Thalen’s words sunk in. No one in Dragontail could attempt my life without repercussions. The Calling bound each legion to its own, an unbreakable oath. To raise a hand against someone in your legion was to forfeit your magic entirely. No one would give that up. Not for power. Not even for revenge.
Relief slipped through me, slow and grounding, and I let the thought fade away.
I walked into my room, shutting the door quietly behind me before leaning against it. The thought lingered—how considerate Thalen had been. For a brief moment, he felt like my Thalen again. Not the General’s son. Not the one who betrayed me. But the male who used to care. The one who could find me even when I was falling apart.
Chapter 4: The Moonveil
The thoughts and pressure in my head wouldn’t let me sleep. After hours of tossing and turning in bed, I finally rose, deciding I needed to clear my head.
Soehl hadn’t returned yet from her own Calling celebrations. She was likely with Shakari and our new twin friends in the common area of Solphire Tower, just as they’d planned.
I dressed in silence, pulling on the Dragontail Legion’s green uniform that had been delivered to my room while I was at dinner. It was tight and long-sleeved, exposing a narrow strip of beige skin above my belly.
Nerves coiled beneath my ribs, tight and restless, and there was only one place I knew that could quiet them.
The library.
I had never been to this library before, but I didn’t take long to find it. The scent of parchment and ink wrapped around me, warm and familiar, signaling the beginning of my solitude.
It was the only place I could breathe.
It always had been.
I grew up among scrolls and stories, raised more by my grandmother than my mother. When I was small, she would let me curl beside her in the archive wing of the Glass Castle, pointing at different times and telling me what they meant, even if I couldn’t read them yet. She made the quiet places feel sacred and safe.
My grandmother believed knowledge was armor. She taught that the mind must be sharper than your strength, or both would dull in battle.
And after all these years, I agreed. Despite my wish not to go to Emberkeep, that didn’t mean I didn’t value the literature or the classes they would teach. Knowledge was power, and without it, war couldn’t be won, and kingdoms couldn’t be led.
And now, I was trailing my fingers along the shelves. My hand settled on a faded, tragic storybook. The leather was cracked and title nearly gone. I smiled. Today, I didn’t need to read history or debate strategy; I needed a story. I needed a simple distraction.
I pulled the book free, the cover whispering against the shelf. For a moment, as I opened to the first page, the world outside, the crown, the Calling, even the weight of my bloodline, fell away.
I lit a fire on my right hand to light the pages and read as I walked toward the window. Not watching where I was going, I brushed against someone. Both our books slipped from our hands and fell open across the floor.
I knelt automatically, reaching for mine just as he crouched to do the same. Our fingers nearly touched. Somethingshifted in the air, subtle and unmistakable. The space between us grew heavy, out of place in the hush of ink and parchment. The hair on my arms rose. My magic stirred, restless beneath my skin.
I looked up and met Lorik Draventh’s eyes. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. His green Dragontail uniform fitted like armor, sleeveless, revealing arms crossed by old scars. He didn’t move or blink, just studied me with unreadable curiosity or calculation, maybe both.
A scent of honey and jasmine flooded my sense that didn’t seem to belong to him. Sweetness instead of smoke and steel.
My pulse stumbled, then pounded harder. Instinct, fear and something deeper twisted together in my chest.
We both slowly stood up at the same time, in silence and ease. Neither lowered our gazes.
“You,” I said, my voice was colder than I felt.
His lips almost lifted to smirk but didn’t. “I suppose my reputation precedes me, just as yours, Princess.”
“What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight,”
“Same as you, I’d imagine. Though it seems our interests are different. I’m not such a romantic.” His tone was flat, detached as he looked at the book I had chosen. There was thread of sarcasm tugging at the corners of his words.
I caught a glimpse of the book in his hands, its cover embossed with a coiled serpent, before he shifted it to his side, hiding the title from view. It looked less like a textbook and more like an old journal.
“Knowledge matters to me, Princess. If you must know.”
Not the answer I expected.