The morning light in Valara was a pale gold haze, softened by the stone walls and rising baker’s smoke. Aeryn adjusted her cloak as she made her way toward the secondary barracks yard—her head still buzzing with yesterday’s final words: Assigned under the Crown Prince. She hadn’t slept well. Not because of nerves, but because of confusion. After the final …

The palace of Valara was a fortress of elegance and stone, but within its walls, whispers moved faster than banners in the wind. Lord Veric of House Dareth stood beside the High Chancellor in the royal council chamber, his fingers laced behind his back. Tall, silver-haired, and serpent-eyed, Veric had long mastered the game of power. His voice was silk …

Aeryn drew her blade, steadying her breath. The candlelight in the chamber flickered across the dulled steel, casting thin lines of fire along its edge. The hooded man—tall, quiet, and far too calm—watched her closely. His presence filled the room with a heavy silence. Something about him felt different from the others. Sharper. Smarter. She held her stance. Left foot …

The city gates of Valara loomed like iron teeth biting into the sky. Aeryn stood in their shadow, her cloak heavy with dust and sweat, her chest tight with the weight of what she was about to do. Her pack held only the barest essentials now—her blade, a waterskin, and the forged parchment she had paid three silver for at …

Since the day she escaped—Aeryn had been reborn. Not as a noble daughter. She was Aeron now. A common-born orphan from a burned-out village, seeking employment as a palace guard. The name fit better than her own ever had. The disguise wasn’t perfect. She’d bound her chest and dirtied her face with soot. Her voice was low from nights spent …

They called her Lady Aeryn of House Merrow. But in this house, she was more prisoner than daughter. The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the eastern parlor, catching on gold-trimmed gowns, polished silver spoons, and laughter that never included her. Aeryn sat stiffly at the edge of the table, half a step behind her two younger brothers. …

The sky over Tharion bled fire.From the balcony outside her chamber, Aeryn watched the red-orange glow rise behind the distant towers of the capital. The nobles would call it sunset. But to her, it looked like warning. Inside, her father’s voice echoed through the marble halls. “A girl does not need books,” he spat earlier, slamming shut the texts she …

By daylight, Crown Prince Kael of Tharion was the image of restraint: poised in velvet, armored in silence, every word calculated like a blade’s edge. But under moonlight, he became someone else. The people of the capital whispered of a masked man in the slums—one who walked like a soldier and listened like a priest. They called him many things: …