Page 40 of The Shattered Rite
She closed the distance to the guard with measured steps, as if her pulse weren’t pounding hard enough to shake her ribs. Thesilence that followed her title wasn’t absence—it pressed in on her, dense and waiting, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Her rags clung to her ribs, streaked with dried blood and soot. Her dragonmarks shimmered faintly under the hall’s dim light. She lifted her arms automatically, presenting her wrists.
Oh, lovely,Coordinated restraints. Every girl’s dream,she thought dryly.
She braced herself for the chill of magic.
It didn’t come.
The guard stood before her, but he didn’t move. His helm shadowed his face, but his stillness conveyed plenty.
He was hesitating.
Eliryn frowned. “If you're trying to build suspense, congratulations. It’s working.”
No response.
Her hands hovered in the air awkwardly. She shifted slightly. “It's not polite to keep a lady waiting.”
Still nothing.
Vaeronth stirred in her mind, his voice like cool stone brushing molten steel.
He is afraid.
She almost said something. But her throat locked.
Afraid… of me?
Yes.
Her gut twisted.
She forced a crooked smile. “I promise I won’t kill you unless you try something with those cuffs.”
It was a joke. Mostly.
He didn’t take it that way.
The manacles in his hands shook slightly.
“Oh,” she muttered under her breath, “I wasn't serious.”
Vaeronth’s presence curled warmer, steady, a flicker of amusement brushing her thoughts like a tail-swipe of smoke.
He believes your threat.
She blinked up at the guard, feeling awkward now. “Look, I was joking.”
No response.
The guard did not move.
She looked up, trying to see the expression in his gaze but her eyes struggled to cooperate.
The hall had fallen completely still. One of the oldest contestants—a sharp-eyed man with sallow cheeks and a suspicious bend to his spine—broke the silence.
"Why isn’t she being bound like the rest of us?" he asked, voice low and bitter.
