Page 89 of Severed Heir

Lasar tilted his head, considering. “If I recall, the bargain your father made was to marry you to the son who claimed Victor’s throne. There is still one Lynch in line.”

“Kian gained shadows,” I said. “There’s no one left.”

He raised a gloved hand, pointing toward the field. “Damien Lynch,” he said simply. “A mind reader is bound to rise in the final trial.”

My heart stopped.

Then a hazel-eyed ghost stepped onto the grounds. Although, he was more alive than ever. I stood, breath caught in my throat. “Damien!” I shouted.

But he didn’t smile, nor did he flinch. He met my gaze like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Then a voice slid into my mind. And it wasn’t mine this time, it was his.“You finally found me, North. I was wondering when our little game would end.”

It was Damien. He’d been the false bond all along.

Chapter Seventeen

Malachi Herring— The Final Serpent Trial

Damien stood to my left. Knox was two places down, with Lydia of the Spring realm and Bridger between us, forming the final five contenders in the face-off for heir.

Soon, it would be a battle to the death. The crowd always loved watching the king’s grandchildren fall.

Adina was poisoned in her sleep during her second year. She lasted longer than most, but not by much. Iris trusted the wrong friend. Her daggers disappeared the morning of her trial, and a beast took her before she could scream. Vanya’s death came quickly. Grief had hollowed her out before the trial even began. Reid drowned. They said his trial key was lost, but I heard the one who found it still wears it like a trophy, a prize for killing a Herring. And William bled out with a dagger in his chest, fighting for a sword. A red-handled blade Severyn later won from Callum. I never told her what it meant.

I didn’t know what kind of death would come for me. Only that it would. We weren’t bred for thrones. We were bred for blood. The Herrings were never tyrants. Just easy targets in a world that worships legacy and hungers for war.

Damien lifted his hand, waving to the crowd like he’d already won. That was enough to ground me in the now.

I turned to him, voice low and sharp. “Why the hell was I barred from even saying your name during Severyn’s titling?”

He rolled his shoulders, calm as ever. “Because this is my game, Mal.”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Maybe it was fondness. Maybe it was something darker, buried beneath the calm tilt of his mouth. “This way,” he said, voice low, almost gentle, “we don’t have to choose between our lives.” He smiled then, faintly, like he already knew how this would end. “She never would’ve made it this far.”

The headmaster raised his hand, the light catching through the swirling snow flurries. I knew the moment he lowered it, all hell would break loose.

“She’s in love with your brother,” I said. “The entire Continent has heard wind of their romance all because of Cully’s article in the Serpent Press.”

“It’s all part of the plan. Archer is imprisoned, isn’t he?” Damien’s hazel eyes flickered toward the ground, before he beamed a smile in my direction. “When I win, she’ll become my wife.”

I had no time to respond. The headmaster’s arm dropped to his side, and a chorus of drums thundered through the arena, silencing the crowd.

“Welcome to the final trial at the Serpent Academy!” his voice rang out. “Today, we are joined by visitors from across the Continent to bear witness as one courageous student fulfills their legacy. The final five will face the lindworm, and only one will rise as a Serpent heir.”

A cold realization hit me as I stared at Damien. “You… you were never her friend. Why?”

He straightened, rolling his neck back. “Severyn was always mine. I knew she would become my wife someday, when Archer gained his shadows. I created her, aided her to win. I even became her friend like the gentleman I am. Now, we don’t have to choose between our lives.” He drew a sword sheathed at his back. “I thought the wind heard all, Mal? I guess not this secret.”

“You’re fucking crazy. I won’t let you back in her life.”

“I helped her. She would’ve died without me.”

At the arena’s edge, a lone journalist wrote down every detail he saw. Then his eyes snapped to mine, and I knew he’d want a quote for his tabloid. “Miss Herring, any last words for the Serpent Press?”

“Sure,” I said sweetly, then flashed a ringed middle finger at his face. “Write this, you asshole.”

Damien turned to the journalist with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Tell my realm the Lynches will always protect their civilians,” he called, loud enough for the crowd to hear. Then, lowering his voice just enough to make it personal, he added with a wink, “Feel free to embellish. You know, whatever sappy shit the civilians eat up.”

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