Page 60 of The First Scar
He stared at me like I'd just run him through.
Brannick approached Kaelen. "Well?" he demanded. "Did you see anything?"
Kaelen studied Eryndor—catching on the place where I’d seen that horrible black light pulse. His expression was unreadable.
"Nothing conclusive. Their Marks reacting to one another at the end was... unexpected. It complicated the assessment," he said. "He either has better control than any Crown asset I've ever seen, or he's telling the truth." He sighed. "We'll find out which soon enough."
He turned away, dismissing them both.
But I caught the way Eryndor's hand shook—just once—before he tucked it behind his back. The way he breathed through his nose, measured and strained, like someone trying not to scream.
Maxx sauntered over to me and offered me a hand up, I absentmindedly took it. He let out a whistle and nudged me. "So. Sparring. That's what we're calling that?"
I didn't answer. I could feel the ghost of that thread snapping taut, the pull at my core constantly wanting him. And his face—that wreck of agony before the mask slammed back down.
What was that black pulse under his shirt? Had I done that to him? Had my ShadowMark hurt him?
I didn't have an answer. I wasn't sure I wanted one.
Chapter 13
ERYNDOR
The corridor swallowed me the moment I cleared the training hall.
The passage narrowed, the ceiling bowed enough to scrape, a single torch still guttering ahead. The rest had burned out and no one had replaced them.
I made it three steps before my knees buckled.
Stone bit into my shoulder—cutting, indifferent, the only thing holding me upright as I finally stopped fighting the pain I'd been muzzling since the moment her blade kissed my throat.
The Oath-stone had singed my skin with its anger—black fire licking through my breastbone while I matched her strike for strike, while I pinned her, while she pinnedme. I'd held the agony behind my teeth and kept my face carved from granite.
I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood.Don't scream. Don't fall. They're still watching.
But they weren't. I'd walked far enough, fast enough, that the murmur of the crowd had faded to a distant hum. Just me and the dark and the thing in me that was trying to hollow me out from the inside.
Gather intelligence, the King had ordered.Assess the threat. Learn Kaelen's plans.
I had obeyed. Every word of it. I had tested her guard, measured her speed, catalogued the way she shifted her weight before a strike. By the cold letter of my orders, I was a faithful hound.
The Oath-stone didn't just care about letters. Its judgement went beyond mere actions. It tastedintent. And intent was a language I had never learned to lie in.
Capture,the order said.Contain.
But when her thighs pinned my hips... when she smiled like a blade finding its angle...you weren't thinking about containment, soldier.
You were thinking about the challenge, the thrill of the hunt.
And to the King, that little pleasure was treason.
Move, soldier. You have a role to play.
I found Kaelen in the war room, bent over his maps like a general planning a siege that had already been won. He didn't look up when I entered, but I felt his attention settle over me likea hand pressing between my shoulder blades—assessing, filing away every detail of my posture for later dissection.
"Quite a show," he said mildly. "I don't think I've seen her that animated since she arrived."
I clasped my hands behind my back. The posture hid the tremor. "She fights well. Undisciplined, but adaptable."
