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“Then let them try,” I breathed, looking up into the volatile storm of his sapphire eyes. The residual buzz of the Vesper-wine had completely evaporated, leaving nothing but a raw, sharp focus. “I clawed my way through the mortal dirt to get to this keep, Caspian. I didn’t let Dellyn threaten my neck just to freeze to death on an island. If my name is called, I will be on a drake.”

A dark possessiveness flared behind his pupils, his jaw locking hard. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me—to drag me back into the carnal fury of the midnight bells—but the distant, imposing chime of the afternoon bell cut through the castle towers.

He took a step back, the icy wall of High Captain sliding seamlessly back over his features, though his eyes remained a deep sapphire. “Go change your clothes, Trouble. The leathers you’re going to need for the north are in the lower armory. If you’re going to stand in that courtyard, make sure you look like a weapon, not a prize.”

The hours passed in a chaotic blur of iron, oil, and adrenaline.

Returning to my own chambers felt like stepping into a past life. I stripped away the ruined white silk gown, casting the frayed fabric and silver chains onto the floor. I stood bare before the tall glass mirror, my eyes tracking the faint marks Caspian’s teeth had left along the column of my neck and the curve of my collarbone. My skin still felt flush, but as I ran my fingers over my stomach, I couldn’t shake the memory of the golden light that had erupted from my flesh.

I turned away from the glass and dressed for survival.

I bypassed my standard royal tunics, opting instead for heavy gear designed for the northern isles: thick, insulated trousers locked down with leather straps at my thighs, a dark, high-collared tunic made of leather reinforced with hidden steel plates along the ribs and spine, and heavy boots laced tightly up to my calves. Finally, I strapped my twin obsidian daggers to my hips, their weight a grounding comfort.

When I left my quarters, the citadel was unrecognizable.

The festive decorations of LunaStiya were being dismantled. Servants hurried through the stone corridors carrying crates of salted provisions and winter grain toward the lower docks. High lords and their heirs paced the galleries, faces drawn into tight masks as they whispered strategies.

I made my way down to the central courtyard just as the sun began its final descent behind the mountain peaks.

The sky was a bruised canvas of purple and burning orange, the long spires of the citadel stretching across the courtyard like giant dark fingers. The air had turned bitterly cold, the mountain wind bringing with it the faint scent of sulfur from the sea-drakes’ engines at the lower docks.

The courtyard was a wall of steel and silk. Hundreds of guards, elite transfers, and high-born candidates stood in rigid ranks. The atmosphere was heavy with silent tension.

At the far end of the courtyard, standing upon the high marble dais beneath the royal banners, was the King. He stood like a statue of granite, his dark eyes sweeping over the assembled ranks with cold detachment. Beside him stood the Grand Mage, an ancient figure swathed in heavy crimson robes that smelled of old parchment. In the mage’s skeletal fingers was a thick scroll sealed with the gold wax of the sovereign council.

The twenty names. The twenty souls permitted to hunt. Or be hunted.

I took my place near the front of the ranks, my royal blood granting me a position near the base of the dais. Aerynn stood a few paces to my left, his jaw set, his gaze locked onto our father. To my right, Dax stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his disheveled festival hair bound back, an eager smirk playing on his lips.

And then there was Caspian.

He stood at the head of the Black Guard, a monolith of dark steel and leather. He didn’t look at me. His focus was locked onto the Grand Mage, his profile cut from stone. The honeyed darkness in his hair deepened as the twilight settled over the courtyard, his sapphire eyes burning in the dimming light.

The Grand Mage stepped forward, his crimson robes snapping in the wind as he raised his hand. The movement was met by absolute silence.

“By the decree of the Sovereign Council and the blood-right of the High Houses,” the Grand Mage announced, his voice amplified by magic that vibrated through the granite flagstones, “the timeline of the Drakoryn Trial has been moved by the hand of fate. The northern currents are shifting, and the ancient beasts are waking. We do not risk the blood of this citadel lightly.”

He cracked the gold seal, the heavy parchment unrolling with a sharp snap that sounded like a whip in the quiet yard.

“Twenty candidates will board the sea-drakes at the turning of the midnight tide,” the mage continued. “Twenty will cross the black sea. Rank and bloodline compatibility have determined the selection. When your name is called, step forward to receive the northern brand.”

My heart hammered a violent rhythm against my ribs. I adjusted the weight of the daggers at my hips, my breath leaving my lips in white plumes of steam as the first name was called.

“High Captain Caspian Nyxaris of the Black Guard and Heir to Ilasari,” the Grand Mage bellowed.

A collective ripple of tension ran through the lesser houses as Caspian stepped out of the ranks. His strides were deliberate and entirely devoid of hesitation. He ascended the stairs, towering over the ancient mage as he received the silver brand on his right shoulder without a flicker of pain crossing his features. He turned, his sapphire eyes flashing in the twilight as he took his place behind the King. A dark sentinel ready for the ice.

The names continued to fall like hammer blows.

“Amnethys Transfer Mal Varyn.”

Mal stepped forward, his sharp features locked in unyielding focus. His hazel eyes caught the dying light as he ascended the dais, receiving the brand with a tight clench of his jaw before taking his position among the chosen.

“Amnethys Transfer Kaelor Ashborne.”

A wave of revulsion spiked in my gut as Kaelor stepped forward, his pale eyes sweeping over the crowd until they locked onto me. A slow, malicious grin crossed his face—a silent promise that the threat he had whispered into my ear during the solstice dance was far from finished. If we were both on that island, isolated in the ancient dark of the north, there would be no walls, no guards, and no Mal to step between us.

“Ulfedell Transfer Dax Draven.”