Page 98 of Bound to the Dreadlord

This cannot continue.

"What will you do, Father?" Drathis finally speaks, gaze flickering between us. "If Veylan does not?—"

"Then I will."

My stomach coils.

Hazeran’s voice is calm. Too calm.

"She is a distraction," he continues. "A weakness. And weakness must be eliminated."

Vaedros grins, flicking his dagger upright. "I’d be happy to do it myself."

My body tenses a fraction.

But my father sees it.

Of course, he sees it.

His fingers tap once against the table, watching. Waiting.

I inhale slowly.

Carefully.

"Then let her be disposed of," I say flatly.

My brothers pause.

They were not expecting that.

I push up from my chair, straightening. Dismissing them.

Dismissing this.

"Where are you going?" Maelrik asks, head tilting like a curious hound.

"To train."

A lie.

Hazeran knows it.

He doesn’t stop me because he has already set his trap.

He knows I have already stepped into it.

I stride from the war room, my hands clenched, my thoughts fraying at the edges.

I am not weak.

But my father sees something in me that he does not like.

And if he is forced to act—he will.

My jaw locks as I turn down the corridor, my steps quickening.

Hazeran will not wait long.

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