill me for admitting this, but Klaus was a flirt. A really bad one. I heard him in my head trying to charm a professor into bumping his shield grade up. It was… painful.”

I laughed, leaning into the railing. “And you? Were you the Academy’s heartthrob?”

“Who I was before I met you doesn’t matter.”

I arched a brow. “That sounds like a yes.”

He didn’t deny it. Just tilted his head, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sure you want to know what I was like back then?”

“Only if it’ll completely ruin my perception of you.”

“Oh, it would,” he said, voice low and amused. “But I think you’d enjoy it.”

My breath hitched. I looked away first. “You know,” I muttered, “maybe this is a good thing. Starting over. Actually getting to know each other. Like finding out you were the reckless golden boy of the Academy.”

He leaned in slightly. “Not golden, Blanche. Shadow-born.”

I pressed into Archer’s side. “Happy birthday,” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me right away, just exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the city below. When he finally turned, his eyes were silver-washed and soft. “That’s not fair,” he murmured.

“What isn’t?”

“You saying that first. Now I owe you something equally devastating.”

I smiled. “Try me.”

“You were never part of the plan, Blanche. But if I could rewrite the stars, I’d burn the whole sky just to make sure you were.”

A breath caught between us.

“Happy birthday,” he said.