Page 118 of The Shattered Rite

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Didn’t want to hear the voice waiting there. His father’s voice—precise as a blade, cold as the steel it wielded. Secrets wrapped in barely human skin.

At the stairwell, he paused. His fingers curled around the stone railing, his knuckles bloodless.

He would be expected to report.

They had scrying pools. Eyes sharper than his. But his father wanted to hear the shape of her from Malric’s lips. How she moved. What she inspired.

And what could break her.

Malric’s stomach twisted.

Because he knew the answer now.

Not her weakness. Her strength.

She protected. Even when it cost her. She led without asking. She earned loyalty without demanding it.

That was what terrified them.

Not her dragon.

Her humanity.

A girl with no title. No allegiance but to truth and flame. That kind of power couldn’t be chained. It couldn’t be bought.

And it couldn't be allowed to grow.

He could already hear the verdict waiting for him. His father’s voice, soft as silk, cutting as glass:

We can’t risk her gaining allies. You’ll see that it doesn’t happen.

Malric swallowed hard.

It wasn’t the order that would hollow him.

It was knowing how easily he would obey.

And yet—

He remembered her laughter, flickering like firelight in the kitchen halls. Her hair damp, curling against her cheek. Not a leader. Not a threat.

Just a woman.

In the arena, she hadn’t survived like a warrior would.

She’d endured like someone with something to lose.

And he found himself wanting to know what it was.

He braced a hand against the stone. His pulse felt wrong in his throat.

Eliryn of Lirin’s Edge had survived three trials.

She’d earned her place.

And his father would still order her death.

“Damn you,” Malric whispered. Not to her. Not entirely.

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