Page 112 of Bound to the Dreadlord

She does not ask what the message says. She already knows from the look on my face.

"Your father made his move," she murmurs.

My grip tightens around the parchment until it crumbles in my fist.

Hazeran did not just strip me of my title. He has made his intent clear.

I exhale slowly.

Sera tilts her head, watching me with the same calculating gaze I once used against her.

"Are we going to talk about what just happened?" she asks.

I meet her gaze.

"No."

42

SERA

The cold seeps into my bones.

The mountains are unforgiving, vast stretches of jagged stone and white-covered death. The wind cuts through me like a blade, but I do not shiver. I have learned to ignore it.

It has been hours since Veylan left.

I tell myself I don’t care. That I do not need him to hover, to instruct, to command.

But the silence around me is too loud.

I am alone. Truly alone for the first time in weeks.

I should savor it.

Instead, I feel watched.

I pace the edge of our camp, the ruins of the old outpost curling into the cliffs. A forgotten place, abandoned by war.

Veylan told me to stay inside. I don’t.

I practice instead. Blades. Footwork. Breathing.

Everything he has drilled into me. Everything that is no longer foreign.

The dagger is familiar now like an extension of my hand. My body moves before I think—parrying the ghosts of enemies that do not exist.

I do not hesitate.

Good.

The last time I hesitated, he bruised me.

The last time I hesitated, I lost.

I do not plan on losing again.

The feeling sharpens.

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