Page 14

FOURTEEN

EVRYN

E vryn kept her hand near her knife the entire walk through the pass.

The world had narrowed to tension and terrain—her bootfalls, the occasional grunt from Lucien ahead, and the creeping certainty that she was being led into something much bigger than him.

She didn’t trust him. Not fully. Not anymore.

Not after the messenger crow.

Not after that little slip— I haven’t killed her yet.

And especially not after the way he avoided her eyes every time she looked too close.

He knew more than he was saying. About her. About the Queen. About this place they were headed. He walked like a man who had memorized every turn of the road and every trap along it. That made him valuable.

It didn’t make him safe.

She didn’t bother asking again where they were going. The answers came slow with Lucien. Half-truths braided with silence.

But when they passed the veil-marked rock—a shard of onyx etched with sigils older than either of them—she felt it ripple through her.

Something ancient and watching had just noticed her.

And it didn’t blink.

They crossed a bend, the mountain split open ahead, and there it was.

A ring of blackstone columns buried in silver ash, glowing faintly with residual ward magic.

The summit.

She hadn’t known what she expected.

Definitely not the two people waiting for them.

One leaned against a stone archway with the kind of stillness that came from long wars and longer regrets.

He was massive—towering, broad as a damn wall, arms crossed over his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them if they weren’t ready to crush something.

His skin bore the sheen of battle and time.

Storm-gray eyes, ringed faintly with gold, stared her down like she was a weapon being weighed in a warrior’s hand.

Calder Grimhart.

Eamon had showed her pictures and legends of the bear shifters, and he matched the prince’s description to a T.

The other presence was fire coiled into grace.

A woman stood at the center of the circle, poised like a blade.

Her ember-black hair was braided in looping knots that whispered discipline, control.

Her skin shimmered faintly with an undercurrent of bronze-scale beneath flesh.

Eyes gold-flecked and sharp as whitefire caught Evryn’s immediately and did not look away .

Seraphine Drakar. The Dragon-blooded heir from her books.

So this was what royalty looked like.

Power. Poise. Calculated intensity that made Evryn’s skin itch.

“Didn’t think you’d show, Umbraclaw,” Seraphine said, arms folded. Her voice was velvet dipped in steel.

Lucien didn’t react. “Didn’t think you’d still be standing in one place this long.”

Seraphine’s lip twitched, just once.

“And this,” she said, eyes drifting to Evryn, “must be the reason you’re pissing off your mother?”

Evryn bristled.

She wasn’t anyone’s reason .

Lucien didn’t speak.

So Evryn did.

“Evryn. Not ‘this.’”

Seraphine’s gaze flicked back to hers. “Evryn. Right. The girl with the mark. Yes, Lucien sent word about you a few day or so back.”

“And teeth,” Evryn said, voice cool.

Seraphine’s smile was faint, but it reached her eyes. “Good.”

Calder shifted slightly, finally stepping forward. His voice was deep. Slow. Measured.

“Show us.”

Evryn blinked. “What?”

“The Mark,” he clarified. “If you’re going to walk into the summit with our blood, we need to know it’s real. ”

Lucien moved before she could speak, stepping between them. “You’re not branding her like a prize mare.”

“She can speak for herself,” Seraphine said mildly.

Evryn exhaled, stepping around Lucien.

She tugged her collar wide enough to expose the left curve of her shoulder.

The Mark shimmered faintly, like light through smoked glass—then pulsed once, alive.

Calder’s brow twitched. Not in surprise. Recognition.

Seraphine inhaled slowly. “So it’s true.”

Evryn lowered her shirt again. “Apparently.”

Neither heir bowed. But both took a beat.

“Now what?” Evryn asked.

“That depends,” Seraphine said. “On how long you intend to keep dancing between two thrones that want you gutted.”

“I haven’t danced,” Evryn said. “I’ve run. There’s a difference.”

Calder tilted his head. “And you’re done running?”

She looked at him.

Then at Lucien.

Then at the veil-carved sky overhead.

“Yes and no,” she said quietly. “I want to know what I’m running toward. ”

Something shifted in Seraphine’s expression. Approval, maybe. Or respect.

“Then listen,” she said. “Because there’s more coming than just blades and banners. The Veil is thinning. Things that were sealed are waking. Bloodlines are calling each other across planes.”

“Something’s stirring,” Calder added. “Old forces. Magic that doesn’t answer to any House.”

Evryn’s chest tightened.

She could feel it. Like thunder still hidden in the clouds.

“Then why am I here?” she asked. “Why not let me disappear?”

Lucien’s voice broke through, quiet but firm.

“Because if you vanish, everything you are gets twisted into legend. And legends become lies. Manipulation.”

Evryn turned toward him, heart pulsing hard behind her ribs.

“Better a lie than a corpse.”

Lucien stepped closer. “You’re not either.”

Their eyes locked.

The others faded just for a moment.

“Well, how about we get you some real food and you tell us how your trip through the Veil has been so far,” Seraphine remarked, catching the tension between the two.

Everyn took a breath and let her lead her away. She would try to figure out Lucien later, when she wasn't so exhausted.