Page 51

“I thought you enjoyed his company.” His brow lifted. “You did seek comfort in his presence. Late at night, might I add.”

I was starting to wonder if Archer could still hear my thoughts, because how else would he know about Rok and Damien?

“He’s hiding something,” I said. The amusement vanished from Archer’s face. “I catch fragments,” I went on. “When his mind slips. Whatever it is, it devours him. But I can’t get close enough to understand what. ”

Archer’s jaw tightened. “Damien hides everything. He hears more than anyone and still can’t keep his own thoughts clean.” His voice dropped, cold and sure. “He’s dangerous, Sev.”

“I know. But this isn’t just about secrets.” My voice softened. “He says I’ll never forgive him. And Damien’s done a lot of unforgivable things, and he’s never once felt guilty about any of them.”

“Getting close to him is reckless,” he said after a long pause. “A ward is only as strong as the bond between those it divides. So tell me, how badly do you want to know?”

I hesitated. “What if…” My throat tightened. “What if he killed Malachi?”

Archer said nothing at first. Then he stepped closer, voice low. “Damien is cruel, but he’s not reckless. He knows you can hear him, and he’s using it to pull you in.”

“Why?” I asked. “He shielded me. Forced me to save someone he threw off his dragon. And whatever this is, he’s convinced I’ll never forgive him.”

“He won’t tell you outright,” Archer said. “Mind readers never do. They twist the truth in ways you don’t notice until it’s already inside you. But you have two choices now.”

I swallowed. “I can’t even talk to him without him accusing me of flirting. Which I am not.”

Archer’s jaw tightened again. “If you need to get close to him to keep your sanity, then do it. That’s your choice.”

I studied him for a moment. “You wouldn’t care? If I got close to Damien?”

His gaze lifted to mine. “I can’t care.”

“I want you to.”

His mouth parted slightly, then closed. “I won’t risk you getting hurt. Or dragged into another trial for treason. I care, Severyn. That’s the problem.”

“Our bond is gone. ”

“Yet we still worry for each other,” he murmured. “Maybe the bond had nothing to do with it.”

Before I could respond, Amria returned, a gown draped carefully over her arms. Black lace shimmered in the firelight, its sleeves dusted with tiny crystals like stars scattered across night.

“What’s more chaotic than black lace?” she asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Archer muttered.

“All right, Archer. Go put on your big boy suit. Severyn needs to embody chaos, and she can’t exactly do that with you lurking.”

“My estate,” he said coolly. “I’ll stay right here.”

He stepped back and folded his arms as Amria helped me into the dress. True to his word, he didn’t look away. The lace skimmed across my skin like spider silk, and his jaw flexed. When he shifted in his seat, one leg crossing with a quiet grunt of restraint, I didn’t dare meet his stare.

And I pretended not to notice. But the heat rising in my cheeks gave me away.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, fingers grazing the black lace at my hips.

Archer’s gaze swept over me, slow and sharp. “It’s… revealing,” he muttered, voice strained.

I turned deliberately, letting the slit show. “Is that a complaint or a compliment?”

His jaw flexed. “Yes.”

Amria cleared her throat, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at her lips. “Pretty sure I left the tea to boil. Time for me to disappear.” She slipped out, her laughter echoing down the hall.

I stepped in close, the hem of my gown brushing the toe of his boot. “Good. Because this is the only thing I’m wearing to a party full of Serpents. ”

His breath hitched. “You’re playing with fire, heir.”

I leaned in, my lips grazing the shell of his ear. “I love to play with fire.”

His gaze darkened. “Stay here. I need to change.”

“Oh, so you can watch me, but I can’t watch you?”

He gave a crooked smile. “I’m not as graceful as you. But sure, if you’re that curious, I’ll indulge.”

We crossed the estate in a few quick strides until we reached his room. Without a word, he opened the wardrobe and pulled out a white dress shirt.

I didn’t look away as he stripped off the black undershirt and his leathers. The fabric clung for a beat before falling, revealing a landscape of scars carved across his back.

I hadn’t seen them before. Or maybe I’d never let myself look.

“Who did that to you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Shadows don’t get beaten out,” he muttered, not quite meeting my eyes. “Besides, I’m enjoying the way you gawk.”

My throat burned. He didn’t need to say it, I already knew those scars were from his father.

His shoulders rolled back, muscles flexing as he slid on the dress shirt. He moved with maddening precision, rolling the sleeves to his elbows, then buttoning from the middle out. My gaze followed every motion, from the open collar to the hard line of his throat, to the tight tick in his jaw.

“You’re staring,” he said, still facing the wardrobe.

“I’m observing,” I said.

“Same thing.” He tucked in the shirt, slow and smooth.

“It’s not my fault you look like a walking sin.” I folded my arms, trying to hide the flush warming my neck.

Finally, he turned. “Then stop looking like temptation wrapped in lace. ”

I tilted my head. “You asked for chaos.”

“I didn’t know it would come with slits up to your hips.” His gaze dragged over me. “I swear Amria’s trying to marry you off.”

“Good,” I said, voice light. “Then you’ll have to stay close enough to make them think I’m already taken.”

A smirk curved his lips. “That was always the plan.”

It was hard to ignore the flutter in my chest. “How do we get there?”

“We portal,” Archer said simply.

I frowned. “Where is Wrathi, exactly?”

“South of Tyvern. You might see Kamila again.”

“Okay? And how am I supposed to portal somewhere I’ve never even seen? I don’t know what Wrathi looks like.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Your quell will.”

I blinked. “How?”

“Flame remembers,” Archer murmured. “Close your eyes. Your grandmother’s flame will know the way.”

I scrunched my nose and held out my palm. Fire flared up in response, familiar and wild. “Now what?”

“Now you survive,” he said, stepping closer. “Serpent gatherings aren’t parties. They’re battlefields disguised in silk and expensive wine. Don’t wander. Don’t speak unless I’m beside you. And when I say stay at my side, I mean it.”

A faint smile tugged at my lips. “I’ve heard stories.”

He didn’t smile back. “Then thank the Gods your father kept you away from them.”

I turned back to the flame, channeling everything I could—every memory, every whisper of bloodline and name buried in my veins. The fire pulsed, then coiled, a vortex unraveling from its center.

“Take me to Wrathi,” I whispered.

It felt absurd—until the flame answered. The magic stirred like it had been waiting. It caught the air around us, twisted it, seized our bodies and minds like it had ears and intent. The fire didn’t feel like warmth. It felt like momentum, like memory cracking open.

I didn’t picture hearths or flickering candles. I thought of Veravine. I thought of my mother.

And the flame hurled us through time and space.

We landed hard on a cobblestone path in front of a monstrous stone estate. Driftwood rails framed a sweeping staircase that climbed toward a blood-red door. Two griffin guards stood flanking it, their obsidian armor catching the last breath of daylight.

A silver archway ushered us into a courtyard where a few dozen civilians and Serpents mingled beneath a dusk-painted sky.

Music spilled into the air, it was something between seductive and strange.

At the center, a half-clothed woman danced to the rhythm, golden chains swaying from her hips, her voice slipping between the notes like an enchantment. It reminded me of Giesel’s power.

Atop a staircase carved from black rock stood Hadrian and his wife, Motava.

Hadrian looked as if he’d stepped out of a portrait: beard freshly trimmed, his navy coat lined with silk, every edge tailored to perfection. Motava wore a silver pantsuit cut to the bone, the fabric shimmering like starlight. Her blood-red nails tapped lazily against the railing.

“Ah, the shadow ruler and his heir,” Hadrian called. Embers floated lazily around him, like his flame was too potent to fully contain.

“Flame,” I whispered to Archer. “Hadrian has a flame quell.”

“Stay calm,” he murmured at my ear. “Accusing a man of adultery at his own party doesn’t start gossip, it starts wars.”

Hadrian extended a gloved hand with a grand flourish. “Welcome to Wrathi. ”

A server approached, bowing low before offering us leaf-shaped goblets brimming with an amber liquid.

“It’s homegrown cider wine,” Hadrian said. “Not as refined as Ravensla’s delicacies, I admit. Sadly, I don’t have as many trade agreements as your father, Archer.”

I took a cautious sip. The citrus hit first and it was deceptively sweet, but then came the fire. The alcohol scraped down my throat like a blade wrapped in silk.

“It’s lovely,” I said aloud, forcing a smile. Then I leaned in closer to Archer and whispered, “This tastes like straight alcohol.” I swallowed hard, fighting a gag.

He tilted his head, amused. “I don’t mind seeing you a little reckless.”

A familiar face stepped up behind Hadrian with a grand bow. “I’m Caius,” the man said. “Heir of Wrathi. Although... I believe we’ve met once before, haven’t we?”

He bore a striking resemblance to Ellison with the same auburn hair, but the resemblance only deepened the unease in my gut. Ellison had told me Hadrian wasn’t his true father. Motava had been unfaithful.

“Caius wields a rare quell,” Hadrian said proudly. “The power of invisibility. And his flame traces back to the Heitious dragon line—the only purebred flame dragon in recorded history.”

“Your whole family wields flame?” I asked, eyeing Caius more closely.