Commander Valen was shivering. He had not expected Kaedric to detect the shift in the air, but he wasn't truly surprised either. This was the Protector of Midgard—the Alpha of every covenant dragon in existence. Nothing slipped past his senses. Valen’s knees buckled, slumping heavily against the stone pillar, though Kaedric’s iron hand around his throat kept him suspended. “I am going to tell you right now...” Valen gasped out, his voice a hoarse, desperate whisper. “I am bound... bound by an oath-seal. I cannot give you names. But I can tell you what their aim is.” Kaedric’s golden slits narrowed. He didn't tighten his grip, but the heat radiating from his palm threatened to scorch Valen’s collar. “They want to turn the whole realm against you,” Valen managed to choke out. “They plan to use the High Council to isolate you, to make the people demand you hand Astrid over. And it is going to be easier than you think. They are far crazier, far more ruthless than you realize, Master.

The private study off the inner balcony smelled of crushed elderberries and steeped star-thistle. A younger maid—eyes darting nervously to the floor—set down a heavy pewter tray bearing two goblets of warm spiced mead before bowing out and securing the heavy oak door. Kaedric sat across from Solveig, his face an impenetrable mask. He hadn't touched his goblet. “Speak,” Kaedric commanded softly. “Tell me why your father’s enforcers are hunting you across borders, and why you believe I should care.” Solveig wrapped her slender, ringed fingers around her silver cup, her hands trembling so violently the liquid rippled. “My father... Lord Vane of the Northern Reaches... he did not merely arrange a political match for me, Lord Kaedric,” she began, her voice dropping into a desperate, hushed tremor. “He tried to offer me as a living vessel to the war-lords of the Svartheim border.” Kaedric didn't flinch, but his golden slits narrowed slightly. “The Svartheim rite requires a daughter of

Liv had pretended to be fast asleep the moment Kaedric and Solveig stepped out into the corridor. She would rather be thrown back into the beast pits than admit to anyone—or even to herself—that the dark, twisting storm in her chest was green-eyed jealousy. But she hadn't been able to close her eyes for a single second. The instant the heavy oak door clicked open, her body reacted before her mind could stop it. She sprung upright in bed. “You're back?” “Yes, my lady,” Solveig said, stepping inside with a polite, graceful smile. Solveig was no fool. She caught the wild, anxious look in Liv’s eyes instantly, and as a woman, she immediately read the room. In a swift bid to dismantle whatever assumptions Liv was brewing in the dark, Solveig offered a smooth, reassuring tone. “I was just speaking with Lord Kaedric about his sister, my lady.” Liv’s eyebrows shot up, her brow furrowing deeply. “His... what?” Solveig’s smile faltered slightly. Did I mess up again? she thought, panic f

The Grand Marshal lowered his hand slowly, his palm still stinging from the blinding golden light that had blown the vault doors into scrap. Even through the haze of smoke and scorched stone, the pressure rolling off Kaedric was so immense that the Marshal couldn't bring himself to look the young man directly in the eyes. Then, a cold, mocking smile broke across the Marshal's face. “What did you say?” the Marshal asked, sneering as he looked Kaedric up and down. “No one bleeds for saving you?” Kaedric didn't answer with words. He took two slow, measured steps forward, stopping mere inches from the Marshal. Then, without warning, the Alpha Protector of Midgard—the man who had single-handedly slaughtered the champions of Askheim—dropped to his knees. Valen’s bloodshot eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. Master... kneeling? Begging?! The Marshal had no idea what to make of it. Reflexively, he took a step back, his hand jumping to the hilt of his broadsword. But Kaedric s

The Lawspeaker rested his elbows on the polished ebony desk inside the High Chambers of Askheim, his face unreadable beneath the hood of his ceremonial robes. Four senior elders of the district council sat along the perimeter, their knuckles white against their armrests as they listened to the woman ranting in the center of the hall. For ten straight minutes, Gunnhild had been pacing the stone floor, her silk robes swishing with aggressive energy as she wove her narrative of deceit. “You said you have known him for a long time?” the Lawspeaker asked, finally raising his eyes from a thick, leather-bound tome edged with faint blue runes. “My cousin was arranged to marry him when they were children!” Gunnhild snapped, thrusting her chin out. “I have known Kaedric since he was five years old. And then his parents suddenly died—a very convenient, suspicious death—and he fled like a coward! His poor uncle had to step in and manage the family estate, bless that noble man's heart.” She