Page 39 of A Court of Darkness and Dragons

As soon as we rounded the last corner, Zander was there, standing with several Iron Fang riders, his posture solid with command. But the moment his eyes landed on me, all that discipline fractured into alarm.

He closed the distance in three strides, his hand already at my back as he took over from Jax without a word. “What happened?” His voice was tight, controlled only by habit.

“An assassin,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Black hood, no magic. Used a numbing compound on me, one only the Order knows how to make.”

The look in his eyes went from alarm to ice in an instant. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the attention of a court courier loitering near the gates. “You,” Zander barked, and the young man nearly tripped over himself to get closer.

“I want you to fetch Cyran Rebec,” Zander said, his tone calm enough to be terrifying. “Tell him his daughter was attacked by an assassin, and if he doesn’t attend my court in ten minutes…” His eyes hardened like stone. “…I will have the dragons incinerate his tavern and the tunnels beneath it.”

The courier blanched but didn’t argue, bolting off toward the village in a dead run.

Chapter

Thirteen

Zander kept his arm firm around my waist as we crossed the Ascension Grounds, his stride long and purposeful. The Stormforge riders and Thrall Squad melted aside as we passed, the gravity of what had just happened still clinging to the air.

We didn’t slow until we reached the castle’s heavy doors. The guards swung them open, and the cool, shadowed halls swallowed us whole. Our boots echoed off marble as we wound our way toward the courtroom, Kaelith’s steady hum in the back of my mind a constant reminder that she was watching, listening.

When we stepped inside the great chamber, the murmur of voices fell silent. Courtiers and petitioners alike turned to look at us, tension flickering like candlelight in their faces.

“Out,” Zander said, his voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. No raised volume, no need, just command, absolute and inarguable.

They hesitated for only a heartbeat before obeying, silks and boots rustling as they hurried toward the side doors. The echoes faded until it was just us and the cavernous space.

He guided me to a carved bench near the throne, the rich wood polished smooth by centuries of use. I sank onto it, feeling the coolness seep through my leathers, while Zander took the spot beside me.

I nodded toward the ornate monstrosity at the center of the dais, the throne itself. All gilded edges, inlaid gemstones, and curling designs meant to impress and intimidate. “Are you ready to sit on that thing?”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Not really. But I have to make sure your father understands I am acting as the King of Warriath until further notice.”

I studied him, knowing he didn’t say those words lightly. Dorian’s decision still hung between them like an unhealed wound, but I also knew my prince well enough to recognize the truth beneath his reluctance.

Dorian wouldn’t change his mind.

And as much as Zander hated it, everyone else already knew what he hadn’t yet fully accepted. If he didn’t stand as the uncontested king, we’d lose this war before the first battle line was even drawn.

I turned as a knock echoed through the throne room, bouncing off the high stone walls.

Zander drew in a long breath, his jaw tightening. Then, without looking at me, he rose and crossed to the dais. The sound of his boots on the steps was steady.

When he lowered himself into the throne, the weight of it seemed to settle over him instantly—the gilded edges gleaming in the muted light, the carved dragons on either armrest curling protectively around him.

“Enter,” he called, his voice ringing with authority that left no question who now ruled this space.

The massive double doors swung open, the hinges groaning under their own weight. The courier he’d sent earlier stepped through first, leading a tall, broad-shouldered figure in his wake.

Cyran Rebec.

He stopped just inside the threshold, his eyes locking on Zander. Shock flared there, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. But after a moment, he dipped his head in a slight bow, the movement stiff.

“I got a report that you had ascended the throne,” Cyran said, his voice edged with something between disbelief and challenge. “I admit I didn’t believe it.”

Zander’s gaze was cold steel. “You are not here to discuss my position within this court.” His tone cut through the air. “You are here to tell me if you had anything to do with the assassination attempt on Ashlyn’s life.”

Cyran’s eyes shifted to me, assessing. “I have a pact with Ashlyn,” he said evenly. “Even if she were not my daughter, I would never break that oath.”

“You tried to kill me before,” I reminded him, my tone cold.