Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Circling high above Calldyr, I exhaled sharply, my grip tightening on Tairn’s scales as we made another pass over the sprawling capital of Navarre. Below, the city stretched wide and gleaming, a labyrinth of cobblestone streets and towering spires, lanterns casting flickering shadows across the polished stone bridges and the dark ribbon of water that cut through the city’s heart. From this height, Calldyr looked grand, untouchable, as if it had never known war, never known fear.

But I knew better.

And I wanted nothing to do with it.

I still didn’t know why I had to be here tonight. As a first-year cadet at Basgiath, I had far better things to do than play dress-up and pretend to enjoy an evening filled with diplomatic niceties and false smiles. But my mother—General Lilith Sorrengail—had ensured my attendance.

Which meant I had no choice.

An event like this meant one thing: politics.

And if there was one thing I hated more than being dragged into a room full of posturing nobles, it was politics.

Especially when the Royal Family of Tyrrendor would be here.

Tyrrendor.

The breakaway kingdom that had shattered Navarre’s rule six years ago, turning traitors into kings and leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces of an empire that wasn’t quite whole anymore. Their war college had its own laws, its own rules, allowing even royalty to become riders.

So it wasn’t surprising that Xaden Riorson had graduated last year as one.

The stupidly good-looking prince of Tyrrendor.

The thought made my stomach twist, irritation curling through me like a slow-burning ember.

If the apostasy had failed, he wouldn’t be a prince. He would be a traitor, his body hanging from the castle walls, his name erased from history.

But instead?

Instead, he had won.

Instead of being a dead man, he was a prince.

A prince who—unfortunately—hated me.

And I hated him for that.

Because once—before the war, before the rebellion, before the night that changed everything—things had been different.

I still remember the first time I met him.

Back when his father was still a duke, and mine was still alive we used to visit Aretia. I was trailing at his side as he conducted research for the archives. I loved it there and I loved going with him.

And that was how I met Xaden.

I was four. He was seven.

Even then, he had a way about him—commanding, sharp, untouchable. He acted like he was in charge, like he had already decided how the world worked. But I didn’t let him boss me around.

Not entirely, at least.

We had fun together.

Running through the castle halls, climbing the watchtowers, sneaking sweets from the kitchens when the attendants weren’t looking. And on the bad days—the ones where my body refused to cooperate, where my weak joints made everything harder—he noticed.

He always noticed.

He would slow down without making a big deal out of it, let me win stupid little arguments just to see me smile, pretend not to see when I had to rest a little longer than him.

I didn’t think much of it back then.

Didn’t realize how rare it was—to have someone notice things without making me feel weak for them.

And then came the apostasy.

But even that wasn’t why he started to hate me.

I don’t know why it happened.

One day, he just… changed.

The last time I saw him—really saw him—he was looking down at me, his expression unreadable, his gold-flecked eyes cold where they had once been warm.

And then, he turned away.

There were a lot of places I could pretend to hate because of that. A lot of places I could convince myself I was indifferent toward, just to make life easier.

But Tyrrendor—Aretia—wasn’t one of them.

I’d spent too many summers there as a child. I could still remember how the air smelled there—crisp and wild, carrying the bite of the mountains and the faintest scent of pine.

Back then, Aretia had felt like freedom.

And I wasn’t alone. Not then.

Xaden had always been there. Like we were on the same side. Like we would always be.

And now…

I swallowed hard, shoving the thought away before it could settle too deep.

It didn’t matter anymore. Aretia wasn’t mine to love. Not after the rebellion. Not after the fights that carved a line between what was and what could never be again.

But still—

Still, there was a part of me, buried somewhere deep, that missed it.

That missed the cliffs and the endless skies, the feeling of standing at the very edge of the world, wind tearing through my hair, arms spread wide like I could take flight if I only dared to jump.

That missed the way the stars looked above Aretia, clearer and sharper than anywhere else, like the universe itself stretched open, waiting.

That missed the boy who used to laugh instead of glare.

The boy who used to be my friend.

But well—shortly after everything, he was engaged to Catriona Cordella.

By now, I knew that they weren’t engaged anymore. Not that it mattered.

A lot of people would be here in Calldyr tonight.

The royalty of Poromiel would be here too—King Tecarus and his nieces, who had as much power as they did secrets.

And, of course, Xaden. Xaden and his father, Fen Riorson—the man who had led the rebellion that had torn the continent in two.

Then there was our own king, Tauri, and his sons—Halden and Cam.

Or, as he preferred to be called, Aaric.

I sighed, already feeling a headache creeping in.

Halden.

If there was one person I didn’t want to see tonight, it was him.

Strikingly beautiful, with high cheekbones, a mouth that always carried a smirk, and perfect—almost too-perfect—facial proportions. His eyes were as green as summer leaves, his sandy-brown hair just a shade lighter than his brother’s.

A golden boy through and through.

And an arrogant bastard.

Oh, and did I mention he was also my ex?

Not that it had lasted long.

I’d been eighteen, he’d been twenty, and it had been… well, a thing.

Until it wasn’t.

Until I walked in on him screwing one of his professors.

Halden, of course, had excuses.

He’d claimed he only cheated because he was grieving—because his twin brother, Alic, had died in his first year at Basgiath during Threshing.

Yeah. Sure.

Still, I’d somehow managed to stay friends with Aaric.

But none of that explained why I was here tonight.

⚔️✨🐉✨⚔️

I barely managed to keep my seat on Tairn, my fingers tightening as he adjusted his wings against the high-altitude winds. The sharp currents buffeted against us, and I clenched my jaw, adjusting my balance.

The weird looks I’d been getting all night? Not surprising.

Not every first-year cadet at Basgiath got an invitation to an event like this—especially not one as… exclusive as a summit between kings.

But well, Threshing had only been a few weeks ago, and let’s just say… it had been an experience.

And speaking of fun things?

Tairn had a mate.

Which meant I was now stuck dealing with the fact that his mate was none other than Sgaeyl, Xaden’s godsdamned blue daggertail.

Because, of course.

Of. Course.

And as I’d quickly come to learn, that meant they needed to see each other.

A lot.

Which meant I would soon be seeing Xaden.

A lot.

Just my luck.

🐉✨⚔️✨🐉

As we finally landed, I felt Tairn’s magic loosen its grip, the rush of it dissipating as my boots hit solid ground. I slid down as elegantly as possible—which, given the way my muscles ached, was a miracle in itself.

But the moment my feet touched the stone courtyard, I caught sight of her.

My mother.

Standing perfectly poised, her arms crossed, her golden-hazel eyes cool and assessing.

A sigh hung on her lips, the kind that made my stomach tighten, the kind that meant she was less than impressed.

I ignored it. Or at least, I tried to.

My whole body ached, exhaustion settling deep into my bones, but I forced myself to hold my head high, straightening my shoulders even as I reached out to Tairn over our connection.

“Do you at least know why we’re here?” I asked, hoping he had some answer that would make any of this make sense.

No response.

Of course not.

And gods, I missed Andarna.

Without her warmth curled in my mind, without her soft, curious voice, the world felt just a little colder.

Still, I followed my mother as she led me inside, the grand halls looming around us, the polished stone and tall windows doing nothing to make me feel at home.

She didn’t speak.

Not until we reached the room that was apparently mine for the next three days.

Three. Whole. Days.

I frowned. “Why the hell do I have to be here for three days?”

And, more importantly—

Why were there so many others here?

As we stepped into the room, I barely had time to take in my surroundings before my mother turned, her expression cool and unreadable.

Without a word, she gestured toward the bed, where three dresses lay carefully arranged.

“You should decide which one you’ll wear,” she said curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I frowned, stepping closer.

The first dress was sapphire blue, its cut modest compared to the others, with high sleeves and a gracefully flowing skirt.

The kind of gown that would let me blend in—respectable, elegant… but unremarkable.

The second dress was pitch black, far more dramatic, with silver embroidery curling along the bodice and hem, forming delicate constellations that shimmered in the candlelight. The fabric draped like liquid shadow, and two ethereal shoulder trails extended from the back, flowing like whispers of the night sky.

A dress meant to command attention.

And then there was the last one.

A gown of white and gold, its bodice fitted with intricate golden embroidery that trailed down the flowing skirts. The fabric gleamed with an almost ethereal glow, catching the light in a way that made it seem as if it belonged to something not quite of this world. But it was the cut—the deep, unforgiving neckline, the way the bodice hugged the waist—that left no doubt.

This dress was meant to dazzle. To draw eyes.

To leave an impression impossible to forget.

Unease curled in my stomach.

“What is all this about?” I asked, tearing my gaze from the gowns to face Lilith.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she stepped closer, her fingers ghosting over the edge of the black fabric, her expression unreadable.

“Many would be happy to be here,” she said finally, her voice even, unreadable. “Only a few have been chosen.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“Chosen for what?”

She met my gaze, her hazel eyes sharp, calculating. “Careful, Violet.” A pause. “Some questions are better left unanswered until you are ready for them.”

My jaw tightened. “And if I want an answer now?”

Lilith tilted her head slightly, considering me. Then—too casually—she said, “The leaders of the three countries are working on a peace treaty.”

A peace treaty.

And suddenly, the weight of this night—the dresses, the summons, the way my presence here had never really been a choice—settled over me like a storm about to break.

I frowned. “And for what exactly are these dresses meant? It’s three evenings, so… one for each?”

My mother shook her head. “No.”

She took a measured breath, her gaze flicking over the dresses once more before landing back on me. “Each evening will bring a new choice. But your first decision will determine which two remain for the next.”

Something about the way she said it—soft, deliberate—made my pulse tick up.

I looked back at the gowns again. The sapphire blue, the pitch black with silver constellations, the white and gold, bold and blinding.

This wasn’t just about dressing up.

This was a statement.

A carefully laid-out path that I didn’t yet understand.

Lilith studied me for a long moment before speaking again. “You are only here because of me.” A beat. Then—“And because you bonded two dragons.”

I stiffened.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t have—”

Her gaze sharpened, her expression like chiseled stone.

“You will behave like a Sorrengail.”

The words cut through the air like a blade.

Cold. Final.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react. Not to let the weight of my mother’s words settle too deep.

Not to show how much they chafed.

Before I could speak—before I could even think of what to say—there was a knock on the door.

I barely had time to process it before the door cracked open, and Aaric peered inside.

My mother straightened, her expression smoothing into the perfect mask of composure.

“Prince Camael,” she greeted him formally, inclining her head with the kind of politeness that felt rehearsed, then—without another glance at me—she nodded toward the gowns and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Which left me alone with Aaric.

Great. Just great.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over me before flicking to the dresses on the bed. His lips twitched, that signature half-smirk already in place.

“Well, well.” His voice was warm, edged with something like amusement. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Violet.”

I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly. “Yeah, trust me. That makes two of us.”

His smirk widened, because of course it did.

“And yet, here you are.” He pushed off the doorframe, strolling into the room as if he owned it. “Looking absolutely thrilled about it.”

“I can barely contain my excitement,” I deadpanned. “Truly, this is the greatest honor of my life.”

Aaric chuckled, a sound so familiar, so damn easy, that for half a second, it felt like we were kids again—daring each other into trouble neither of us should have been getting into.

Then he reached for one of the gowns, lifting a corner of the black fabric between his fingers, and something in his expression shifted. Calm. Controlled. Calculating.

“So,” he mused, flicking a glance at me. “Which one are you going with?”

I eyed him warily. “Why do you care?”

Aaric shrugged, letting go of the dress with slow, deliberate ease. “Maybe I don’t.”

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. “Maybe you do.”

That smirk was back, but his dark green eyes were unreadable now.

“Let me guess,” he said instead. “Not the gold one. Too flashy for you. The blue? Safe, diplomatic. The black?” He tilted his head slightly. “Now, that one would certainly turn heads.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Are you always this annoying, or is today just special?”

“Oh, Violet.” His grin was pure mischief, but his gaze remained sharp. “Every day is special with me.”

I groaned, already regretting every decision that had led me to this moment.

Aaric let out a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. And then, just like that, his expression turned serious.

“You have no idea why you’re here, do you?”

I crossed my arms. “Oh, no, I just love being dragged across the continent for vague political nonsense. Really, it’s my favorite pastime.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes.

I tensed. “Oh, so we’re being all secretive now?”

“We’ve always been secretive, haven’t we?” He shot back, his voice lower now, measured. “But since you seem so lost, let me help you out.”

I sighed, tilting my head, giving Aaric my best attempt at wide, innocent eyes. “Come on, we go way back, don’t we? Old friends? Surely you can give me a little to work with?”

His lips twitched, and for a second—just a second—his smirk faltered.

“You really think that works on me?” he muttered, shaking his head. But despite his tone, something in his posture eased, like the weight of whatever this night was about pressed just a little less.

“It helps a bit, though, doesn’t it?” I grinned, nudging him with my elbow.

He let out a long breath. “Yeah, yeah. You’re still a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Aaric sighed again, running a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking over the dresses before finally settling back on me.

“Alright, let’s try this differently.”

His fingers ghosted over the blue dress first, brushing the fabric lightly before he tsked under his breath.

“This one? It’s predictable. You’ll stand out choosing it. You are no person to want that dress. It’s meant to please everyone, to say the right things without actually saying much at all.”

My brows furrowed slightly, something about his tone making my stomach twist—not in a bad way, just… in a way that made me think.

Aaric didn’t linger on it, though. Instead, he turned to the golden dress, letting the fabric slip through his fingers like he was testing the weight of it.

“This one, though? It’s steady. Warm. A presence that fills the room, but not in a way that demands attention—more in a way that makes you notice it’s always been there.” He tilted his head slightly, considering.

I frowned. There was something in his tone, something just beneath the words, but before I could puzzle it out, his hand drifted to the black gown.

His smirk faded into something quieter.

“And this one?” His voice dipped lower, slower now. “It’s like the night sky itself. Dangerous. Commanding. It moves like a shadow, powerful even in stillness.” A pause. “It doesn’t ask to be seen—it makes sure you have no choice but to look. And once you do… you won’t forget it.”

A strange chill traced down my spine, heat curling in my stomach at the intensity in his tone.

I swallowed. “You’re making this sound way more philosophical than it needs to be.”

Aaric hummed, stepping back slightly. “Am I?” His gaze flicked to mine, sharp and knowing. “Or am I just spelling it out for you?”

My pulse kicked up, my fingers curling slightly. “You really can’t say more?”

He exhaled through his nose, slowly shaking his head.

Great. Wonderful.

And then, because this night clearly hadn’t gone to hell enough, Aaric sighed dramatically and added, “Oh, by the way, did you know Dain is here?”

I blinked.

Then grinned. “No, I didn’t.”

Aaric groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Gods help me, that smile alone is dangerous.”

I shrugged, still grinning. “What? I can’t be happy to see an old friend?”

“Yeah, sure.” Aaric shot me an unimpressed look. “That’s exactly what’s going through your head.”

Still, his gaze flicked back to the gowns, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “You know, the men invited didn’t have three choices in what they wore. Yet here you are, standing over these, debating like it’s a life-or-death decision.”

I crossed my arms. “Well, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.”

Aaric let out another sigh. “Yeah. Probably.”

Then his tone lowered, more serious now. His playful ease faded, his posture shifting just enough to make me take notice. “If I told you only one more thing—” his gaze locked on mine, assessing, “—would you stay quiet?”

I didn’t hesitate.

I nodded.

Something in his shoulders eased—but only slightly. He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck before finally looking at me. Really looking at me.

“Alright, Vi. You wanted to know? Here it is.”

I crossed my arms, waiting.

“These three days? This so-called peace treaty?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s all about marriage.”

I blinked.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Aaric ran a hand through his hair, looking just as unimpressed as I felt. “Yeah.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “The kings decided this was the best way to ensure a lasting alliance—by marrying off every royal heir who will one day rule their nation.”

I gaped at him.

“That is the most insane bullshit I have ever heard.”

Aaric gave me a flat look. “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

But he wasn’t finished.

“Women between eighteen and twenty-three were invited—along with the men. No nation wanted the others forming alliances without them, so they went for a system that gave everyone a fair chance.” His voice held a sharp edge, like he still couldn’t believe he was saying it aloud. He nodded toward the dresses. “Each dress color? It represents a prince. Your first choice tonight determines which two are left for tomorrow. And by the third night, you’ll be down to one.”

The weight of his words settled over me like a lead blanket.

My stomach dropped. “…And then what?” My throat was suddenly dry.

Aaric’s lips pressed together for a moment before he sighed. “By the end of the third night, one woman will remain for each prince.” He hesitated. “And two men—for Cat and her sister Syrena.”

King Tecarus’ nieces. I swallowed hard. It made sense. Too much sense.

Aaric gave a tight nod. “Once the pairs are set, each couple will spend three weeks getting… acclimated. Proving they can work together.” His voice was stiff, like he still couldn’t believe he was saying this out loud. “And on the first of December? Every single one of them will be officially engaged.”

I stared at him.

“…Are you serious?”

Aaric’s jaw tensed slightly. “Deadly.”

The full, horrifying realization slammed into me.

“And me?” I forced the words out.

Aaric’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Vi, you’re bonded to Tairn and Andarna. That alone makes you the most sought-after woman here.”

A heavy silence stretched between us.

I swallowed hard.

Aaric didn’t move, didn’t look away, just watched me carefully, waiting for a reaction.

Or maybe just waiting for me to explode.

Which, honestly, was a very real possibility at this point.

But instead, I forced a breath through my nose, shaking my head. “This is absolutely insane.”

Aaric let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Oh, trust me, Vi, I know.” He sighed, rubbing his jaw before glancing back at the gowns. His expression shifted—sharpening, calculating. “Which is why, if you were smart, you wouldn’t choose the gold dress tonight.”

I frowned. “Why?”

He hesitated, just for a second. Barely long enough to notice. Then, stepping closer, he lowered his voice. “Because two of these dresses represent a crown prince.” His fingers brushed the blue and black fabrics, his gaze lingering—too long, too thoughtful. “And the other one… doesn’t.”

I stilled.

“And if I pick one of these?” I asked carefully.

Aaric’s green eyes didn’t waver. “Then tomorrow, you’d still have a choice between me and a crown prince and you’d surely have a feeling which crown prince it is.”

Something inside me twisted. I swallowed, my pulse thudding against my ribs.

The moment I picked a dress, I wasn’t just choosing fabric. I was choosing a path. A future. A game I barely understood.

A new thought crept in before I could stop it.

What if, after three days of being paraded around like a prize, no one picked me?

I should’ve felt relieved at the idea. Should’ve welcomed it.

But I didn’t.

Instead, something dark and unsettling coiled low in my stomach, wrapping around my ribs, curling up my spine.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

That wasn’t an option.

Not when every single one of them had something to gain from claiming me.

Aaric must have read something in my expression, because his voice softened—just slightly.

“Vi…”

”Why have you told me?“

Aaric’s smirk flickered—just for a second. Not gone, not entirely, but thinner now, edged with something else. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just watched me. Assessed.

Then he exhaled, slow and sharp. “Because it pisses me off.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze back to him. “This is a godsdamned trap.”

Aaric’s nod was slow, sharp—but his eyes? They weren’t quite as arrogant as usual.

“Of course it is.” A beat of silence stretched between us, weighted, heavy. Then his voice dropped lower, quieter, more knowing. “The real question is—how are you going to play it?”

Chapter Text

The sun was sinking, casting a warm glow through the tall windows, stretching long shadows across the room. And I was alone, twirling a dagger in my hands.

My hair was brushed out, falling loosely over my shoulders, and I stood in nothing but my undergarments, arms crossed as I glared at the dresses in front of me like they might somehow make this choice for me.

I had barely taken a breath when my door swung open.

I shrieked, spinning so fast I nearly threw my dagger straight at the intruder.

The young male in the doorway froze, eyes going wide as his gaze snapped to me. He definitely hadn’t expected to find someone half-dressed in this room.

Tall. Golden hair. Warm blue eyes. He looked about my age—maybe a little older—but right now, he mostly looked mortified.

“Shit,” he muttered, immediately turning his back to me.

I grabbed the nearest thing—my hairbrush—ready to launch it at his head. “Who the hell are you? And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Liam Mairi,” he said quickly, his voice deep but genuine. “And I, uh… walked into the wrong room. Sorry.”

I narrowed my eyes, my heartbeat still racing.

He sounded like he was telling the truth.

I grumbled and folded my arms. “You better be sorry.”

He peeked over his shoulder, just once, before looking back at the dresses.

“You’re choosing?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.” I sighed, then glanced at him. “Well? Since you rudely barged in, you might as well give me your opinion. Which color?”

Liam shifted, like he wasn’t sure if this was a trap, but after a moment, he turned his head just enough to glance at me—then at the gowns.

“The black one,” he said simply.

I blinked. “You sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Definitely.”

I studied him for a second, then arched an eyebrow.

He grumbled something under his breath, cursing softly in Tyrrish. “Of course, I had to walk into the wrong damn room—stupid—”

Without thinking, I answered back in fluent Tyrrish, a quick, dry comment about how I should’ve thrown the dagger after all.

Liam stiffened.

He turned fully this time, blinking at me in pure shock.

“You speak Tyrrish?”

I smirked. “Clearly.”

His brows furrowed. “Who exactly are you?”

I straightened, tilting my chin just slightly. “Violet Sorrengail.”

Liam’s grin only widened, bright and unapologetically amused. “So you’re the girl he is so annoyed about.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And who exactly would ‚he‘ be?”

His grin turned wicked. “Xaden Riorson.”

I let out a long, exaggerated sigh, rolling my eyes. “Of course.”

Liam laughed, shaking his head. He was too damn easy to like, and that should’ve made me more suspicious. Instead, I found myself relaxing—just a little.

“Do you at least know what the colors mean?” I asked, nodding toward the dresses.

Liam blinked, glanced at them again, then shrugged. “Not a fucking clue.”

I huffed out a breath. Useless.

But before I could get too deep into my own thoughts, Liam did what he apparently did best—distracted me.

He just… started talking. About nothing and everything, making casual conversation as if we weren’t standing in the middle of a political matchmaking trap, as if I wasn’t one wrong step away from accidentally getting engaged.

And maybe that moment should have felt strange. Maybe it should have been cringe, standing here half-dressed while a stranger made easy conversation.

But it wasn’t.

Because somehow, Liam Mairi had a way of making everything feel less impossible.

I sighed, finally turning toward the dresses and reaching for the black one—the one with the high slit along my left leg. I put it on and even if I was small, the fabric draped beautifully, hugging my frame in all the right places.

Liam let out a low whistle. “Damn. Not bad, Sorrengail.”

I shot him a flat look, but I couldn’t stop the faint smirk tugging at my lips.

Still, one question nagged at me. “Why is Xaden so annoyed about me?”

Liam shrugged, too casual. “You’re Tairn’s rider.”

I frowned. “And?”

“And that means Xaden doesn’t have a choice anymore.”

I narrowed my eyes. “A choice about what?”

Liam grinned, far too entertained. “Well maybe he’s not only annoyed about you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He chuckled but continued, “It’s more Tairn. Because Tairn chose you. And since Sgaeyl is your dragons mate, that means—”

“That we‘ll have to see each other too.”

Liam snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

I frowned, the wheels turning in my head. “That doesn’t sound like a full hate speech about me.”

Liam just grinned again. “No, it doesn’t.”

Liam tilted his head, his brows furrowing. “Why would there be a hate speech?”

I opened my mouth, then paused.

He didn’t know.

Liam Mairi, who was clearly close to Xaden—had no idea that Xaden and I had known each other before the apostasy.

Before everything changed.

I swallowed, carefully keeping my expression neutral.

“No reason,” I said lightly, adjusting the slit of my dress. “Just figured Xaden Riorson would have plenty to say about me.”

Liam snorted. “He has plenty to say about a lot of things.”

I huffed out a quiet laugh, but before my mind could spiral further, he suddenly grinned. “You don’t really look like someone who came here for this political matchmaking bullshit.”

I let out a short, unamused laugh. “That’s because I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.”

“Smart choice,” he said, smirking.

That made me glance at him. “Wait—so you’re not in this whole arranged engagement mess?”

Liam shook his head. “Nope. And I’m happy about that.”

“Why?”

His smirk widened. “Because I definitely wouldn’t have wanted Catriona for a wife.”

I couldn’t help it—I snorted.

Liam grinned like he’d won something, then shrugged. “But I am really curious about who Xaden gets engaged to.”

That made my stomach tighten, though I wasn’t sure why.

“He’s pissed about all this, by the way,” Liam added, “and when I say pissed, I mean truly, royally furious. But, you know, he doesn’t get a say in it either.”

I didn’t know what to do with that information, so I just asked, “Why? Why’s he so against it?”

Liam hesitated—just for a second—before saying, “Because for quite some time now, he’s had one woman in his heart. And he’s never told me who.”

I blinked.

“And you’re telling me this… why?”

Liam’s grin returned, easy and warm. “Honestly? No idea.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Liar.”

He chuckled, unbothered. “Maybe I just wanted to earn your trust.”

I tilted my head. “And?”

His smirk turned mischievous. “And maybe I just wanted to ask you for a dance later.”

I grinned at him, tilting my head. “Tell you what, Liam—if you help me make sure I don’t succeed on the third day and get stuck here for weeks, I’ll dance with you tonight.”

His smirk widened instantly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, now that’s an interesting offer.”

“You in?”

“Vi, I’d be honored to sabotage your political future.”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head, but my thoughts were already spinning elsewhere.

Xaden.

If Liam was right—if there really was a woman Xaden had in his heart—who could it be?

Maybe someone he’d met after Catriona? That would make the most sense. He’d only finished at the Aretian College last year at twenty-three, and he and Cat had been engaged when he was twenty-one. Plenty of time for him to meet someone else.

The thought settled in my mind like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

Liam nudged my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. “So, are we shaking on this deal, or am I just supposed to take your word for it?”

I rolled my eyes but extended my hand. “Fine. But you better hold up your end of the bargain.”

His grin turned downright wicked as he clasped my hand. “Oh, Violet, you have no idea what you’ve just signed up for.”

✨🐉⚔️🐉✨

I breathed in. Then out.

Finally alone again—at least for a moment.

And then, of course, there was another knock at the door.

I barely managed to bite back a groan before my mother stepped inside.

I squinted at her.

She took in my choice of dress, her gaze trailing over the flowing black fabric and silver embroidery. A sigh left her lips, but she didn’t comment. She just tilted her chin, signaling for me to follow.

I had no choice but to obey.

We made our way toward the ballroom, and even from the corridor, I could hear it—the hum of conversation, the soft notes of music, the kind of energy that only came from too many powerful people crammed into one space, all vying for something.

I barely stepped inside before Tairn’s voice rumbled through my mind.

“I will keep an eye out for Sgaeyl tonight.”

I frowned. “I thought you and Sgaeyl already reconciled?”

Tairn didn’t answer.

Unhelpful.

I exhaled sharply, my gaze sweeping across the room.

Aaric caught my eye first, standing near a cluster of nobles. He grinned—winked—and I had to fight the very real urge to roll my eyes.

Then my attention flicked toward Halden.

I nearly gagged.

He was surrounded by women, lounging back with that infuriating, permanently smug smirk on his face. Typical.

But before I could fully scowl in his direction, something changed.

The atmosphere shifted—subtle but undeniable. A slow, creeping weight in the air.

A tingle ran down my spine.

I turned my head slowly—and there he was.

Xaden Riorson.

Tall. Muscular. Broad shoulders, a massive chest, arms thick with muscle, as if he’d been carved from pure strength itself. His windblown black hair was ruthlessly tousled, his dark brows sharp above those gold-flecked onyx eyes.

He was more than four inches over six feet tall, towering over most of the room.

And those features—gods, those features. Harsh. Utterly perfect. As if an artist had spent a lifetime sculpting them, had dedicated an entire year just to get his mouth right.

I swallowed, forcing my gaze away before I could stare too long.

Because next to him stood a man who looked nearly identical, just older—his hair streaked with white, his warm brown eyes far too knowing.

Fen Riorson.

Liam was there too, standing off to the side with another guy, who bore a striking resemblance to Xaden.

And the last man—tall, pale-skinned, with hazel eyes—stood near a woman who looked like she could gut a man for sport.

She had distinctive half-shaved, light-pink hair. Pale green eyes, sharp and unforgiving. Hooped piercings lined the shells of both her ears. She was taller than me by a full head, her posture stiff, unreadable.

And I had the very real sense that if I stared too long, she’d notice—and gods help me, I wasn’t sure I wanted that kind of attention.

But Xaden—Xaden had changed.

Not just in the way time changed people—but in a way that felt sharper, heavier.

He had always been good-looking, but now… now he was something else entirely.

Stronger. More brutal.

The scar bisecting his brow only added to it—an edge that hadn’t been there before.

I turned away immediately, pretending I hadn’t just spent too long looking at him.

Instead, I glanced down at myself, frowning.

The dress.

Was it him? Or Halden? Or was it even Aaric and he had lied about the golden one?

I peeked around the ballroom, scanning the sea of gowns.

Most of the women had chosen gold or blue.

My stomach tightened.

✨🤍⚔️🤍✨

My train of thought was cut off as King Tauri stepped forward, his presence commanding the room into silence.

I barely had time to brace myself before he began speaking.

“Welcome, honored guests,” his deep voice rang out, echoing through the grand ballroom. “Tonight marks the beginning of a new era—one built on unity, trust, and alliances forged not only through diplomacy but through the strongest of bonds: marriage.”

A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd.

Most of the women around me grinned, their faces alight with anticipation, while many of the men stood taller, looking honored.

I, however, felt my stomach plummet.

At least I had Aaric’s warning.

If I hadn’t known what awaited me, I might have stood there just as lost as some of the others who clearly hadn’t been prepared for this.

“Each of you has chosen a path this evening,” King Tauri continued. “The gown you wear is not just fabric—it is a statement, a direction, a first step toward what lies ahead.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“At the end of this night, each prince—as well as the two nieces of King Tecarus—shall choose ten candidates to continue forward.”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“For the men, there will be no change in attire for the second day, as your standing is now set.”

I barely had time to process that before he continued.

“However, for the women who move forward, you will once again be given a choice tomorrow.”

I stiffened.

“Two new gowns shall be presented to you—one in the color of the prince you aligned with tonight, and one of another. The choice you make then will determine your final standing for the third and last evening.”

My heart pounded.

“Only on the third day will the official pairs be revealed. And in three and a half weeks, on the first of December, each couple shall be officially engaged.”

A few gasps, then murmurs of excitement, followed by a slow build of cheers.

I felt faintly sick.

“Good luck to you all,” King Tauri finished with a knowing smile. “May fate guide your steps.”

And with that, the music swelled, signaling the start of the dance.

The game had truly begun.

🤍⚔️✨⚔️🤍

I barely registered the glass of wine that was pressed into my hand, but I took it anyway, lifting it to my lips and taking a small sip.

It didn’t help.

The music had already begun, the ballroom coming alive with spinning gowns and polished boots as pairs formed effortlessly, moving into the dance as if this was all natural—as if their futures weren’t being decided by the fabric they wore tonight.

I stepped to the side, my grip tightening around the stem of my glass as I scanned the room.

Laughter. Smiles. Excitement.

I felt none of it.

Instead, my stomach twisted violently, the weight of what was happening pressing down on me like a vice.

This was horrible. Absolutely, horribly insane.

Of course, that was when I noticed King Tauri’s gaze.

His brows pulled together ever so slightly as his eyes landed on me, as if I were some strange anomaly in this carefully orchestrated game.

Great. Just great.

But before I could dwell on it—before I could even think about why he was looking at me like that—Aaric appeared at my side.

“Would you grant me your first dance, Violet?” he asked smoothly, offering his hand with a small, knowing smirk.

I exhaled, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes, but took his hand anyway.

“I take it you didn’t know they’d have each prince choose ten either?” I muttered as he led me onto the dance floor.

“Not a damn clue,” Aaric admitted, spinning me effortlessly into the first steps of the dance. “And I can’t decide if that’s good or bad yet.”

Neither could I.

The dance was too short, the music sweeping us along faster than I would have liked, and before I even had time to process it, I was being whirled away—straight into another set of arms.

Liam’s.

I barely caught his grin before we moved, his steps easy, practiced.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he teased.

“You ran into my room,” I shot back.

“And now I’m making up for it.”

I barely had time to smirk before the music shifted again—and I was spun away once more.

And this time, I crashed into someone taller—even taller than Liam.

The scent of leather and mint hit me instantly.

I barely had time to look up before I knew.

Xaden.

Well.

What exactly was I supposed to say to someone who hated me?

But then again—I was me.

So I did what I did best.

I looked up at him, my brows lifting, my voice dry as hell. “So, Riorson—an evening like this… surely it’s to your liking?”

His lips curled slightly, something between amusement and irritation flashing in those gold-flecked onyx eyes.

“Sorrengail,” he said, his voice smooth, edged with something mocking. “What a pity it is that you’re here.”

I let out a sharp, unamused laugh.

“Yeah, well, Riorson, what a pity for me that you’re here, too.”

I spun once, following the dance as his grip remained firm, controlled.

Then I shot him a flat look.

“You know,” I mused, “I still don’t get what your damned problem with me is.”

Xaden’s grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly, his movements smooth, controlled—like he was barely holding something back.

His gaze flickered down to mine, dark and unreadable.

“If anyone should know that best, Sorrengail—” he murmured, voice low, almost taunting, “it’s you.”

I stiffened, my pulse kicking up.

Oh, really?

I let out a sharp, unamused laugh, tilting my chin up. “Enlighten me then, Riorson, because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who suddenly decided to hate me.”

His jaw ticked, but his expression remained infuriatingly impassive.

Gods.

Dancing with Xaden Riorson was like staring down a storm—silent, waiting, knowing that the worst was still coming.

Chapter Text

Xaden held my gaze for a long, weighted moment, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes. His expression was an impenetrable mask, but something about the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled at his sides, made my stomach tighten.

Then, finally, he shook his head and exhaled sharply.

“Wasn’t it you who abandoned our friendship, Sorrengail?” His voice was quiet, laced with something I couldn’t quite name. “On your own damned sixteenth birthday?”

I frowned, my steps faltering for just a second before I forced myself to move with the dance again.

“What are you talking about?” I shot back, my pulse stuttering.

Because seriously—what?

That had been the year his father was crowned. The year everything changed for him. The year the lines between us had turned to steel bars.

But we had seen each other after my birthday. The day after.

And that was when he had suddenly started hating me.

I had thought it was because of his father. Because of the shift in our nations. Because of politics and power plays and things far beyond our control.

But now—now, looking at Xaden, at the weight in his stare, at the way something raw and sharp simmered beneath his otherwise impassive face—I wasn’t so sure anymore.

He scoffed, a humorless sound. “Don’t act like you don’t know, Sorrengail.”

“I really don’t,” I shot back, my chest tightening.

Because… I didn’t.

That time, those weeks surrounding my sixteenth birthday—they were a haze.

My father had just died. I had been barely functional, drowning in grief, in pain, my body on fire from the constant flares that had worsened with the stress. Most of those days had blurred together in a mess of loss and exhaustion.

And yet Xaden was looking at me like I should know exactly what he meant.

“Yeah?” His voice dipped lower, more dangerous. “Didn’t seem like you didn’t know when you sent me that damned letter in response to my request.”

I blinked. “What letter?”

Xaden let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head again. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember?”

What was he talking about? What request? What letter?

The questions spun through my mind faster than I could process them, tangled and frantic, but before I could demand answers, before I could even take another breath—I was whirled into the next set of arms.

My breath caught, my body still reeling, my pulse hammering too fast, too uneven.

And then I saw it. A sharp, fleeting glance. My mother.

Her eyes flicked from me to Xaden, her brow furrowing just slightly, the smallest crack in her otherwise unreadable expression.

And that was when I realized who my new partner was.

Dain.

His grip was steady, his expression careful as he studied me. “You look like you’re about to be sick,” he murmured, voice low enough that no one else would hear. “What’s wrong?”

I hesitated. But only for a moment.

“I just got told I answered a note on my sixteenth birthday,” I admitted quietly. “Something that—apparently—was nothing nice.”

Dain’s brows knitted together instantly. His steps faltered for half a second before he recovered, though his grip on me tightened slightly.

“A letter?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

I nodded, my throat suddenly too tight. “I don’t remember getting one. Or writing one.”

Dain was silent for a long moment.

Then, softly—so softly I almost didn’t hear it—he said, “The only thing I know is that your mother read all of your letters in the weeks after your father died.” His voice dropped even lower. “Before she handed them out.”

The world tilted.

I blinked.

The pieces clicked, slid, and fell into place—Oh.

Dain lifted a hand, reaching as if to brush my hair from my face.

I flinched back.

His fingers stilled mid-air, surprise flickering across his features before he slowly lowered his hand.

I didn’t have to explain. We both knew why. He had told me about his Signet some weeks ago. And I sure as hell didn’t want him anywhere near my memories right now.

I forced a quick, polite smile, muttered something vaguely apologetic, and excused myself before he could ask any more questions.

My gaze snapped toward my mother, who stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching. Waiting.

I walked over to her, my expression smooth, my smile perfectly placed.

But my thoughts? Not nearly as polite.

“I need to ask you something,” I said lightly, my tone deceptively even.

Her eyes flicked to me, sharp and assessing. “Of course.”

“A note.” I tilted my head just slightly. “And a letter. The ones I apparently exchanged with Prince Xaden around my sixteenth birthday.”

Something flickered in her gaze—too fast to catch.

“Ah.” She nodded, exhaling softly. “Perhaps you simply forgot.”

I stared at her.

“I didn’t forget.”

Her lips curved slightly. Something knowing. Something cold.

“I’ve done what’s best for you, Violet.”

My stomach twisted. The words were too carefully measured. Too calm.

“And what exactly did you do?”

She sighed, shaking her head as if I were being unreasonable. “I protected you from yourself. But it seems you always have a talent for making the wrong decisions.”

Her eyes flicked over my dress.

“You should have worn blue tonight.”

The world narrowed. And suddenly, I knew. This wasn’t just about a lost letter. Wasn’t just a misunderstanding. This was bigger.

I didn’t blink, didn’t let my expression waver as I asked, “What exactly was in that note, Mother?”

She exhaled sharply, as though I exhausted her. As if this conversation was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Just a request, cadet Sorrengail,” she said, clipped and cold. “For one of those childish meetings you and Xaden used to have. The ones you never saw for what they were.”

My heart pounded, but I kept my face smooth, my voice even. “What do you mean?”

Her lips curled, the sharp glint in her eyes a warning. “It took quite a bit of effort to ensure nothing would ever come back to haunt me.”

A cold, sinking weight settled in my stomach.

“You mean—”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Your father had his reasons for taking you to Aretia so often.” Her gaze darkened. “And if you had any sense, you’d have realized it by now.”

I froze.

No.

“What are you saying?”

Her stare bore into mine, unwavering.

“I’m saying, Violet, that your father supported Tyrrendor’s independence long before the apostasy ever happened.”

The air rushed from my lungs.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” she murmured, tilting her head. “It doesn’t matter now—years later, it’s of no consequence. But back then?” She exhaled, shaking her head. “It could have cost me everything if word had spread that my daughter was running around with the boy who would become Tyrrendor’s prince.”

Xaden.

Gods.

“So you declined his request.” My voice was flat, my mind still reeling.

“Of course, I did.” Her brows pinched, as if the answer was obvious. “You were sixteen. He was a nineteen-year-old traitor, and those little meetings you had? They were no longer just innocent games between children.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes cold, calculating.

“I made the right decision.”

Had she?

Because from where I stood, all I could see was the wreckage of whatever had existed between me and Xaden—torn apart before I’d even had the chance to understand why.

✨🤍⚔️🤍✨

That first night only got worse from there.

The deep ache in my bones from the flight to Calldyr had worsened, my muscles were burning with exhaustion.

I had barely held myself together when I was forced into a dance with Halden, his arrogant smirk making me want to commit actual murder right there on the ballroom floor.

But even then, even as I clenched my jaw and let him lead, my mind wasn’t on Halden.

I had received thinly veiled threats from a few of the present infantry cadets, men who clearly didn’t appreciate a small girl bonded to two dragons.

Some of the nobles had been no better, watching me with cold, calculating disdain—as if I were some unworthy outlier in their carefully controlled game.

And, of course, Xaden had to add to it all.

His cutting words, his sharp, cruel observations.

“How, exactly, does someone like you become Tairn’s rider?”

“A mistake, maybe?”

“Or is there something more at play, something we’ve yet to uncover?”

Each syllable, each well-placed jab, should have meant nothing to me.

But they did.

And by the time I finally made it back to my room, my head was pounding, my body was screaming, and all I wanted was to burn this entire place to the ground.

But as soon as I stepped inside, I stopped short.

Because there they were. Two new dresses, laid out neatly across my bed.

One was a deep, dark red, the shade of a perfectly bloomed rose, rich and elegant, dangerous in its beauty. The other… The other was a shade of blue unlike any I’d ever seen. Deep and celestial.

And despite my exhaustion, despite the absolute mess of tonight—I knew what they meant.

The prince whose color I had worn today had chosen me. And by now, I was certain—that color belonged to Xaden.

But why?

I exhaled sharply, my gaze flicking between the two new colors laid before me.

One belonged to Aaric.

The other…

I swallowed, my pulse kicking up.

The first night had been clearer looking back at it—gold, blue, black. Defined choices, easy to decipher.

Now, the game had shifted.

Aaric had warned me before. Choosing black meant I still had options.

But now, I had none.

Only two dresses. Two choices.

So that left the question.

Which of these two dresses was his?

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

With a sharp shake of my head, I shoved the thoughts aside, stripping off the gown and slipping into my flight leathers—the only real clothing I had with me. No way in hell was I wearing the flimsy undergarments in the drawer.

Once my hair was tightly braided back, I stepped out of my room, inhaling the cool hallway air—and then everything changed.

A sudden, violent wave of heat slammed into me.

I staggered, gripping the doorframe as something deep, something primal, something insatiable ignited inside me.

Heat pooled low in my stomach. Then lower.

A sharp, desperate ache settled between my legs, and I gasped, my entire body shuddering.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t me.

My breath came in ragged, desperate bursts. My body hummed with unbearable need.

If someone walked out here right now—if anyone saw me like this—I’d never live it down.

Gods.

The urge surged through me like a storm, raw and all-consuming.

I needed to find someone. Anyone. To touch me. To fuck me.

It wasn’t even a thought—it was instinct, a command I had no control over.

Dimly, I registered figures disappearing into their rooms, shadows slipping into the corridors.

Were they even allowed to do that?

We were all technically claimed. Bound to the fragile, volatile rules of this stupid engagement-game. But clearly, that wasn’t stopping anyone.

I forced my feet to move, to walk toward the exit, toward anywhere but here, but the need—gods, the need—was growing unbearable.

I should’ve stayed in my room. I should’ve locked the door and waited this out.

Instead, I was outside, the cool night air licking at my burning skin, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

A tremor wracked through me, my thighs pressing together, but even that did nothing to ease the ache, the slick heat gathering between them.

I was drenched. Wrecked. On the verge of something I didn’t even understand.

If someone found me like this—I had no idea what I’d do.

Chapter Text

I gripped the stone railing of the balcony, the chill biting into my palms—but it did nothing to ground me. My breath came uneven, my body trembling under the weight of a need I didn’t know how to name. The cool night air should have soothed me. It only made the heat inside worse.

A prickle laced down my spine.

Someone was watching me.

My head snapped toward the far corner, heart stuttering in my chest.

There—half-sunken in shadows—stood a figure. He leaned against the stone like he belonged there, a slow drag of his Churram catching firelight. The ember glowed briefly, casting a soft halo around his face.

Xaden.

The scent hit me next—spiced, smoky, laced with something dark and addictive. It twisted through the air, tangling with the crisp green of the garden below.

His gaze locked on mine. Calm. Intense. Unreadable.

I should’ve left. Should’ve never stepped out here.

But I was already unraveling.

Through gritted teeth, I forced out, “Is it always like this?”

He exhaled slow and measured, smoke curling past his lips. The ember flared again before he flicked the ash away. He didn’t answer with words—just gave a small, deliberate nod.

So it was. Always like this.

My grip on the railing tightened, nails digging into the stone as another wave crashed over me. Heat. Want. Confusion. It made my breath catch in my throat.

He was still watching.

And something in his expression shifted. Subtle. But I saw it.

Like he’d just realized this was my first time feeling it.

His jaw clenched. The hand holding his cigarette flexed slightly, like he was resisting something.

Unlike my mind—my traitorous, spiraling mind.

Because, I was picturing him without a shirt. Those lean muscles. The veins on his forearms. The way his—Fuck.

I bit the inside of my cheek, pressing my thighs together in a futile attempt to calm the aching pulse between them.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me.

And I hated that I wanted him to.

My body jolted into motion. I turned sharply, retreating toward the door before I did something reckless. Something that would make everything worse.

I didn’t want this engagement. Didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to play pawn in anyone’s game.

But I needed—desperately needed—some way to escape this fire curling under my skin.

In Basgiath, it was normal.

No one cared who you fucked. We were riders—we could die tomorrow. Most didn’t bother with restraint. They lived in the now. Took what they wanted.

The thought lodged itself in my chest.

I could find someone. Anyone. Let it all burn out before it consumed me.

I took a step—and froze.

A hand closed around my arm. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just… final.

A jolt of heat shot through me, sharp and merciless. I whipped around, my gaze colliding with his.

“Let me go,” I snapped, voice thin and fraying. “I need—”

“You’re not seriously thinking of doing that.”
Xaden’s voice was low. Rough. Laced with something unspoken.

I stiffened, the skin beneath his touch blazing. My thoughts dissolved into static.

“And why the fuck not?” I threw back, trying to twist free.

His grip tightened. Barely. Just enough to make it clear—he wasn’t letting me go.

I fought him anyway, teeth gritted, heart slamming in my chest. But he was faster. Stronger. And in one fluid motion, I found myself pressed against cold stone, the hard curve of the balcony wall at my back.

Cornered.

And worse—his thigh brushed far too close to the heat that was unraveling me from the inside out.

I froze.

My nails dug crescents into my palms as I tried to breathe, tried to think—but his gaze was on me, molten and merciless, golden flecks flickering in the dark.

“We wouldn’t want you to get disqualified now, would we?” he murmured, like a threat, like a promise.

I glared at him, my voice shaking with fury—and something else. “Oh, I’d welcome it.”

His lips curved into the faintest smirk. Gods, that smirk.
“Would you now?” he mused. “And miss all this fun?”

Then—slowly, deliberately—he leaned in.

His thigh pressed between mine.

My breath hitched.

Everything in me clenched, spiraling into heat and ache and unbearable tension. I could smell him now—leather, smoke, mint, and something darker. Something dangerously, maddeningly him.

“Xaden,” I warned, but it came out as a whisper. A plea. A lie.

His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second—half a heartbeat—and then back to my eyes.

“You’re shaking,” he said, soft. Like he hated it. Like it made him burn, too.

“I’m fine,” I lied again.

Shadows stirred.

I felt them before I saw them—coiling, curling like smoke along the edges of the balcony. Like they were part of him. Like they responded to him.

My next breath caught.

This wasn’t just heat anymore.

It was something else. Something ancient and wild and wrong, curling between us like a challenge.

“Careful,” I said, voice barely audible now. “You’re playing with fire.”

His gaze sharpened, cutting through the haze like a blade.

“No,” he said.
“You are. And all those who did—even the chosen—are now disqualified.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. My breath caught, chest rising too fast. I blinked up at him, trying to process.

“Well,” I said dryly, grasping for control, “thanks for the tip.”

His mouth twitched—barely. A flicker of amusement in his eyes. And then his hand wrapped around my throat. His thumb settled just below my chin, tilting my face up, forcing me to look at him.

Heat roared through me like wildfire.

I squirmed, desperate to put space between us, but every shift only created more friction—more unbearable pressure where I needed it least.

It was humiliating. Mortifying.

The way my body reacted. The way I was this close to grinding against his leg like something wild and starving.

And he knew it.

I could feel it in the steady rhythm of his breath, in the cruel tilt of his mouth.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice trembling, raw. My nails dug into his forearm, but it wasn’t a threat. It was the only way I could anchor myself. “Just—let me go.”

Xaden smirked. Fucking smirked.

“No one can see us, Sorrengail,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly along my jaw. “So tell me… why are you pleading?”

There was satisfaction in his voice. Dark and dangerous. The kind that said he already knew the answer.

Because he could feel it—the way my body trembled, the way my thighs pressed together, the ragged rise and fall of my chest.

I clenched my eyes shut, willing control back into my body. Willing anything but this chaos tearing me apart from the inside out.

And then he said it.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never learned how to ground?”

My eyes snapped open.

“What?” I rasped, the word sharp, but my voice betrayed me—still breathless, still wrecked.

Xaden tilted his head, studying me like he was amused I didn’t know.

Like he pitied me.

Shadows curled tighter around us, tasting the tension, feeding off it.

Gods, I was going to kill him.

Right after I figured out what the fuck was happening to me.

His thumb dragged over my lower lip—slow, teasing. My breath caught. My whole body stilled.

Then—before I could react—he moved.

One moment, I was facing him. The next, my back hit his chest, his hands firm at my waist.

I felt him. All of him. Thick. Hard. Huge.

A choked sound escaped my throat. My fingers curled into fists. My mind blanked.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.

His breath brushed against my ear, hot and steady. His voice slid over my skin like a blade wrapped in velvet.

“I could help you, Sorrengail,” he murmured, voice low, smooth as sin. His hands stayed right at the edge of indecency, unmoving but full of promise.

“If,” he added, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, “you tell me the truth.”

Truth.

What truth?

I could barely remember my own name at this point.

My body was strung tight, nails digging crescents into my palms as the ache between my legs twisted sharper, hotter.

“Or,” Xaden drawled, infuriatingly calm, “you could wait it out. Let the dragons finish their little mating ritual… and suffer through it like a good girl.”

Oh, fuck him.

A whimper slipped past my lips before I could stop it, shame burning through me as the full weight of his offer sank in.

I didn’t know what was worse. That he was enjoying this. Or that some reckless, desperate part of me wanted to say yes.

My body betrayed me before my mind could catch up.

I pressed back against him, seeking friction, relief—anything to silence the storm inside me.

A sharp breath hissed past his lips, his hands tightening just slightly at my waist. But he didn’t stop me.

Didn’t stop me from grinding against him, from moving with a hunger that made my cheeks burn.

His hands moved.

One slid up, covering my mouth—firm, grounding, muffling the needy sound that escaped me.

The other slipped lower.

Before I could process it, my waistband came undone with a single, practiced motion.

The cool night air kissed my skin, and then his fingers slipped past the soaked fabric of my underwear. Parting me. Finding me.

I gasped, body tensing, hips jerking—but his grip held. Steady. Commanding.

His touch teased. Tested.

Then one finger slid inside me.

A strangled moan broke against his palm, my eyes squeezing shut as my body clenched around him.

How could he move like that in such tight space?

I should’ve questioned it. But I didn’t.

Not when he curled his finger just right. Not when a second joined, stretching, filling, wrecking me with every deliberate thrust.

My thighs trembled. My breath came in ragged bursts.

I rocked against him, desperate, dizzy with need, with the devastating rhythm of his fingers inside me. My mouth pressed against his hand, muffling sounds I didn’t even recognize as mine.

I wanted him. All of him.

I wanted him to bend me over the railing, to take me, fill me, break me apart until nothing was left but smoke and shadows and his name on my tongue.

But instead—

He growled, low and close, voice dark and edged with restraint.

“Take what I give you, Sorrengail.”

A violent shiver tore through me.

Because he could have taken more.

Could have taken everything I was shamelessly offering in this wild, burning state.

And yet—He didn’t.

Even now, when I’d lost control, when I was soaked and trembling, hips rolling into his hand like I was born for this—

He was the one holding the reins.

The one choosing how far this would go.

And maybe—maybe that mattered more than I wanted to admit.

Maybe it was better than the alternative. Better than throwing myself at a stranger. Someone who wouldn’t have stopped. Someone who might have seen only the desperation and taken advantage of it.

But Xaden?

Xaden was steel beneath silk. Dangerous. Controlled.

And right now, he was the only thing keeping me tethered.

The pressure built higher, tighter.

Every stroke of his fingers a promise, every drag across that perfect spot a sin.

My muscles coiled. Breath stalled.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice dark and rich, a molten thread wrapped around my spine. “Take it. Just like that.”

I shattered.

Came apart with a muffled cry against his palm, my body jerking, legs shaking as pleasure crashed over me in violent, beautiful waves.

He held me through it, his fingers slowing, coaxing, gentling every last tremor from my spent body until I sagged against him, dazed and ruined.

But then lightning split the sky.

A flash—blinding. Violent. Followed by a thunderclap that cracked the air wide open.

I jerked. Gasped. My body seized, still high on pleasure, but suddenly—

Something was wrong.

The air around me buzzed. Vibrated. Crackled with electric charge.

No.

No, no, no.

Not now.

Not like this.

I blinked hard, trying to clear the haze—but it was too late.

The truth slammed into me.

This wasn’t just an orgasm.

This was—

Manifestation.

My Signet.

I felt it thrumming beneath my skin, raw and new and barely contained.

Power surged through me like a living thing.

Lightning.

My blood turned to static.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

✨🤍⚔️🤍✨

A second streak of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the shock on Xaden’s face.

His hands immediately left my body, as if even he needed a second to process what the fuck had just happened.

And I needed that too.

Because suddenly—suddenly I could think again.

The unbearable heat that had been consuming me for hours? Gone.

The overwhelming, primal need that had ruled my every thought? Faded.

Which could only mean one thing.

Our dragons were done.

I exhaled shakily, finally able to get my bearings, finally able to process that I had just manifested my fucking Signet mid-orgasm.

And worst of all?

I still knew Xaden wanted his truth.

My body was still pressed against his, my breathing still uneven, but the heat between us was different now.

Not the mindless primal drive of our dragons’ instincts—something sharper. Something real.

I swallowed, forcing myself to turn and look at him, to face whatever came next.

Because Xaden Riorson had just helped me survive my first dragon-induced frenzy—and he wasn’t going to let me walk away without paying up.

I exhaled sharply, still trying to make sense of everything, but I knew I couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Fine,” I muttered, looking up at him. “Ask me, then.”

Xaden’s gold-flecked gaze darkened, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke.

“Why did you reply the way you did?”

I blinked, frowning. “What?”

“The letter.” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous. “Why did you reply with that?”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t reply. I never had.

I stared at him, my mind scrambling, but of course—of course he didn’t believe me.

Before I could even try to explain, his fingers tangled into my hair, gripping just enough to hold my attention, to make sure I couldn’t look away.

“Don’t lie to me, Sorrengail,” he hissed, his breath warm against my skin, his anger barely restrained.

“I’m not lying,” I insisted, my voice barely above a whisper.

But how could I prove it?

How could I make him believe me, when even I was only now realizing what had really happened?

Before I could figure out a response, Xaden’s grip tightened slightly, frustration radiating off him.

“At least give me a little honesty,” he muttered. “Tell me why you called me a brooding brute or a lovesick fool.”

I gaped at him.

“I said what?”

His expression was flat, his jaw clenched. “Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

Oh, fuck.

This was my mother’s doing. It had to be. She’d replied for me.

And she must have written something horrible, something meant to sever whatever was between me and Xaden for good.

I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but Xaden suddenly let out a cold, humorless laugh.

“Not that it matters,” he said, his tone empty, “since our lives are tied together now anyway—thanks to our dragons.”

My chest tightened.

“Xaden—”

“Tairn won’t bond again after you.” He cut me off, his eyes dark, unreadable. “You’re the last for him. Which means if you’ll die to soon well we all follow you early.“

I sucked in a breath, my thoughts whirling.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Even if I tried to cut myself off from him, our dragons would never allow it.

We were bound now.

And worse?

Xaden’s gaze flicked over me, something calculating in his expression.

“And now, your Signet just made you even more valuable.” His voice dropped lower. “Lightning? A power like that? It makes you a weapon, Sorrengail.”

He took a step back, his jaw ticking.

“And the kingdom you end up in? They just gained one of the strongest weapons to secure their rule.”

Chapter Text

Xaden finally let me go, stepping back as if he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.

I barely managed to stumble back into my room, my heart still hammering in my chest, my body still humming with the aftershocks of everything that had just happened.

Lightning.

I had manifested lightning.

And only now did I realize—I hadn’t worn the scale corset Mira had made for me. The one crafted from Teine‘s scales, meant to be stronger than any armor.

And even worse?

I had left it in Basgiath.

I exhaled sharply, throwing myself onto the bed, trying to breathe, to make sense of the chaos still whirling in my head.

And that was when Tairn’s voice rumbled through my mind.“I see you handled things well.”

I shrieked, bolting upright. “You could’ve warned me!”

The deep amusement in his tone was almost insufferable.

“Would you have listened?”

I groaned, falling back onto the mattress, exhausted beyond belief. But of course—I didn’t get much rest that night.

And the next day? Oh, what fun.

Apparently, all the riders—yes, the ones who literally trained to fight and kill daily—were allowed to compete in some fights to prove who was more fit to be a princess.

Because clearly, beating the shit out of each other was the best way to show off our diplomatic potential.

As we all gathered in the courtyard, I heard one of the noble girls grumble nearby, her voice laced with disgust.

“Why were riders even invited to this? How could one of them ever be a princess?”

A few of the others snickered, nodding in agreement.

Yeah, well. She ended up in the infirmary before noon.

Not that ladylike after all. But honestly?

I wasn’t complaining.

Of course, I had to get into the ring with Imogen Cardulo. Not a candidate, but then again, none of our opponents were.

And our fight? It was nasty.

The second the match started, she was on me, fast, brutal, and relentless.

I barely managed to block the first few blows before she landed a solid kick to my ribs. A sharp crack echoed through the air, pain flaring up my side, but I gritted my teeth and kept moving.

There was no holding back.

No graceful sparring like the noble-born candidates had been engaging in.

This was a fight. One meant to hurt. And gods, it did.

At some point, her dagger found my shoulder, the sharp sting of steel slicing into flesh making me snarl.

I retaliated instantly, using her momentary opening to land a vicious kick straight to her face.

She stumbled back, cursing, blood dripping from her nose, and before she could recover, I was already on her.

One second later, she was pinned to the mat, my forearm pressing against her throat, my breath ragged, my body screaming from the pain of my wounds.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

“Winner: Sorrengail!”

A sharp cheer erupted from the watching riders, while some of the noble candidates murmured amongst themselves, clearly shocked that one of us had actually won.

I barely heard any of it, though, because my bones ached, my shoulder was bleeding, and I really hoped there was a mender somewhere nearby.

✨🤍⚔️🤍✨

I stumbled through the corridors, the deep throb of my injuries still lingering despite the adrenaline from the fight.

And then I saw him.

Xaden.

His gold-flecked eyes landed on me, assessing, but before I could even think about what to say—Dain was there.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me away, his grip firm but careful, steering me through the halls with a determined stride.

“You need a Mender,” he muttered, not giving me room to argue.

And honestly?

I wasn’t in the mood to fight him on it.

Being mended was brutal—white-hot agony tearing through me as they worked their magic—but when it was over?

I felt as good as new.

Like I hadn’t just nearly gotten my ass kicked.

Which meant…

I had no excuse to delay getting ready for the evening.

And even worse? I had to choose.

The two dresses lay waiting for me when I returned to my room—both equally stunning, both whispering their own meanings, their own alignments.

I stood there, staring at them, my mind whirling.

Because in each of them, I could see things about all three princes.

One was deep red, rich and commanding, bold and unwavering—a color that didn’t just ask for attention, it demanded it. The kind of color that belonged to someone who knew their power and had no intention of hiding it. It made me think of Aaric, with his quiet but unshakable control, the way he played the political game with precision, never revealing more than he wanted others to see. But there was also Halden in it—the way he commanded attention effortlessly, the way he thrived in the center of power, using charm as a weapon. And then, of course, Xaden—because if anyone embodied the kind of relentless, consuming intensity this dress carried, it was him. The fire beneath control, the kind of strength that didn’t just demand respect but tore it from others if necessary.

The other was starlit blue, shimmering like a sky full of stars, pooling onto the floor like celestial light woven into fabric. It was mysterious, dangerous in its own way, alluring without trying to be. It reminded me of Halden, of his natural elegance, the effortless way he could charm his way through any situation, his silver tongue as sharp as any blade. But it also made me think of Aaric, in the way it spoke of hidden depths, of someone who held their cards close, watching, waiting, calculating their next move. And Xaden, because this color carried the weight of the unknown, the kind of power that lingered in the dark, that could be silent and deadly in the same breath—just like the shadows that curled around us last night.

I exhaled sharply, fingers twitching at my sides.

I had to choose.

But which one?

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

I reached forward, my fingers hovering over the fabric for a long moment before finally settling on the starlit blue.

The moment I lifted it, the material slipped through my hands like water, shimmering as if it truly held the night sky within its folds. It was elegance and mystery, power wrapped in something deceptively soft.

When I slipped it on, the cool fabric molded to me perfectly, the fitted bodice accentuating every curve before cascading down into a flow of liquid starlight. The neckline was daring—low enough to tease but not enough to surrender—and the long, trailing sleeves added an almost otherworldly grace, like something out of an ancient legend.

I turned toward the mirror, and for a moment, I barely recognized myself.

I looked stunning. Untouchable. Like I belonged to no one but myself.

And yet…

The color still carried its meanings.

I swallowed, steadying myself and I could not deny I would have really liked to know which prince the dress represented.

But, of course, they wouldn’t make it that easy.

With a sharp exhale, I quickly wrapped my left knee, the dull ache worsening from yesterday’s flight. It was going to be a long night, and the last thing I needed was to limp my way through it.

Once I was ready, I straightened my shoulders and made my way back to the ballroom.

✨⚔️🤍⚔️✨

Tonight, the setup had changed.

Instead of the usual arrangement, there were now five grand tables, each one elegantly set, the candlelight flickering against the rich fabrics and polished silverware.

I barely had time to take it all in before I was led to my assigned seat, passing rows of already-seated women, all wearing the same three colors.

By now, our numbers had dwindled—from the chosen thirty down to twenty-five.

Five had already been disqualified.

I glanced around, my fingers curling against my skirts as I took in the remaining women.

Four others had chosen starlit blue, like me.

Twelve wore the deep, commanding red.

And the remaining eight had donned emerald green, a color just as rich, just as dangerous in its own way.

My gaze flickered across the room, to the grand table at the far end, where the princes sat, their expressions unreadable.

Somewhere among them sat the one who I had chosen with that dress.

⚔️🤍✨🤍⚔️

The grand meal was served, plates elegantly arranged in front of us—roasted meats, rich sauces, seasoned vegetables, golden-crusted breads. The scent alone should have made my stomach growl.

But instead, another sharp flare of pain shot through my knee, and I barely managed a few bites.

I tried to ignore it, pushing the food around my plate, but it was getting worse, the ache settling into something deep, relentless.

And suddenly, without warning, my plate was changed.

One moment, it held the same meal as everyone else’s.

The next, the rich food was gone, replaced with light fruits and a steaming bowl of soup.

I stilled, my gaze snapping to the servers—but none of them had even touched other plates.

This was intentional.

And only mine had been changed.

My fingers tightened slightly around my utensils, my mind whirling.

I forced myself to eat, ignoring the way my muscles throbbed, the dull ache that refused to fade.

I needed to figure out how the hell to hold my seat on Tairn’s back without destroying myself in the process.

The last time we’d flown before yesterday?
Three days later, I’d had one of the worst pain flares of my life.

I wasn’t about to let that happen again.

As I slowly ate the light fruit and soup, I let my gaze wander across the room, assessing the others still left in the competition.

Some of them I actually recognized—third-year cadets, riders I had seen around Basgiath before.

But most of the women?

They could have easily been from Tyrrendor or Poromiel, their faces unfamiliar, their presence something I couldn’t quite place.

The only other people I really knew?

A handful of third-year male cadets—and, of course, Dain, who was still very much in the running.

I fought the urge to exhale sharply, instead taking another slow sip of soup.

So. That meant at least one of the nieces of King Tecarus had chosen to keep him in, too.

Which only made me more determined to figure out who the hell had chosen me.

After the food, the servants returned, this time with drinks—glasses filled with rich wines, honeyed liquors, and crystal-clear spirits, all meant to loosen tongues and test our composure.

And then the real test began.

Each of us had to answer a question, not once, but twice—in two different languages.

It was a clear measure of intelligence and refinement, of how well we could handle diplomacy and politics, should we end up beside a prince.

When my turn came, I didn’t hesitate.

I answered in Old Lucerish first, my pronunciation crisp and flawless.

Then, without missing a beat, I switched to Tyrrish, the words rolling smoothly off my tongue.

As soon as I finished, my gaze flicked toward my mother, and—gods help me—the sour look on her face was almost satisfying.

She hadn’t expected that.

But whatever victory I felt was short-lived.

Because as the evening wore on, my pain worsened, spreading from my knee through my hips, my spine, my arms.

I tried to breathe through it, to keep my expression calm, but every minute that passed made it harder and harder.

I didn’t know if I would make it through the night.

Not like this.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

I barely registered the moment when the final part of the night was announced—each of us would have to spend time with the princes, one by one.

Which, of course, meant dancing.

I forced myself to stand, biting back the way my joints protested, my muscles tensing with every step as we were led to the open floor.

The first dance partner I was given? Liam.

Which, honestly, was a relief, considering the other options.

I exhaled shakily as his hands settled gently but firmly against me, leading us into the first steps of the dance.

“So,” I murmured, keeping my voice light, trying to ignore the way my vision was starting to blur at the edges. “Is our deal still up?”

His brows furrowed, his hold on me shifting slightly, like he had just realized something was off.

“Violet.” His voice was softer now, edged with concern. “Are you alright?”

I tried to nod, but the pain flared sharply, radiating from my knee, my ribs, my wrists, every single joint screaming.

I wasn’t alright. Not even close. But I had to get through this. I had to keep moving.

Because the moment I stopped?

I didn’t know if I’d be able to start again.

I forced a tight smile, swallowing down the sharp, relentless ache crawling through my body.

“Of course, I’m fine,” I lied smoothly, my voice not quite as steady as I wanted it to be.

Liam’s gaze didn’t waver, his hands still firm but careful as he led me through the steps of the dance. But I refused to let him press the issue.

So I tilted my head slightly, keeping my expression neutral, and repeated, “Is our deal still up?”

For a second, I thought he might push again.

But instead, his lips pressed together, his expression turned unreadable, and he exhaled softly.

“Violet…” He hesitated, his grip shifting just slightly, like he was adjusting his hold to support me more.

He knew. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but he knew I wasn’t fine.

And I hated that.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my body to keep moving, pretending the fire in my joints wasn’t threatening to take me down completely.

Liam studied me for a moment, his blue eyes sharp, still filled with that damned concern. But after a beat, he nodded, exhaling softly.

“Yeah, the deal’s still up.” Relief flooded through me, but before I could say anything, he added, “But I’d say it’s quite easy.”

I frowned, trying to ignore the way my body protested every movement. “What do you mean?”

His lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “I mean, what if you don’t actually do anything? What if you just take me to your room, let me stay the night, and we do… nothing?”

He tilted his head, watching me carefully. “Because let’s be honest, Vi, if I come with you—doesn’t matter what we do—it’s enough to disqualify you.”

Before I could answer, before I could even think of a response, another voice cut in—low, commanding, and all too familiar.

“No.”

I froze, my stomach dropping.

Before I could even blink, before I could process the cold finality in his voice, I was spinning—and suddenly, I wasn’t in Liam’s arms anymore.

I was dancing with Xaden.

The shift was seamless, like it had been orchestrated, and the way he led me into the next steps was almost mocking, his every move controlled, deliberate.

“You haven’t exactly earned the grace to be disqualified, Sorrengail,” he murmured, his voice low, taunting.

I gritted my teeth, glaring up at him. “Why do you so dearly need me to suffer?”

His lips twitched, but his expression remained impassive, unreadable.

“I don’t,” he said smoothly. “That’s just a natural consequence of existing in Basgiath.”

He wasn’t wrong though. Basgiath would kill me, one day. Maybe sooner rather than later. But I wasn’t going to let that happen—not yet.

Because for better or worse, Xaden needed me alive. And I wasn’t about to let him die with me just because my body was determined to turn against me.

I exhaled, ready to bite back at him, when something shifted in my awareness—the way he was moving.

Softer. Slower.

No one else would notice. But I did. Because Xaden Riorson didn’t dance like this. His movements were always precise, sharp, controlled—but now? Now there was something gentler, something careful, woven into his steps.

And I knew why. He hadn’t forgotten.

Once upon a time, before the apostasy, before Basgiath, before everything, Xaden Riorson had known about my body—about my pain, my weaknesses, the struggles I never let anyone see.

And now, years later, when he was supposed to hate me, supposed to let me suffer through this night just like everyone else—he was adjusting to me.

Like he had once before.

His grip on my waist was firm but unobtrusive, his steps measured, still moving too carefully.

“Maybe you should rest a bit before dancing on.”

My body was screaming at me to take the offer.

But my temper snapped first.

“Why do you care?” I bit out, my voice sharper than I intended, my patience long gone.

His jaw tensed, but I didn’t let him answer before I pushed on.

“You didn’t care to listen yesterday. You just assumed—like you always do.”

His eyes darkened, but I was too far gone to stop now.

“And you want to know something, Xaden?” I yanked myself closer, glaring up at him. “My mother answered your note. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know it existed.”

The way his fingers twitched at my waist, the slight shift in his breathing, told me I’d hit my mark.

But I wasn’t done.

“And as you so clearly know,” I continued, my voice laced with bitterness, “I don’t feel super fucking great right now. So take your hate and your loathing and shove it up your ass and—leave me be.”

Silence crackled between us, thick, heavy, unrelenting.

I knew I had lashed out, that my words hit deep, but—I didn’t care.

Because I was in pain, and I was tired. Before I could even process the way Xaden’s expression shifted, I was spun away—and right into Halden’s arms.

Horrible. Absolutely, horrible.

His grip was too tight, his smirk too smug, and the moment I was settled into the dance, his voice dropped into that same arrogant drawl I remembered all too well.

“Well, well,” he murmured, mocking, “seems like you’re not wearing my color, after all.”

No shit, genius.

I bit back a grimace, keeping my expression impassive, but he wasn’t done.

“You know,” he continued, tilting his head, his green eyes glinting with amusement, “I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. But, of course, that only encouraged him.

“Our time together was… fine, I suppose.” His fingers tightened slightly on my waist as he twirled me, the motion too sharp, too possessive. “But the sex? Not really that good, was it?”

My stomach curled with disgust, but he wasn’t finished ruining my night just yet.

“I can only hope neither my brother nor that unworthy Tyrrish excuse of a prince decides to pick you.” His smirk widened. “Honestly, with your small size, you’re not even that good for breeding.”

I froze mid-step, my muscles going rigid, my jaw locking so tightly it hurt.

Oh. Oh, I was going to kill him.

Right here, right now, in the middle of this godsdamned ballroom.

Just as I was about to snap, about to say something that would probably get me disqualified—or land Halden in the infirmary, a voice cut through the air.

“That’s enough.”

I was yanked away from Halden’s grip, spun smoothly into someone else’s arms.

Aaric.

Thank the gods.

His hold was firm but steady, his expression calm, but I could see it—the flicker of disgust in his green eyes, the barely restrained irritation at his brother’s words.

I had never been so grateful for his existence.

Without a word, he led me away, his strides determined, his grip unshakable.

Through the crowd, past the candlelit tables, until cool air hit my skin.

I barely registered that we had stepped onto the balcony, the noise of the ballroom muffling behind us, before he finally turned to face me fully.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his tone even, but his gaze was too sharp, too assessing.

I let out a slow, measured breath, my body still tense with fury.

“I was about to kill your brother.”

His lips twitched, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And while I would have liked to see that, I figured you might want an out before things got… messy.”

I exhaled again, trying to shake off the rage, my joints still aching, my body still exhausted.

“Remind me to thank whatever god gave you a sense of timing.”

“Duly noted.”

He glanced around the balcony, making sure we were alone, before he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering just enough to be private.

“You do realize you’re wearing my color, don’t you?”

I blinked, my mind stalling for a second as I processed his words.

“What?”

His lips twitched, but there was no arrogance in his expression—just a quiet, steady certainty.

“The green would’ve been Halden,” he continued, watching me closely, “and the red?” A pause. “That would’ve been Xaden.”

My stomach dropped, the weight of that realization settling in fast.

I had barely managed to process that before he exhaled and murmured, “What do you want, Violet?”

I stared at him, unsure what to say.

Because Aaric… Aaric wasn’t like Halden.

He wasn’t playing games, wasn’t trying to manipulate me or force me into some power move.

We’d been friends. Good friends, even if we hadn’t seen each other in years.

“I have no interest in the others,” he admitted, his voice steady, calm, “but I could let you go, if that’s what you want.”

There was no pressure in his tone, no demands.

Just a simple, quiet truth.

“Tomorrow, my color will be a dark blue.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I’d like to vote you into the final three.”

I inhaled slowly, my pulse steady but uncertain.

“Friends often make good couples in arranged marriages,” he added, his tone so neutral, so logical, like this was just another political move. Then he exhaled softly, his gaze steady, before adding, “I’m enlisting at Basgiath next year.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I don’t want to be infantry like Halden,” he continued, his expression unreadable. “I want to be a rider. I’ve been planning to sneak in for years.”

My mind raced, trying to reconcile the calm, composed prince in front of me with someone who would be crazy enough to attempt something like that.

“That means,” he went on, “we’d have at least three more years before we’d actually have to marry. Or… you could leave now, go back to Basgiath.”

He paused, something flickering behind his expression before he added, “But knowing your mother? If it’s not me, she’ll find someone else. She’ll do whatever it takes to stabilize her power.”

I tensed, my jaw clenching. Because he was right.

I had few options.

And he was offering me one of the better ones.

“If I choose you now,” he continued, “tomorrow, there will be three left for me, three for Xaden, and three for Halden.”

His meaning was clear.

I could leave tonight and go back to Basgiath—where my mother would inevitably set something else in motion.

Or I could stay, play the game, and at the very least, have some control over my fate.

I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to run, but—

“The ones who stay here after the final selection will also have schooling during the three weeks before the engagements are made official.” His lips twitched slightly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “So it’s not all just parties and posturing.”

I took a slow, measured breath, my body still aching, my head pounding from exhaustion, but he was right.

This was the best choice.

“Fine,” I murmured, forcing myself to commit.

Aaric nodded, not looking triumphant or smug—just resigned, like he had known I’d say yes.

I turned my gaze briefly to the darkness beyond the balcony, inhaling deeply—and for a split second, I could have sworn I saw a shadow move.

Watching. Lingering.

But when I looked again—It was gone.

Chapter Text

As the evening finally came to an end, I slipped back into my room, every step feeling like I was dragging the weight of the entire night behind me.

Pain throbbed through my limbs, sinking deep into my bones, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed and forget that any of this had ever happened.

I stopped short, my gaze landing on the neatly wrapped package waiting for me.

The final dress.

It sat on the table, encased in expensive-looking paper, a small card placed carefully on top, its edges crisp and precisely aligned—like someone had taken great care to make it look perfect.

I already knew what the color would be.

Dark blue.

And I knew what that meant.

Who had chosen me.

A realization that should have settled in my chest like lead, that should have made my stomach drop—but I was too damn tired to let it.

Instead, I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders against the ache, and left it there, untouched, just as the card instructed.

“Unwrap only shortly before wearing.”

Fine. Whatever.

I didn’t have the energy to care right now.

I turned toward the bed, ready to finally let myself breathe, but as I moved, something else caught my eye.

A small bottle, placed beside the bed.

My steps slowed, my pulse ticking up as I took it in.

Glass. Dusty green liquid inside.

My breath hitched.

A painkiller. One I’d used before. One that wasn’t easily obtained.

And next to it?

A slice of bread.

My fingers hovered over the note beside them, the folded paper slightly creased, as if it had been gripped tightly before being placed there.

I picked it up, unfolding it slowly, my heart pounding even before my eyes landed on the familiar handwriting.

Sharp. Elegant. Precise.

I knew that handwriting.

Knew it instantly.

The words were simple.

“It’s no poison, Violence, but maybe it’ll help.”

My breath shuddered out, my stomach twisted violently at the nickname.

Because only one person had ever called me that.

Xaden.

Of all the people here, he was the last person I would have expected to give me something to ease my pain.

And yet—he had.

I swallowed hard, pushing down the conflicting emotions twisting through me, and reached for the tonic. The moment the bitter liquid slid down my throat, warmth bloomed through my body, dulling the worst of the ache.

Not enough to make me forget—but enough to make it bearable.

I exhaled slowly, then shed my dress, letting it pool onto the floor before I rolled into bed, pulling the covers up over my body.

The last thing I saw before my eyes drifted shut was the folded note on my bedside table.

Then—dreams took me.

I saw Aretia.

Not the kingdom it was now, but the one I had known as a child.

The best days.

I was four again, laughing as strong arms hoisted me up, settling me onto broad shoulders.

Xaden’s shoulders.

“Hold on, Violence,” he teased, his voice younger, lighter, as he carried me across the training fields, my tiny hands gripping onto his dark hair.

And then—

I was older, maybe seven or eight, my legs swinging over the edge of a wooden bench, my brows furrowing in concentration as I read from a Tyrrish book.

“You’re saying it wrong,” I told him smugly, grinning as I glanced up at him.

Xaden—all of eleven years old, far less composed than the man I knew now—scowled, muttering a curse under his breath as he tried again.

I giggled.

“How are you better at this than me?” he grumbled.

“Because I’m smarter than you.”

His snort was immediate. “That’s definitely not it.”

The dream shifted.

I was fifteen now, sitting beside him on a grassy hill, the lake below us reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun. A waterfall tumbled down smooth cliffs, its soft roar soothing in the distance.

“This is my favorite place,” Xaden admitted beside me, his arms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

I smiled, turning to face him. “I get why.”

And gods—we had smiled.

We had laughed.

And I had never believed—never imagined—that one day, he would hate me.

⚔️✨🤍✨⚔️

I woke with the lingering echoes of laughter in my mind, the warmth of long-lost memories dissolving like mist as reality crept back in.

My body still ached, but the tonic had dulled the worst of it, letting me rest in a way I hadn’t in days.

But my thoughts?

They were far from rested.

Because as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, one truth sank in like a stone in water.

Through his hate, I had started to hate him.

Or at least, I had told myself I did.

Because how else was I supposed to survive this?

How else was I supposed to stand in the same room as him, fight against him, live under the weight of his loathing—if I didn’t hold onto my own?

But now…

Now I wasn’t so sure.

Did I really hate Xaden?

Had he been my enemy all this time?

Or had I just made him one because it was easier than facing the truth?

I lingered in my room the entire day, the weight of my thoughts making it easier to stay put, away from the games, the politics, the carefully orchestrated maneuvering happening beyond my door.

The only interruption came with a short, firm knock before the door eased open, and Liam stepped inside.

I grinned, propping myself up on my elbows. “Just so you know, I can’t get disqualified anymore.”

He raised a curious brow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I continued smugly, “because I’m about to kick you out in ten minutes.”

Liam chuckled, closing the door behind him before leaning against the wall, his blue eyes bright with amusement.

“Noted,” he said, then folded his arms. “But I actually came to talk about something important.”

I tilted my head. “And that is?”

“Basgiath.” His expression sobered slightly. “Is it really like the stories?”

I frowned, pushing myself up fully, crossing my legs as I studied him.

“And you’re asking me… why?”

His grin returned, lazy and amused. “Because I’ve decided we’re friends. Ever since I saw you nearly naked.”

I snorted, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at his head.

He caught it with annoying ease, still grinning.

“I’m serious,” he said, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, my mind flickering back to Basgiath, to the brutal reality of what it meant to train there.

“It’s worse than the stories,” I admitted, my tone flat. “People don’t just die there. Sometimes, they’re killed for fun.”

Liam’s jaw tightened slightly, his expression thoughtful, but he didn’t look shocked.

“It’s different in Aretia,” he mused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still hard. Still grueling. But we all know—rider, scribe, infantry, infirmary… we’re all still human.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Let me guess. You’re a rider.”

His face split into a grin. “Damn right I am.”

I rolled my eyes, but a part of me couldn’t help but feel… relieved.

Liam was so different from the riders at Basgiath. From the brutal hierarchy, the constant cutthroat competition.

“My dragon’s Deigh,” he continued, his grin widening. “Red daggertail. Male.”

I arched a brow. “You’re just telling me? No suspense?”

“No point in suspense when your Threshing story made it over every border,” he said, shaking his head. “The small woman who bonded not one, but two dragons. And one of them? The biggest and most dangerous known dragon.”

I sighed, leaning back against the pillows.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “That sounds about right.”

Liam tilted his head, watching me carefully, that easy grin of his settling into something more thoughtful.

“So… what changed your mind?”

I frowned. “About what?”

“About staying.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Yesterday, you were ready to find a way out of this mess. And now you’re in the final round. Seems like a change of heart to me.”

I sighed, rubbing at my temple. “I wouldn’t call it a change of heart.”

“Then what would you call it?”

I hesitated.

Because what was I supposed to say? That Aaric had given me a way to control my fate, at least for now? That running back to Basgiath wouldn’t have solved anything because my mother would have just found another way to use me?

That a part of me wanted to see how this played out?

I didn’t answer.

Liam didn’t press.

Instead, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and casually asked, “So, do you at least know which prince you belong to for the last day?”

My fingers twitched at my side.

I exhaled sharply, then muttered, “Yeah.”

His lips twitched, his blue eyes flickering with something close to amusement.

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” he mused, shaking his head. “Not at all.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Vi,” he said, grinning as he pushed off the wall. “Just that you always end up exactly where you shouldn’t, don’t you?”

I scowled, grabbing the pillow again, but he was already heading for the door.

“Anyway,” he added over his shoulder, “I should probably leave before you try to throw something heavier at me. And because, you know, you should probably get your dress on.”

I sighed dramatically. “Wow, Liam, such respect for the selection process.”

He winked. “Always.”

And with that, he was gone.

Leaving me alone with the one thing I had been avoiding all day.

The final dress.

✨🤍⚔️🤍✨

I pulled my hair into a crown braid, my fingers moving quickly, fastening it in place the same way I had done a hundred times before at Basgiath. No nonsense, practical, secure.

Then, without hesitation, I strapped three daggers to my legs.

Only once I was properly armed did I turn to the package waiting for me.

I unwrapped it without much thought, my mind elsewhere, my fingers brushing over the expensive fabric as I lifted it from the box—

And froze.

The fabric slipped through my hands like water, soft, flowing, and body-hugging in a way that felt almost dangerous.

A deep back, exposing more skin than I had anticipated.

Wrist cuffs—not just decorative, but functional, tight enough to provide support.

Thin delicate straps, adorned with tiny pearls, trailing over the fabric in intricate designs, leading down to a layered silver belt, also embedded with pearls.

And the gown itself…

Not dark blue.

Not even close.

Because as I held it up, the fabric glittered and shimmered, shifting under the candlelight like the surface of a star-drenched sky.

Silver.

A shimmering, liquid silver—woven over a black undergown that looked like it was made out of shadows.

My breath caught.

Because this…

This was not what I had expected.

Chapter Text

Dressed in glittering silver and black, I made my way toward the ballroom, my movements measured, every step heavy with the uncertainty of what awaited me.

The three princes stood before the crowd, their final choices at their sides—except for one.

Aaric had two women, both dressed in dark blue, standing just a little too poised, too perfect, as if they already knew they belonged there.

Halden had three, all in pastel pink, their expressions ranging from confident to borderline smug—which, knowing him, made perfect sense.

And Xaden?

He had none.

I hesitated, my pulse ticking up, because nowhere in the room did I see another gown matching mine.

Which meant—

My fingers curled into my skirt, and I forced my legs to move, stepping forward—unsure, out of place—straight toward him.

I could feel Aaric’s gaze on me, lingering just long enough to make my stomach tighten, but it was another voice—one that most definitely should not have been in my head—that made me flinch.

“You look surprised, Violence.”

I nearly stumbled, my eyes widening as I snapped my head toward Xaden, only to find his expression unreadable, as if he hadn’t just spoken to me—inside my fucking head.

“Side effect of our dragons.” His voice was too smooth, too damn satisfied. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

Convenient? Convenient?

I scowled, but before I could demand more answers, another realization hit me.

“Wait—how do you not have a single woman left?”

Xaden exhaled, something like mild amusement flickering through our new, intrusive mind-link.

“One of them made the mistake of sneaking off with my cousin,” he explained, his tone bored, as if he weren’t just casually dismantling an entire selection process. “The other two thought it would be a good idea to try and seduce Liam into leaving with them.”

I blinked. “They tried to make Liam go with them?”

“And got caught,” Xaden confirmed, his eyes glinting with something closer to satisfaction. “So, as you can imagine, none of them were eligible anymore.”

I swallowed, my head was spinning.

“So what—you just got a free pass to select someone else?”

“Not exactly.”

I narrowed my eyes, but before I could push further, he answered,

“It would’ve been a disgrace for me to appear with no one. A bad political move. So I spoke with the King of Navarre.”

Of course he did.

“The king wouldn’t minimize the choices for his heir, but Aaric had the ability to pass along someone of interest—since, after all, it wouldn’t look good if all three former candidates who weren’t eligible had been from Navarre and as the other two candidates for Aaric are Tyrrish and Poromish he had no choice but to give me you.”

I stiffened.

“So you mean—”

“So I mean,” Xaden cut in smoothly, his lips tilting just slightly, “that you’re here because it strengthens the unity of the kingdoms.”

I exhaled sharply, my heart hammering against my ribs as I came to a stop in front of him, my body still thrumming from the knowledge that this was real.

I was his choice.

I cocked an eyebrow, crossing my arms as I met his gold-flecked gaze head-on.

“And how much of that was actually your doing, Riorson?”

Xaden’s lips twitched, his head tilting slightly as if I had wounded him.

“Violence,” he said, his voice rich with mocked offense, “you wound me. Do you really think I’d go through such lengths just to end up with you?”

I rolled my eyes, unimpressed. “Yes.”

He chuckled, the sound low, deep, before leaning in just enough that his breath ghosted against my skin.

“At least you know me well enough to ask.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So?”

He exhaled, the amusement lingering, but his next words were at least honest.

“Bodhi and Liam helped play along.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Liam?”

“Mhm.” Xaden nodded, his smirk sharpening. “I know, shocking. Your new best friend actually has a habit of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I scowled, but before I could respond, his expression shifted, his amusement giving way to something sharper, unreadable.

“The question is, Violence—are you mad about it? Or are you secretly relieved?”

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temple as if I could somehow ward off the pounding headache forming behind my eyes.

“I’m getting a headache.”

Xaden’s smirk didn’t waver, but he didn’t push further—not with words, at least. Instead, he simply extended his arm, the expectation clear.

Because I was the only one here for him.

Which meant I had to take it.

I gritted my teeth but placed my hand lightly on his forearm, my fingers barely brushing against the fabric of his jacket as we moved forward.

“Don’t look like you’re about to kill someone,” Xaden murmured under his breath, his voice edged with amusement.

“No promises,” I muttered back, already tense from the attention we were drawing.

“At least,” he added, too low for anyone else to hear, “you seemed to have liked what I did with my fingers two days ago.”

I froze mid-step, heat flooding my face as I snapped my head toward him, ready to shove my elbow into his ribs right here in front of the entire ballroom.

Bastard.

But the worst part?

The part that made me want to kick myself?

Was that the second he said it, a sharp pulse of warmth settled low in my stomach, heat curling through me like my body had just remembered exactly what he meant.

Traitorous, treacherous body.

I glared at him, but his smirk only deepened, and before I could snap at him—his voice was suddenly in my head again, sliding through our bonded mind-link with infuriating ease.

“And I’d really like to discuss what exactly you meant yesterday—about your mother answering my note.”

My breath caught, the heat twisting into something entirely different now.

Because that was not a topic I wanted to discuss.

Not here.

I barely had time to process what Xaden had said before my gaze snapped to my mother across the room.

Her expression?

A deep, unmistakable scowl, sharp enough to cut through steel. And she wasn’t the only one looking less than pleased.

Catriona, seated further down, looked outright livid, her perfectly composed features twisted into something ugly.

Well.

At least I wasn’t the only one having a horrible night.

I sighed, lowering myself into my assigned seat—right next to Xaden.

Because, of course. As if the evening wasn’t already unbearable, my gown—a masterpiece in betrayal—had a high slit on the side, leaving my bare leg just barely brushing against his.

And then, just as I was cursing my life choices, I felt it.

A hand.

Xaden’s hand.

On my leg.

I stiffened, my breath catching as his fingers idly traced the skin of my inner thigh, as if this was casual, nothing to think about, while he looked forward like absolutely nothing was amiss.

The nerve. The absolute fucking audacity.

I opened my mouth, ready to—hell, I didn’t even know—when suddenly, something else slid under the table.

A crumpled letter.

Xaden passed it to me without looking, his fingers still playing over my skin, still pretending nothing was happening.

I took it, my own hands steady despite the fact that I was internally screaming, and slowly unfolded it.

We weren’t seated in the center, which meant no one noticed when my eyes skimmed over the words—and what I read nearly made me choke on air.

My mother’s response.

Cruel. Precise. Woven with her usual cutting efficiency—five sentences, no more, no less.

Xaden,

Your persistence is as foolish as your ideals.

I have no interest in you—if you were not blind, you would see that.

I have outgrown those childish attachments and to me you are nothing more than a brooding brute clinging to the past.

Or perhaps just a lovesick fool incapable of letting go and realizing that we’re now on different sides in different kingdoms.

Either way, do not waste my time.

—Violet Sorrengail

I inhaled sharply.

Every single word dripped with cold dismissal, as if Xaden had been some nuisance she could simply command out of my life.

I clenched my jaw, but before I could even think of what to say, I unfolded the other note—his note.

The one he had actually sent me.

And my stomach twisted painfully as I read it.

Violence,

Would you meet me on your birthday? I have that cake you like.

Could use someone to talk to.

—Xaden

That was it.

A simple, quiet request. No pressure. No arrogance.

Just a boy who had once been my friend, reaching out—and my mother had torn everything to shreds.

I sat frozen, my fingers tightening around the paper, my heart pounding with something unbearable, raw.

Rage coiled in my chest, a sharp, blistering thing that only grew hotter with every second I stared at those two letters.

Rage. Not just anger—not something small, something contained.

But a rage so deep, so raw, it felt like it had been waiting beneath my skin for years, ready to ignite the moment I truly let myself feel it.

Because I had been lied to. Because he had been lied to. Because all this time, all these years of hating Xaden, believing he had turned on me—it had been her.

My mother.

Cold. Calculated. Cruel.

She had stolen the choice from me. She had cut him out of my life before I even had a chance to know what he had wanted to say.

And Xaden—he had suffered for it.

Thinking I had dismissed him. Ignored him. Thrown him away.

It wasn’t just unfair. It was unforgivable.

And I forgot. Forgot that I wasn’t used to my signet yet. Forgot that I had spent the last few days containing the flood of power inside me, knowing I had to be careful, had to learn how to wield it—Because now?

Now it wanted out.

The air around me changed.

I felt it before I even realized what was happening—a violent, suffocating crackle surging through my veins, pressing against my skin, my chest.

A distant part of me registered the sudden flash outside. The sky shattered open with lightning, thunder rolling over the city like a beast unleashed.

A storm.

I had called a godsdamned storm.

Gasps rang through the ballroom, heads turning toward the windows, murmurs of confusion, of unease—

And all I could think about was her. Her sharp, dismissive words. Her calculated, heartless cruelty.

I was going to kill her.

Right here. Right now.

Tairn’s voice rumbled through my mind, a deep, unyielding presence.

“Control it, Silver One.”

Easy for him to say.

He wasn’t the one who had just had years of hatred turned on its head. He wasn’t the one who had just realized everything had been stolen from them.

My fingers clenched, my entire body vibrating with energy, my breath coming too fast, too uneven, and—another presence slammed into me.

Not Tairn.

Xaden.

His mind pressed against mine—firm, grounding, steady.

His fingers intertwined with mine.

Warm. Solid.

I gasped, barely realizing that I had been clutching the letters so tightly my nails had torn into the paper.

Xaden pried them from my grip, his touch firm but careful, his hold unwavering.

And then—he pressed.

A silent command. A silent plea. Breathe. Come back.

I forced my head up, met his gaze and everything inside me stilled.

His eyes, dark and flecked with gold, held none of the usual mocking amusement, none of the arrogance.

Just something intense. Something I couldn’t name.

But it was enough.

The storm slowed. The lightning stilled.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

King Tauri laughed, his voice booming across the hall, trying to smooth over the unease still hanging in the air.

“Well,” he mused, his tone light, “it seems we’ve had an unexpected guest this evening. A storm that came and went in minutes? Strange indeed.”

Polite chuckles rippled through the room, but they were forced, uneasy.

The tension hadn’t fully lifted.

Because even though no one else knew the truth—Xaden did.

His fingers were still curled around mine, firm and steady, as if he knew I wasn’t fully back from the edge yet.

And across the room—

I could feel her.

My mother’s gaze.

She had a feeling. Of course she did.

She had spent my entire life molding me, shaping me, controlling every move I made. She knew me well enough to sense when something was off.

But what she had done—the lies, the manipulation, the control—I couldn’t let myself walk that path again.

I exhaled sharply, tearing my hand from Xaden’s grip, grabbing my wine, and downing the entire glass in one pull.

It burned down my throat, warm and heady, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make me forget.

Because another thought had just slammed into me, sudden and unavoidable.

My head snapped toward Xaden, my eyes burning into his as I demanded, “How could you have believed that?”

His brows furrowed, but I wasn’t done.

“We were friends, Xaden.” My voice was low, edged with something raw, something wounded. “How could you have actually believed that I—”

I swallowed hard, the words faltering.

“That I would just throw you away like that?”

Xaden shrugged, the motion careless, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of something guarded in his eyes.

“The words were pointed,” he said, his tone even, unreadable, but I could hear the weight beneath them.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze skimming over me, as if he were considering whether to say the next part at all.

“And when I saw you afterward…” He exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping idly against his knee. “You looked—dazed. You didn’t really look at me at all.”

I swallowed, my chest tightening, because I knew exactly what he meant.

“I knew your father had just died,” he continued, his voice lower now, edged with something I couldn’t place. “But you still spoke normally to Dain. Hell, even to Halden.”

Halden.

Of course.

The man I had later dated, even though it had been brief and meaningless.

And Xaden—he had known.

“It wasn’t exactly a secret,” he murmured, his gaze flicking away, “not when I saw you sneaking off with him at official events.”

I felt my stomach drop, guilt twisting with something else, something sharper.

“So yeah,” he continued, his tone turning just a little too casual, like he was forcing indifference. “I figured you had made your decision. That you only wanted friends from Navarre. That your intentions—in every manner—had changed.”

I couldn’t breathe, my hands curling into my lap.

“And I wasn’t about to embarrass myself asking why, when you’d already kicked my heart enough.”

My head snapped up.

“Your heart?”

I had meant to sound biting, accusatory, but the words came out too soft, too hesitant. There had been a flicker of something undeniable in his eyes.

Something I wasn’t ready to name.

And suddenly, my mother’s words—brooding brute and lovesick fool—took on an entirely different meaning.

Could that—

Had this been—

My breath caught, my pulse thundering, and Xaden’s eyes locked onto mine, sharp and knowing.

He saw exactly where my thoughts had gone.

And he didn’t stop me.

He didn’t even look bothered.

He just—nodded.

A small, subtle movement. A confirmation.

And just as that truth hit me, just as I felt my entire understanding of him shift—the waiters arrived with the food, and Xaden settled back into his seat, as if he hadn’t just unraveled years of assumptions with a single nod.

Chapter Text

The night felt endless.

Plate after plate.

Drink after drink.

A test, stretched over the longest hours of my life, as if the gods themselves were laughing at me.

I was already exhausted, already on the verge of losing my patience, and at some point—somewhere between the fourth course and yet another refilled glass of wine—I felt the familiar buzz of tipsiness settling into my limbs.

Which, fine. Fine. Maybe I could use a little numbing after the last hour of emotional upheaval.

“Violence.”

I turned my head, my brows furrowing, only to see Xaden pinching the bridge of his nose, his jaw tight with irritation.

“Try to ground yourself. As much as you can.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Just—” he sighed through his teeth, shifting slightly in his seat. “Try to shut Tairn out. Now.”

I stared at him, completely lost, and then—

Oh. Oh no.

A sudden rush of heat.

A deep, burning sensation coiling in my stomach, spreading out slowly, deliberately, setting every nerve in my body on edge.

My spine straightened instantly, my breath catching as I clenched my fingers into the fabric of my dress, suddenly all too aware of everything.

The feeling of the air on my skin.

The warmth of Xaden’s presence beside me.

The scent of mint and leather and something darker—oh fuck.

“They’re at it again,” Xaden muttered under his breath, his voice strained, like he was actively fighting off the effects of whatever the hell our dragons were putting us through.

I exhaled shakily, closing my eyes.

“They really have no empathy,” I gritted out.

“None.”

“And you expect me to handle this—slightly drunk, emotionally unstable—and now riled up beyond reason?”

His low chuckle was sharp and entirely unsympathetic.

“Yes, Violence.”

My eyes snapped open, narrowing at him.

“I hate you.”

His smirk was dangerous, his fingers tapping lazily against his glass.

“Hate me more quietly,” he murmured, “or people will start to wonder why you’re suddenly so flushed.”

I gritted my teeth, my entire body on fire, and forced myself to breathe through it.

Gods help me.

Because if this was going to be a regular occurrence, I might actually die before the dragons finished their bonding cycles.

I tried. I really did.

I focused on grounding, on shutting Tairn out, on anything that could drown out the heat spreading through me like wildfire.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because with every passing second, with every brush of fabric against my skin, with every shift of my own body, I only got more aroused.

I clenched my jaw, my fingernails digging into my palms, and hissed, “How much longer is this damned evening going to take?”

Xaden let out a low breath, his tone far too strained for my liking. “At least a few more hours.”

I whipped my head toward him, glaring.

“Are you joking?”

“No.” His gaze flicked to me, dark and unreadable. “Halden still has to choose between his last two, and Aaric hasn’t made his decision either.”

I barely heard him because I noticed it then—his hands, clenched tightly in his lap.

His entire posture was tense, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the fabric of his pants.

He wasn’t unaffected. Not at all.

I shifted slightly, adjusting in my seat and the second I did, I felt it.

A sharp intake of breath from beside me. A muscle tensing in his jaw.

And then—his fingers dug even deeper into his lap.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to block it all out, tried to shove the sensation away and forced myself to shield better. To ground myself properly this time.

But it wasn’t enough. Not good enough.

I was still too aware. Too hot, too restless, too desperate for relief I couldn’t have.

I couldn’t live through this.

So I reached for the wine again. And again. And again.

Because if I was going to suffer, I might as well be too drunk to care.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

Hell.

I really, really wanted to know how long the two godsdamned dragons could possibly keep going.

Because this? This was torture.

“How long?” I demanded, my voice low and strained, barely managing to keep my composure.

Xaden exhaled slowly, shifting slightly in his seat like even breathing had become a challenge. His voice was rough, less controlled than usual.

“The longest recorded time?” he mused, clearly forcing himself to focus on something other than whatever the hell he was feeling.

I stared at him, waiting—praying for a decent answer.

He finally looked at me, his gold-flecked eyes darker than usual, and muttered, “Hours.”

I choked. “Hours?”

He nodded grimly, and then, as if that wasn’t already bad enough, added, “Churram helps a bit, at least.”

I frowned, confused for half a second—until I registered what he meant.

The herb.

The same herb he’d been smoking that night on the balcony.

A slow-burning calm, something to dull emotions and desires just enough.

Then I saw it. The way he was sitting. The way he had strategically adjusted himself.
And the very, very obvious bulge in his pants.

Oh. Oh.

I immediately turned away, gripping my wine glass so tightly I was sure it might shatter in my hand.

Because—fuck.

This was not how I was supposed to find out that Xaden Riorson—stoic, brooding, infuriating Xaden Riorson—was suffering just as much as I was.

At one point, someone came over, their voice light, polite, probably just making small talk.

“Is everything alright?”

I barely registered the words because the next thing I felt was their hand on my shoulder.

Touching me was definitely not a good idea right now.

The second their fingers brushed against my bare skin, a violent shudder wracked through me, my breath hitching sharply as heat spiked through my already too-sensitive body.

I nearly jumped out of my chair, every nerve in me flaring, my mind screaming too much, too much, too much.

Xaden’s hand clamped down on my thigh, grounding, steady, the pressure firm enough to anchor me in place.

“Don’t,” he warned the person, his voice low, deadly, more of a snarl than a word.

The hand vanished immediately.

I barely managed to swallow the curse on my tongue, my hands trembling.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

Our lips crashed, the heat between us igniting like wildfire, raw and uncontrollable.

Xaden’s shadows curled around us, swallowing any sound, any trace of where we were, wrapping us in a cocoon of darkness and need.

His hands pushed up my dress, rough and desperate, his fingers skimming the bare skin of my thighs, setting every nerve on fire.

But then—He hesitated.

His breath came in ragged pants, his forehead resting against mine, his body shaking with restraint.

“I don’t—” he swallowed, his voice thick, almost pained. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I was already shaking my head, already grabbing his face, forcing him to look at me.

“You won’t.”

Something in him snapped.

His mouth slammed back onto mine, devouring. The heavy, massive tip of his cock pressing against my entrance, hot and unrelenting.

And then—he thrust in.

Too fast. Too deep.

A sharp, intense pain tore through me, the stretch unbelievable, my body tight, unprepared, and I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

Fuck.

Xaden groaned, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, his entire body shuddering as he tried to hold still, tried to give me a second to adjust—but gods, he was so big, and the feeling of him filling me completely, stretching me beyond what I thought possible—it was almost too much.

Slowly he started to move. A slow, deep pull, then a thrust that made my breath hitch, my nails dig into his shoulders.

It hurt—the burn of being stretched too fast, too deep, my body not nearly as prepared as it should have been.

But gods, it also felt good.

The pain mingled with pleasure, each drag of his cock sending sharp sparks up my spine, making my thighs tighten around him.

Xaden let out a low, guttural groan, his grip bruising, his head buried in my neck, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Fuck, Vi,” he rasped, his breath hot against my skin, his hands tightening on my waist as he thrust again, deeper.

I could only cling to him, barely breathing, my mind splitting between the sharpness of the ache and the undeniable pressure building underneath it.

But gods—I was going to be sore tomorrow.

Painfully, unbearably sore.

And then it hit me—I had to ride Tairn to Aretia tomorrow.

And I could barely hold my seat on a normal day.

That thought vanished the second his fingers found my clit. A slow, deliberate circle, his touch rough, practiced, devastating.

I whimpered, my body clenching around him, the pain blurring into something else, something hot and unbearable.

And then—his mouth was at my ear, his breath ragged, his voice low, wrecked, depraved as he groaned,

“Fuck, you’re so tight—gripping me like you were made for this—made for me.”

A violent shudder wracked through me, my nails dragging down his back, my head falling against the wall as pleasure coiled tight, impossibly tight.

“That’s it, Violence,” he growled, his hips snapping harder, deeper, each thrust driving me closer, unraveling me completely.

And then—I shattered.

A sharp, white-hot explosion of pleasure, a cry ripped from my throat, my body trembling, clenching, spiraling apart around him.

Xaden let out a low, wrecked groan, his thrusts turning rough, erratic, and then—he followed, his body tensing, a sharp curse spilling from his lips as he came deep inside me.

We both shuddered, breathless, spent.

And for a moment—just a moment—there was only silence.

The moment Xaden let me down, my legs wobbled, and a sharp ache shot through my hips, my core—everywhere.

Fuck.

I clenched my jaw, trying to steady myself, but my body had been strained too much, pushed too hard. The dull throb inside me made me wince, my face contorting despite myself.

Xaden noticed. Of course he did.

And instead of staying silent, instead of letting me just breathe through it, he muttered under his breath— “Yeah, well… sorry. It was… I normally wouldn’t….”

A cold spike shot through my chest, sharper than the ache in my body.

I froze, my fingers tightening into fists, and suddenly—I didn’t feel like talking anymore.

Not about the letter. Not about my mother’s lies. Not about anything.

Because all I could hear now—was Halden’s voice.

“Sex with you wasn’t even good.”

“You’re too small to even be worth breeding.”

I exhaled sharply, stepping away from Xaden before I could think too much about it, before he could see the way my expression had shuttered. Before I could let him realize how much those words had hurt.

And without another glance, I turned back toward my room—leaving him standing there, alone, in the shadows.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

The second I locked the door, I barely made it to the bed before collapsing onto it, rolling onto my side, curling in on myself.

And then—the tears came.

Hot. Silent. Streaming down my face too fast to stop, too raw to contain.

Because this was real. Because I had to marry him.

Maybe soon. And maybe—maybe I’d never go back. Never return to Basgiath. Never see Rhiannon, Ridoc, or Sawyer again.

The thought made my chest tighten painfully, like I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the weight of it all.

And I hated him for that.

Or maybe—Maybe I hated him for giving me the feeling that what we’d done was a mistake.

Because yes, we’d both been riled up beyond reason, practically driven into it by our dragons.

But still—I had liked it.

Even through the pain, even through the storm of emotions tonight had thrown at me—I had liked it.

And I had thought—hoped—that maybe, after everything, after the letters, after the truth, I would feel something from him.

But instead—he had just been cruel.

Like it had meant nothing.

Like I was just another game to him.

I clenched my eyes shut, biting into the pillow, trying to swallow the broken noise in my throat—because if I let myself think too much, let myself believe that this had been just another move in his game—I might actually fall apart.

And then—it hit me.

Like a sharp, unforgiving blade to the chest.

Why it had hurt so much. Why it had always ached to think of him, to believe he had hated me.

Not just because he had been my friend.

No—no.

Because I had fallen for him.

Young, stupid Violet had fallen for him before she had even realized what it meant.

Before then? Before then, it had been friendship.

But after? After, it had been something else.

Something I had buried deep, something I had never allowed myself to name, because I thought—I thought it hadn’t mattered.

Because he had hated me.

Or at least, that’s what I had spent years forcing myself to believe.

But now—now I had to wonder…

Had he known? Had he known all this time?
Had he seen it—seen me falling, seen the way my heart had shifted, changed, started beating for him before I even understood what that meant?

And if he had—had this all been a game?

Had he only wanted to make me believe he had felt something back then, just to play with me now?

To hurt me worse than he already had?

A choked, shaky breath escaped me, and I curled in tighter, my nails digging into my own skin.

Because if that was true—if that was true, then I had just lost something I hadn’t even known I had been holding onto.

Chapter Text

Morning came too soon.

And the second I moved—pain radiated through my legs, my hips, my entire core, sharp and relentless, making it damn near impossible to walk properly.

I knew I’d be sore.

But this? This was another level.

Still, I gritted my teeth, pulling on my flight leathers, strapping on my weapons, and forcing myself out of my room.

Because they were waiting for me. Liam. Bodhi. Garrick. Imogen.

And, of course Xaden.

I barely registered their expressions. Barely breathed.

Because the moment I stepped into the morning light, I felt his presence. Felt the way he was watching me.

But I couldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t.

Instead, I focused on walking and gods, even that was a challenge. Every step sent a sharp ache through me, a brutal reminder of last night.

I clenched my jaw, keeping my face blank, forcing my legs to move as I walked outside with them toward the open training grounds where the dragons were waiting.

Tairn’s massive black form stood at the center, his eyes sharp, unwavering.

And beside him was a beautiful blue daggertail, sleek and deadly, her scales gleaming like polished sapphire under the sun.

Sgaeyl.

Xaden’s dragon.

A beast just as ruthless as he was.

Nearby, another daggertail, this one a deep crimson, his wings stretched slightly, his tail coiling lazily.

“That’s Deigh.”

Tairn’s voice rumbled in my mind, the weight of his presence grounding me slightly.

“Liam’s bonded.”

I exhaled, my gaze shifting between the others, watching as the dragons stirred, stretching their massive wings, preparing for flight.

“And the rest?” I asked, trying to ignore the throb in my legs.

“Cuir, green swordtail—Bodhi’s.”

I spotted the deep green dragon, her tail curving like a blade, sharp and fast-looking.

“Chradh, brown scorpiontail—Garrick’s.”

I caught sight of the massive brown dragon, his heavy body built for endurance, his tail tipped with a wicked, venomous stinger.

“Glane, orange daggertail—Imogen’s.”

My eyes flicked to the bright orange dragon, her frame sleek, her movements fluid, dangerous.

“Where’s Andarna?”

Tairn’s voice softened slightly, a deep, knowing rumble. “She’s staying behind in the Vale for now. She’s still too young to make the flight to Aretia.”

A sharp sting hit my chest, something close to loss, but I forced it down. Because there was nothing I could do.

Not about Andarna. Not about Xaden. Not about the way my body ached in ways it had never ached before.

All I could do now was to survive the flight.

Climbing onto Tairn was always a challenge.

But today? Today, it felt damn near impossible.

Every muscle in my body screamed, the deep ache from last night only worsened by the strain of pulling myself up onto his massive back.

I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the sharp pain in my hips, my thighs, my core—trying to not think about why I was sore in the first place and forced myself to swing my leg over.

And, thank the gods, Tairn must have sensed how much I was struggling, because the moment I was in place, his magic locked me onto his back, securing me firmly.

“At least one of you is helpful,” I muttered under my breath.

A low rumble of amusement vibrated beneath me.

“I’d rather not have you humiliating us by falling off.”

I scowled but didn’t argue. Because yes, that would be the final humiliation—falling off in front of Xaden, Liam, and the others after already barely being able to walk this morning.

So I settled in, trying to brace myself for the flight ahead.

Tairn, being who he was, made sure to fly close to Sgaeyl the entire time.

Because of course he did.

And that meant—Xaden was also close. Close enough that, even through the rush of wind, even through the distance between us, I could feel his presence, heavy and constant.

But I didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him.

Instead, I focused on breathing through the cold, through the deep bite of the winter winds cutting through my leathers, through the way my body protested every second of this flight.

I was already feeling it.

An hour in, and the pain was flaring up hard, sharp pulses of discomfort radiating through my back, my legs, my hips.

I clenched my hands tighter, my fingers going numb from the chill, my body shaking slightly from the combination of exhaustion and cold.

“You should have prepared better,” Tairn rumbled, his tone half-scolding, half-concerned.

“Oh, really?” I snapped back, my mental voice tight with pain. “I’ll be sure to do that next time after an emotionally wrecking night and a flightless dragon bonding ritual that leaves me barely able to fucking walk.”

His only response was a deep, knowing huff.

Which meant this was going to be a long, miserable flight.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

By the time we finally landed, the pain had reached a level where I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer before I threw up.

Every part of me ached, the strain of the flight mixed with the cold and exhaustion twisting deep in my bones. My stomach churned violently, nausea curling tight in my throat, and I barely held myself upright as I slid off Tairn’s back.

I caught a glimpse of Xaden, effortlessly dismounting from Sgaeyl, his movements smooth and unbothered, like the long hours in the air hadn’t even touched him.

Of course not.

But before I had to acknowledge him, before I had to meet his unreadable gaze, someone called out.

“Prince Xaden, your father requests your presence immediately.”

He turned without hesitation, without even a glance in my direction, and disappeared into the fortress.

Fine. Fucking fine.

Because right now, I had bigger problems.

Like not collapsing where I stood.

I barely had time to process anything—the fortress looming around us, the sprawling city of Aretia beyond, the cold bite of the air—before Liam was suddenly beside me, his sharp blue eyes flicking over my face.

And whatever he saw there?

It must have worried him.

“Vi,” he murmured, soft, steady, already offering his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

I didn’t even argue. Didn’t have it in me to pretend I was fine.

I muttered a thank you, letting him guide me through the grand halls, barely registering the massive stone walls, the intricate tapestries, the quiet hush of servants moving through the corridors.

The second my door shut behind me, I didn’t hesitate.

I barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach lurched violently.

Dropping to my knees, I barely managed to push up the lid of the toilet before I was retching, my body convulsing as everything came up at once.

I gasped for breath, gripping the cold porcelain, my forehead pressing against my arm as another wave hit, my body shaking uncontrollably.

It felt like it wouldn’t stop. Like the pain, the exhaustion, the soreness from last night, from the brutal flight, from everything was crushing me from the inside out.

By the time my stomach was empty, my hands were trembling, my entire body weak and drained.

And as I slumped back against the wall, trying to breathe, trying to ignore the deep throbbing in every inch of me, only one thought repeated in my mind—I couldn’t do this for three weeks.

🤍✨⚔️✨🤍

I hoisted myself into bed, every single movement sending sharp aches through my body.

I was so tired. So exhausted, so sore, so completely drained that I didn’t even care about the fact that my flight leathers were still on, that I hadn’t even bothered to clean up, that my hair was a tangled mess against the pillow.

But the moment I settled, another realization hit—I didn’t even have any of my own clothes here.

Not a single comfortable shirt to sleep in, not a single familiar piece of fabric that smelled like home, like Basgiath, like my squad.

Nothing.

And that only made the ache in my chest worse.

“You’re spiraling.”

Tairn’s voice rumbled through my mind, dry and unimpressed, but beneath it, I could sense the concern. Buried deep. Masked with sarcasm, but still there.

“Oh, really?” I muttered, pressing my face into the pillow. “Thanks for the insight, wise one.”

“I’d offer a solution, but I doubt you’d appreciate my idea of comfort.”

“Unless it involves knocking me unconscious for the next three weeks, I’m not interested.”

A low huff vibrated through me.

“No, I rather enjoy watching you suffer. It builds character.”

I let out a weak, tired laugh, but the sound quickly faded as another wave of exhaustion hit me.

“You should sleep.” Tairn’s voice softened, the sarcasm still there, but muted now.

“Yeah,” I murmured, closing my eyes.

Sleep didn’t come.

No matter how exhausted I was, no matter how much my body ached, my mind refused to shut off.

So when the knock came, I was already sitting up, still in my flight leathers, still tangled in the sheets, still feeling like absolute shit.

I hesitated before muttering, “Come in.”

The door swung open, and to my mild surprise, it wasn’t Liam.

It was Bodhi.

Tall, cocky, annoyingly good-looking—and Xaden’s cousin.

He shut the door behind him, stepping further inside before dropping into the chair beside my bed, stretching out as if he belonged there.

“Figured we should finally do proper introductions,” he said, flashing a smirk.

I exhaled through my nose, shifting slightly to face him.

“Bodhi Durran,” he continued, offering his hand, “third year at Aretia’s War College, bonded to Cuir, and apparently stuck babysitting you.”

I snorted, shaking his hand with less strength than I would’ve liked.

“Violet Sorrengail,” I muttered, “first-year cadet at Basgiath, bonded to Tairn and Andarna, and apparently a prisoner for three weeks and a life to come.”

Bodhi’s grin widened as he leaned back. “Prisoner? Please. You’ve been invited into the heart of civilization, Vi.”

“Is that what you call it?” I huffed, crossing my arms.

“That, and the better war college.”

That caught my attention.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his expression turning serious, just slightly. “If you want, you can visit the college here. Training doesn’t stop just because you’re here for courtly nonsense.”

I tilted my head, wary. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “there are full riding classes, fighting classes, challenges, history, tactics. It’s different from Basgiath, but in our king’s words, it’s a more human way to form fighters.”

I arched a brow. “So no murdering first-years just for fun?”

Bodhi’s smirk dimmed, something dark flickering in his gaze. “Fen isn’t one for cowards. But he still has a heart.”

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. But it was an option.

A way to keep moving, to keep training. And that alone was enough for me to nod in agreement.

“Yeah, alright,” I said. “I’ll go.”

Bodhi studied me then, his sharp gaze scanning my face, and I could tell that he noticed.

The exhaustion. The lingering pain. The fact that I was still in my fucking flight leathers instead of anything remotely comfortable.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, quieter now. “You look—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Like you could use something.”

I swallowed, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”

His expression didn’t change, but he clearly didn’t believe me.

“Liam and Sloane were going to stop by soon,” he added, like he was testing the waters, watching my reaction. “Just so you know.”

I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over my face.

I had just opened my mouth to ask who Sloane was when the door swung open again.

And my question was answered immediately.

Because there, stepping in beside Liam, was a slightly younger, female version of him—same striking blue eyes, same confident stance.

But where Liam was all warmth and easy smiles, Sloane?

Sloane took one look at me, tilted her head, and said flatly,

“Yeah, well, you look like your dead self.”

I blinked.

Liam let out a long sigh, shoving his sister lightly. “Sloane. Really?”

“What?” She shrugged, completely unapologetic. “She does.”

I snorted, shaking my head, too tired to even argue.

But before I could respond, the door swung open again and Garrick strode in.

Holding two bottles of liquor in his hands, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, raising one of the bottles. “We can’t just let Xaden’s future bride sit here and sulk, now can we?”

I froze.

“Garrick,” Liam muttered, but the other male ignored him entirely.

“I say we make an initiation of it.” He grinned at me. “And what better way than drinking some proper Tyrrish alcohol?”

I already knew this was a bad idea. Knew it deep in my bones, knew that my stomach still wasn’t fully settled, that my body was still too sore, too exhausted.

But their good mood was infectious.

And the thought of being alone with my thoughts again?

So much worse. So instead of protesting, I let out a slow breath, shoved my exhaustion aside, and scooted over as Liam, Sloane, Bodhi, and Garrick all climbed onto my bed, settling in a messy circle.

And the first bottle started to pass around.