Page 44 of A Court of Darkness and Dragons

I stared ahead at Hein’s dark, powerful form slicing through the sky ahead of us. How?

Zander’s mental tone softened, almost hesitant. I’m not exactly sure. Maybe because Siergen is the king—though I had no idea about that at the time.

Hein’s rumble cut through the bond, dry and certain. It’s because Siergen connected us. It was brief, but he knew exactly who you would belong to. You tapped into my essence for a moment, and that explosion was the result.

Explosion? I echoed.

Zander’s chuckle was low, self-deprecating. That’s one way to put it. My Dark Fire burst out of me like a bomb. The fae was incinerated—as were my clothes. Siergen had to help me navigate my way home since I was running naked through the woods. Not my finest moment.

A smile tugged at my lips despite the heaviness of the story. Did Hein know you were his rider since that day?

Zander was silent. It was Hein who answered. Yes, but I didn’t tell him. Siergen didn’t want his true identity exposed to the crown. So I never told him that I watched him play… and train.

I blinked. Wait. Who trained you if it wasn’t your father?

The bond pulsed, and a weight settled over my chest—thick, heavy, and cold. It wasn’t mine.

It was Zander’s.

Pain. Quiet, sharp-edged, and buried deep.

Zander’s voice in my mind was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something softer—reverence, maybe even grief. His name was Galen. He was old for a rider, in his mid-seventies when I was fifteen, but Siergen told me he would train me in secret… and he did.

Images came with his words—an older man with weathered skin and eyes as sharp as cut glass, his posture still proud despite the years. I could almost hear the rasp of his voice, feel the way his presence filled a room without demanding it.

We trained away from the castle, always. At dawn, in the high passes where no one would think to look. He taught me more than sword work and riding—he taught me how to read the wind, how to feel Hein’s weight before he even moved. And he never once made me feel… less, because I wasn’t the chosen son.

I smiled tenderly in the bond. What happened to him?

There was a pause, and when Zander spoke again, it was quieter. Galen was so proud of me the day I bonded Hein. His own dragon was a green Clubtail—Kapel—almost as large as Hein. We trained in the air for six months, and I felt blessed to have such a kind and knowledgeable teacher.

The bond shifted, a shadow passing through it. We were attacked by the Blood Fae. I didn’t see the dragon in the clouds. I would have died, but Galen intercepted the lightning bolt meant for me. He died… and I didn’t.

My throat tightened. Oh, Zander.

Kapel lives, he continued after a long breath. Though he rarely leaves the isle. They were bonded for over sixty-five years. It takes time for a dragon to recover from that kind of loss. His voice dipped low, heavy with truth. And Galen was the kind of man that you miss.

Hein’s voice cut through the bond, deep and deliberate. It is rare for a dragon to take a second rider. Kapel was the first dragon in five generations to do so.

What? Zander’s shock sharpened the link between us.

You don’t know? I asked, glancing toward him in the saddle.

No, he said, his tone flat, almost guarded.

Kapel took a rider when he was a younger dragon, Hein explained. That rider died when their squad was caught in an unforeseen storm. His duty to the horde was complete, but when Galen put his hand in the bowl, his magic connected with Kapel’s. A dragon sees inside his rider—feels their soul. Kapel knew Galen had a destiny. Nobody knew that destiny was you until Siergen found you broken on the floor.

A low thrum of grief vibrated through the bond. Hein’s next words were softer, almost reverent. Galen was an exceptional human. You will find a way to honor him when the time is right.

Zander’s answer came with a steady resolve, even though I could feel the ache beneath it. I will.

The wind shifted, colder now as it swept over the formation. It bit through my leathers, and I shivered—not just from the chill in the air, but from the reality of the moment.

The countryside blurred beneath us, green fields and winding rivers giving way to scarred earth and churned mud. It didn’t take more than an hour before the shadow on the horizon took shape—black dragons, dozens of them, their obsidian wings cutting jagged arcs against the pale sky. Blood Fae riders clung to their necks like a second skin, armor dark and spined, faces masked in helms shaped like beasts.

Beneath them, the army moved at a steady, relentless march toward Warriath. Rows upon rows of infantry in mismatched armor, crimson standards snapping in the wind. Siege towers creaked on massive wheels, and at the rear, strange machines glinted in the sunlight—contraptions I didn’t recognize but knew were meant for destruction.

Triangular formation, Zander’s voice rang through the bond. I’ll take point.