“You’re sure you want to do this?” Ryvarn asked.
His voice was calm, but I heard the storm under it. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his dark tunic, one I hadn’t seen before. It looked royal. Like something he hadn’t worn in a long time.
“Yes,” I said, straightening my cloak. “Are you?”
He met my eyes through the reflection. “No. But I’m doing it anyway.”
The court summons had come at sunrise. A public audience. The magicians claimed it was to “acknowledge success” in taming the dragon. But no one used the word taming around Ryvarn anymore. Not after what happened in the ritual chamber.
We both knew what this really was. A show. A trap. A throne room full of wolves waiting to see who bites first.
We walked side by side through the carved stone corridors. Guar
