Page 5 of Rhapsody of Ruin
Iriel leaned forward, mask tilted just so, his smirk slicing deep. “Perhaps the prince fears to warm our Shroud. Perhaps he thinks his flame too small.”
Laughter rippled across the chamber.
My blood burned hot. Torian’s fury coiled tighter beside me, though his face gave nothing away. Draven, standing at the wall, raised a lazy brow as if to sayI told you so. Brenn shifted, restless. Tharos’s iron hand flexed, scraping faintly against the stone pillar where he leaned.
I drew a long breath through my nose, forcing my hands to unclench. Every instinct screamed to roar, to lash out, to remind them what dragonfire could do to their silver walls. But that was what they wanted. They wanted the beast, not the prince.
I would not give it to them.
I forced my voice calm. “So be it. I hear your will.”
The laughter died. Surprise flickered behind masks. They had expected me to rage.
I did not bow. I did not break.
But inside, humiliation cut deeper than any blade.
I let my eyes drift, just for a heartbeat, to Elowyn. Her posture was flawless, her mask serene, but I saw the faintest twitch of her hands where they lay in her lap. A reaction. A tremor. She felt the sting too, though she would never admit it.
And in that moment, heat flared low in me that had nothing to do with rage.
I despised her. I desired her. The contradictions burned me alive.
“Council dismissed,” Vaeloria said, her voice final.
We turned as one. Torian stalked at my side, silent fury radiating from him. The veterans fell into step, their eyes watchful, their jaws set. Behind us, I heard the rustle of silk, the murmurs of nobles feeding on humiliation like carrion birds.
At the door, I looked back once. Elowyn’s eyes met mine across the chamber, only for an instant before she turned her head. Cold. Controlled. But that flicker remained.
I told myself it was hatred.
I prayed it was not.
And I swore that if they thought to bind me in chains of silver and shadows, they would learn what dragonfire could do to a cage.
Chapter 4
Elowyn
The Moonveil arcade was one of my mother’s most prized creations, and one of the few places in Shadowspire where twilight softened into something nearly gentle. Glass panels arched overhead, etched with constellations that shimmered faintly with glamour, so the entire corridor seemed to glow as though lit from within. Water whispered along channels cut into the floor, the streams weaving silver paths that caught the lanternlight. Illusion and architecture bound together here, a constant reminder that Lunareth lived not only by shadow but by spectacle.
Nyssa walked at my side, her healer’s mask pale as bone, a tablet of parchment balanced against her arm. She murmured the sequence of duties for the evening banquet: placements for nobles, music cues, the sequence of dances, which vintages of wine were expected at which hour. I nodded in rhythm, only half listening, my thoughts still circling the wound of the night before.
Rhydor Aurelius’s words, the sight of Kyssa’s humiliation, Iriel’s cruel smile , they lingered like poison under my skin.
We turned a corner, our footsteps echoing against the mirrored glass, and came upon a knot of courtiers gathered like crows. Their laughter was sharp, cruel, and flavored with glamour that made it echo louder than it should.
At their center was a Namyr servant girl, scarcely more than fourteen. A shimmer of silver magic clung to her body like chains, forcing her limbs into unnatural grace as she mimicked the gait of one of the noblewomen. Her feet stumbled against the heated glass tiles, and she gasped, pain catching in her throat.
The courtiers laughed harder.
One lord leaned on his cane, his mask carved into the shape of a wolf’s sneer. “Almost convincing,” he drawled. “With a little more training, perhaps she could pass.”
“Training animals takes patience,” another replied. “And discipline.”
Laughter swelled, sharp as knives.
Heat flared in my chest. I quickened my pace, skirts whispering as I stepped directly into their circle. “Drop the glamour,” I said. My voice was formal, cool, giving no space for them to pretend I asked instead of commanded.
