Page 55 of Severed Heir

I groaned, teeth chattering as I forced my eyes open. Wide brown eyes blinked down at me. A little girl with tight, dark ringlets and a freckled face leaned closer.

“Hello,” I whispered. “Where… where am I?”

Hands eased me back down. “Still coming off the poison, dear. Rest a bit longer.”

Light fractured across my vision, sharp and dizzying. I winced. “Where’s… where is my dragon?”

“The pearly one’s outside,” the girl giggled.

I lay on a narrow cot, thin cotton sheets brushing my calves. Above me, wooden beams crossed the low ceiling, damp with moss and shadow. The air was thick with the scent of earth and blood. My arm throbbed where the arrow had struck, now wrapped in clean bandages.

An older woman with the same dark curls knelt beside me, lifting a compress from my spine. Her touch was gentle, though her eyes were not.

“You ran a fever for two days,” she said. “How are you still breathing?”

I blinked at her, dazed. “Two days?” I sat up too fast. “I’ve been unconscious for two days?”

“Easy,” she said, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Severyn,” I murmured, pressing my fingers to my temple. “What did he do to me?”

Her gaze flicked to the flame relic on my palm. “And whose heir are you?”

I exhaled slowly, waving her off. “I… can’t say. Not yet.”

Her brow creased. “Strange. Maybe the poison muddled your thoughts. Are you allergic to Cringer? It’s typically harmless, just a sedative used on wild dragons. Keeps them calm.”

I stared at her. “He sedated me with dragon tranquilizer?”

Voices shouted outside the cabin. Then the sharp clang of metal.

“Where is she?” a familiar voice rang out.

The woman stepped back as Archer stormed in, wind at his heels, daggers slung low at his waist, a bow strapped across his shoulder. His dark, tousled waves were wild, his eyes blazing the moment they found me.

“What is she doing here?” he snapped. “And why the hell did your civilian poison her?”

The woman stood with a start. “Archer Lynch,” she said evenly. “So this is your heir?” Her gaze slid to me, slow and calculating. “No word reached us of a student taking title.”

The bow slipped from Archer’s shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud. His steps carried him to me like gravity was pulling him. And when he stopped, it was as if the storm stopped with him.

“She didn’t want the world to know before her father did,” he said, his voice quieter now. He lifted his head. “Severyn Blanche is my heir.”

There was no taking it back. Not now. Not ever.

“She’s lucky Demetria maintains a respectful relationship with your bloodline. If she’d been her father’s heir, I don’t know if she would’ve woken at all.”

“Maybe your watchers should ask questions before firing,” Archer said. “She could’ve been a refugee.”

Ash burned in my lungs. I didn’t know if it was the air or the ache in Archer’s eyes—like he wanted to touch me but didn’t trust himself to.

He stepped forward.

The woman raised a hand, stopping him mid-reach.

“Stay the night,” she said crisply. “The smoke thickens after dusk, and your dragon won’t see far. You’ll be safer here.”

But Archer hadn’t stopped looking at me. Like he hadn’t breathed since I left him back in Malvoria.

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