Page 111 of Severed Heir

“Blood wouldn’t do her hair justice,” she murmured. “And stone couldn’t hold the light of her eyes.”

A tick shuddered in the Commander’s jaw. “Tell me more.”

“Do you believe her?” the masked one asked. “You can’t be serious.”

“What’s her name?” the Commander demanded.

The Seeker turned to Cully. “I’ll tell him, and he’ll write it. But the shadow-wielder… and his lover… walk free.”

A silence fell, dense and strange. Then the guard crouched and dropped a feathered quill at Cully’s feet.

“One name,” the Seeker whispered. “One thread of my Sight.”

“Cully, don’t!” I shouted. “It’s a trap!”

But he was already stepping forward. Her hand brushed his cheek, and he jolted like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Write her name,” the Seeker said again. “As I told you.”

Cully’s voice cracked, hoarse and hollow. “The third tower leads out. My stories… they’re under the bed.” His eyes flicked up for just a second. “I think I love your best friend.”

“What?” I choked. “Cully, what are you saying?”

He still wouldn’t look at me. “I forged the scripture,” he muttered. “I thought it would protect our family. I didn’t think it would end like this, or get Charles expelled.”

“Cully,” I hissed. “What scripture?”

Shame crawled over his features like frost spreading across glass. He turned away, as if even facing me was too much. Then, with a trembling hand, he bent down and scrawled a name into the floor.

The Commander leaned in to read and froze. His hand flew to his chest like he’d been stabbed. “It can’t be,” he whispered. “Her?”

The silver-masked guard peered over his shoulder. “That one?” His head tilted. “Phew. She’s a stunner.”

“She braided my griffin’s mane once,” the Commander murmured, his voice unraveling. “Her mother never let her near the guards.”

“You’re crying,” the other guard said quietly.

“I’m not,” the Commander barked, but he dabbed beneath his mask, fingers trembling.

An awkward, almost absurd beat passed before the commander straightened and barked, “You may leave. The boy stays.”

“No!” I surged forward. “He’s coming with me!”

“He’s been touched by a Seeker’s Sight,” the commander growled. “You want him prophesying mid-dinner? He’s not leaving.”

Fury surged behind my ribs. I reached for flame, but the prison’s wards smothered it the instant it sparked, like a breath stolen mid-scream. The magic died in my chest, leaving only rage.

The cell door groaned open. A broad-shouldered figure was shoved through—dark hair, torn coat, boots streaked with ash and blood. It was Archer. And he looked like hell.

His bloodshot eyes burned with something between desperation and disbelief. He looked like a man who had clawed his way out of one nightmare only to step into another. Mine.

Then he moved, fast. Three strides and he was there, arms wrapping around me with a force that knocked the breath from my chest. One hand cradled the back of my head. The other held firm at my spine, as if letting go would break him.

“We need to go,” he murmured, breath harsh against my temple. “Now.”

“No.” I shoved at him, panic crashing through my chest. “Cully is not staying here!”

Archer scooped me into his arms, pulling me flush against his chest. “You leave me no choice,” he said, voice low against my ear. “So, I’ll carry you. Even if it ruins me.”

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