Page 19 of The Shattered Rite (The Sightless Prophecy Trilogy #1)

“The first dragonriders burned for the crown. The last ones burned by it.” —Fragment from the lost journal of Ser Elandros the Wingless

He watched her go.

Silent as a shadow. Fluid as silk against stone. Healer. Dragonrider.

She shouldn’t have unsettled him.

And yet… she had.

Malric drew deeper into the darkness, pressing against the cool stone behind the library shelves. The wards here were good, but not enough. Nothing in this castle was built to stop him.

His father’s mark—the brand burned into bone, woven into blood—still opened doors no mortal hand could.

And yet, she had sensed him watching.

Those failing eyes of hers. They should have seen nothing. But when she lifted her chin, when her gaze flicked over the shadows like she’d been waiting for him… he’d felt it. Like the press of a knife at his ribs. Not fear. Not surprise.

Recognition.

The dragon must have warned her. Or perhaps—worse—she simply knew.

The room still smelled of fire-touched fabric and rain. She had been… curious. Too curious.

He clenched his fists, drawing a slow breath to still the pulse behind his eyes. This was not meant to be complicated.

His father's words echoed in his head: "Watch her. Let her grow strong, if she must. But when the time comes, she dies last. The final spectacle."

He remembered the first time the king taught him to kill.

He’d been ten. Small hands. Sharp blade.

Cut hesitation from yourself, his father had said, the order as cold as the stone floor Malric knelt on.

And when he obeyed, when the body stilled, his father only nodded.

No praise. No comfort. Just approval—the coldest form of love he’d ever been given.

Malric had never disobeyed an order. Not when he was a child, and certainly not since. His father, the Sovereign King, ruled with iron in his voice, and Malric had always obeyed. That was what he was bred to do.

But this woman… She was different.

That unguarded moment in the library—the lift of her mouth, that wry, tired grin—it shouldn’t matter. A small thing. A meaningless expression from prey who didn’t yet understand the hunt.

And yet.

It lingered in his mind.

He remembered when he’d first seen her: leaving her village with smoke clinging to her skin, armor hanging wrong on her frame. And now, after the bond had remade her, she walked like something elemental. Raw. Unrefined, yes—but inevitable.

And gods help him… he liked how breakable she was pretending not to be.

His father had called her dangerous. Had ordered her watched. Stalked. Executed.

Malric should have felt nothing.

Instead, he felt… fascinated.

His fingers found the ring again. Always the ring.

Malric knew it was a leash.

And it owned him.

But tonight, as he followed the silent halls toward the king’s sanctum, every step heavier than the last… Malric realized something unsettling.

He didn’t want to give his report.

He didn’t want to speak her name.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was reporting on a target.

Or a secret.

A secret he wasn’t ready to share.

He should have gone straight to the sovereign.

Instead, Malric slowed at the fork where the lower hall bled into the king’s ascent. He lingered, steps quiet, but breath slightly uneven.

The stone here pulsed faintly—wards woven centuries deep. Each step forward would carry him closer to the king.

He didn’t move.

Eliryn’s voice hovered in the back of his mind.

Curious. Direct. She hadn’t flinched from him. She should have.

Malric pressed his gloved thumb against the edge of the cursed ring, a reflex as much as habit. The metal throbbed faintly, pulsing once, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his.

He forced himself to breathe.

Hesitation wasn’t allowed.

And yet... all he could think was:

She smiled at me.

His pace slowed.

And for the first time in his life, Malric wondered what it might feel like… to disobey.

He opened his eyes to the space around him, pulling himself from his thoughts.

Everything here was stone. Dark and cold.

This was the edge of the sovereign’s sanctum. A place where thoughts were not supposed to wander.

Malric waited, forcing every thought from his mind until only the ring’s pulse remained.

And then he took one step forward.

Another.

But not as quickly as he once would have.

Not as easily.

Because when he spoke to the sovereign tonight, Malric knew:

He would lie.

Not in words.

But in what he didn’t say.

And that silence would be the first betrayal.