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Before a single syllable could clear my lips, the massive doors of the Great Hall were violently thrown open.

The heavy wood banged against the granite walls with a hollow echo that shattered the morning quiet. King Fjörn glided into the hall, his dark royal robes snapping behind him like a shroud. The air in the room dropped instantly. My father carried an immense weight on his shoulders. His sharp features cut from unyielding stone, his dark eyes completely devoid of solstice leniency. He didn’t look at the breakfast platters, nor did he acknowledge our disheveled attire.

He stopped at the base of the long mahogany table, his commanding voice slicing through the room like a drawn blade.

“The theater of the festival is finished,” the King announced, his words cold and absolute. “The sovereign council has just received intelligence from the border rings. The Drakoryn Trial has been officially moved up by the high houses.”

An icy shock locked the breath in my lungs. The council was supposed to give us weeks.

The King’s ruthless gaze swept over the vanguard leaders, his jaw setting hard. “We have no time for recovery. Marshal your commands and secure the sea-drakes. We leave the citadel this evening to ensure we reach the northern isles before the tides turn.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

The King’s announcement didn’t just drop into the Great Hall; it detonated.

The residual warmth of the solstice night vanished in a single, freezing heartbeat. Around the table, the hungover haze fractured instantly. Dax’s silver platter clattered against the wood, a piece of roasted meat rolling forgotten onto the floor. Aerynn stood up so violently his heavy chair shrieked against the flagstones, his royal composure slipping to reveal stark panic.

We had thought we had at least two more weeks; to train, to clear the toxic residue of the wine from our blood, to mentally steel ourselves for the ancient slaughterhouse of the Northern Isles. My chest tightened, a suffocating weight crushing my lungs as my mind raced. The timeline hadn’t just been shortened; it had been weaponized.

“Tonight?” Aerynn echoed, his voice sharp against the ringing silence of the hall. He looked toward the heavy doors where our father’s dark robes were already disappearing into the corridor like an omen of death. “The sea-drakes aren’t even fully rigged for the northern currents! The mages haven’t finished stabilizing the cold-wards for the crossing!”

“The King doesn’t care about the rigging, Aerynn,” Caspian said, his deep, gravelly voice perfectly level. He slowly rose from his seat, his broad frame blocking out the morning light. “If the border rings are shifting, the high houses are forcing the crown’s hand. If we don’t land on the isles before the solstice magic completely fades from the atmosphere, the trials won’t just be difficult, they will be impossible.”

I sat perfectly still, my fingers digging so hard into the thick leather of Caspian’s jacket that my knuckles turned white. Beneath the heavy material, the thin silk of my ruined gown felt like a shroud. I looked across the table at Caspian, tracking the subtle, dark changes that had settled into his features after our midnight completion. The honeyed darkness veining his golden hair seemed to catch the morning light—a silent reminder of the dual elements that had violently erupted from my own veins.

“They have until sunset,” Rhea muttered, her voice tight as she rubbed her temples, her eyes sharp as all traces of her solstice indulgence were incinerated by adrenaline. “That’s when the selection happens. The courtyard will be a cage match.”

I knew exactly what she meant. The Drakoryn Trial was an ancient, highly restricted rite. The crown never allowed a mass migration to the Northern Isles; they couldn’t afford to risk more of the elite guard than they could lose in a single seasonal rotation. The trial was designed to cull the weak and test the volatile compatibility of the bloodlines, not to empty the citadel’s defenses.

At sunset, the Grand Mage would stand before the high dais and read a unyielding list of candidates gathered from across all the provinces. Only twenty names would be called—twenty souls permitted to board the sea-drakes, make the treacherous trek across the dark of the Cintrina saer, and attempt the hunt.

And the selection process was brutal in its simplicity: rank got first choice.

As the King’s daughter. The royal placeholder whose half-breed blood was constantly under the court’s microscopic scrutiny. My name would undoubtedly be called. I had to go. If I refused, if I let the fear of the northern isles keep me within the safety of the stone wards, the high houses would use it as definitive proof that my human blood made me unfit. I had to earn the dragon bond. Force the ancient scales to bow or die trying.

I locked eyes with Caspian. He stood entirely rigid, his jaw clenched so hard that his muscle ticked violently along his neck. As High Captain of the Black Guard, he was weapon number one. He wouldn’t just be called; he would be the very first choice.

“If we leave tonight, we pack now,” Dax said, his usual swaggering demeanor completely vanishing, replaced by the cold focus of an outer-border transfer. His green eyes flashed with a dangerous hunger. “I didn’t transfer to this citadel just to watch the high lords play with their silver cups. I want a beast of the north. My name will be on that list.”

“Move,” Caspian commanded, his sapphire gaze breaking from mine to sweep over Soren and Rhea. “Marshal the lower squads. Tell them to prepare for the sunset assembly. Every transfer and every high-born heir who wants a seat on those drakes needs to be lined up by the fifth chime of the afternoon.”

The table erupted into movement. Soren and Rhea sprinted out of the hall, their heavy footsteps striking the flagstones in an urgent cadence. Dax threw a sharp, knowing look in my direction before turning on his heel to prepare his kit, leaving Aerynn standing at the head of the table, his face pale with royal rage.

“I need to see the shipmasters,” Aerynn muttered, his fingers gripping the hilt of his ceremonial sword. He looked at me, his eyes softening for a brief second. “Keep your head down, Tauriel. If Father is moving the timeline, the board has already changed.”

He strode out, his saphire cloak billowing behind him, leaving Caspian and me alone in the massive, echoing space of the Great Hall.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of the previous night’s carnal lawlessness and the sudden threat of the north. I slowly stood up, the oversized black leather jacket slipping slightly off my shoulder, exposing the wrinkled white silk beneath.

Caspian didn’t move. He stood on the opposite side of the table, his sapphire eyes locked onto mine, tracking the frantic beat of the pulse at the hollow of my throat. The living shadows in the corners of the hall seemed to lean toward him, drawn to the dark, sun-kissed weight that had settled into his presence.

“You shouldn’t go, Trouble,” he whispered, his gravelly voice a low wire cutting through the empty space between us.

“I don’t have a choice, Caspian,” I shot back, my voice tight as I stepped around the mahogany table, stopping inches from his broad chest. The scent of him—winter pine, worn leather, and the sharp trace of our shared heat—hit me like a physical force. “If I stay behind while you and Dax and the rest of the guard sail for the isles, the court will strip whatever titles I have left. They’ll hand me to the heir of More Alora before the snow melts.”

Caspian’s hands twitched at his sides, his calloused fingers curling into fists as if fighting the urge to reach out, rip the leather jacket off my frame, and throw me back into the safety of his furs. “The Northern Isles aren’t like the forest, Tauriel. It isn’t a theater for the high lords to flex their magic. It is an ancient, isolated grave. The cold doesn’t just freeze your skin; it gets into your mind. It hunts the weaknesses in your blood.”

He stepped closer, his towering frame completely blocking out the remaining warmth of the hall, trapping me in his shadow. He leaned down, his breath a warm friction against my temple. “Last night... whatever magic you pulled from the dark, it changed your blood. The dragons will smell it the second your boots hit the stone. They don’t want keepers, Princess. They want to consume anything that threatens their dominance.”