Page 44

Caspian was staring out the stone archway toward the shores of the lake, his broad frame tense. The distant beat of festival drums thumped through the flagstones, but Caspian looked like a man preparing for a siege, not a celebration.

Soren relaxed his formal guard stance, old familiarity softening his tone.

“And what about you, Cas?” Soren asked softly. “The three moons haven’t aligned like this in a century. Will you be down by the lake, or are you spending the longest night of the year filing border reports in the dark?”

Caspian didn’t answer right away. Through the thread of magic, I could hear his steady breathing, heavy against the roar of the surf below. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat and cold.

“You know exactly how I feel about LunaStiya, Soren.”

The heavy crunch of his boots against the granite flagstones followed the statement. He turned on his heel without another word and walked away from the terrace, leaving behind the faint scent of pine and cold air.

I dropped the thread as I turned back to the empty walkway. The pocket of summer inside the valley was fully formed now, steam rising from the dark water to meet the silver light of the sky.

The warm humidity rising from the lake rushed up to claim the terrace.

Soren let out a long breath behind me, his dark leathers creaking as he relaxed. He looked toward the empty archway where Caspian had vanished, his eyes filled with a quiet sorrow.

I turned around slowly, my velvet gown brushing the flagstones, and stepped into his space with a sharp glare.

“All right, Soren, out with it,” I said, my voice quiet and direct. “Caspian looks at a realm-wide holiday like it’s an execution yard. Why the hell does he hate LunaStiya so much? And don’t give me a generic line. Even border captains don’t look that dark over a scheduling change.”

Soren didn’t answer immediately. His jaw set tight, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides. The easy dimple in his cheek was completely gone.

“It isn’t a story you should be digging for, Tauriel,” Soren said softly.

“Everything in this castle is a story kept from me,” I shot back. “I’m entering a duel in two months, Soren. I am running drills until my bones ache. If my High Captain is fighting his own ghosts, I need to know what they are.”

Soren let out a heavy breath, stepping closer to the stone rail as he looked down at the steaming lake below.

“A few years back, before Caspian was given the vanguard command, the high houses were completely fractured,” Soren began, his voice low and solemn. “Caspian’s father, the Lord of Ilasari, returned early from a northern border campaign on the eve of the winter solstice. He didn’t find a quiet estate. He caught Caspian’s mother in the subterranean vaults, holding secret meetings with high-ranking generals from Ostrax—the realm across the sea.”

A cold prickle hit my neck. Ostrax. Nyxaris. That’s where I knew the name, it was the start of the rebellion.

“The fallout was absolute slaughter,” Soren continued, his brown eyes dark with the memory. “The sovereign mages were deployed within the hour. Caspian was just a young recruit then, barely old enough to command a squad. He was forced to stand in the central courtyard of his own home, bound in iron chains, and watch as every single Fae who stood with his mother—his cousins, his mentors, the inner guard of Ilasari—were executed one by one for treason.”

My fingers dug into the velvet of my sleeves as his words sank in.

“And his mother?” I asked, my voice dropping.

“She received a punishment worse than death,” Soren murmured, his features tight with revulsion. “It was an act of extreme cruelty, pushed heavily by Dellyn. He didn’t just offer advice; he used his family’s bloodline to reach straight into the King’s mind, planting the paranoia and twisting a standard execution into something savage.”

I frowned, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. “More Alora... what is their gift again? I can never keep track of the high houses’ specific bloodline traits.”

Soren gave me a grim, humorless look. “It isn’t a trait you want to underestimate, Tauriel. It’s called The Unspoken. They can plant thoughts, doubts, and compulsions directly into a victim’s head without ever opening their mouth. The King thought he arrived at that cruelty entirely on his own, never realizing Dellyn was pulling the strings from the shadows. At least that’s what Aerynn and Caspian believe happened.”

A chill crawled down my spine. They can rewrite a person’s choices without a single word...

A heavy wave of nausea hit my stomach. “Why?” I demanded. “Why would the Lady of Ilasari be meeting with Ostrax generals? What were they plotting?”

Soren turned his head, meeting my gaze. “He doesn’t know. Caspian has spent the last five years scouring the archives, hunting through every ledger in the outer provinces, but he’s never discovered what she was trading for. The secret died when they threw her off the cliff.”

He drew a slow breath, adjusting his posture.

“Caspian spent the years after that tragedy being the model soldier,” Soren said softly. “He bled for the vanguard, took the worst border rotations, and buried his identity behind the Captain’s mask. Honestly, Tauriel... the only reason he and his father are still breathing is because of your brother.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Aerynn?”

“They grew up together,” Soren nodded. “When the sovereign council demanded the total execution of the Ilasari bloodline to wipe out the treason, Aerynn fell to his knees before the throne, begging your father for mercy. But sentiment alone doesn’t move the King. The real leverage was survival: House Ilasari’s bloodline is the only key capable of anchoring the ancient frost-wards along the Ostrax coast. Executing them meant leaving the northeastern flank open to leviathan breaches. The King relented, but the price was steep—Caspian’s total submission to the vanguard code, binding the realm’s best fighter to the crown’s orders.”