Page 155 of Burning Heir

“What did he write?”

Archer stared at where Klaus’s name was marked on his ribs. “He told me flame finds its shadow.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “This is where I belong, Archer.”

A soft knock sounded at the door as Amria stepped inside. Eyes wide and excited as her fingers clasped the iron door handle. “Severyn, your dress is ready.”

Archer released my hand, not shying away from the wide grin on his mouth. “I’ll wait here.”

With a nod, I followed Amria into the dressing room. She instructed me to close my eyes, and I obeyed, feeling a strange disorientation as I stepped forward. The world blurred into nothingness, leaving only the sound of my breath and the soft scrape of fabric against the floor. Suddenly, I felt a gentle nudge on my elbow, halting my steps.

Amria’s voice was a whisper, trembling with excitement. “You can look now.”

I uncovered my eyes, and my breath caught in my throat.

The gown was a masterpiece. The lace shimmered like liquid fire, deep red at the bodice, cascading down in layers of twilight hues that melted into velvety blues, fading effortlessly into an ethereal lavender.

It was a sunset.

“Moonlight will follow you,” Amria said softly, her eyes wide with awe as she watched my reaction. “The strings are crafted with nightcloth, one of the strongest threads in Verdonia.”

I was speechless for a moment. The gown felt like it was made for someone else—someone more beautiful, more powerful. But I nodded, fighting the lump in my throat. “Amria, you’re—” I stopped, struggling to find the words. “It’s breathtaking.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, her hands fluttering nervously as she adjusted the dress on the mannequin beside me. “I’ll have the whole closet ready for you when you return, Severyn. I know the Serpent of the Night prefers simplicity, but every now and then, I sneak in a bit of color.” She gestured to the violet buttons on a table.

I smiled, a warmth filling my chest. “Thank you, Amria. You’ve been more than generous.”

Her smile faltered for a moment. “I haven’t congratulated you properly yet.” She paused, the words hanging between us. “I never thought a flame-wielder would claim his heir… but at least now, he doesn’t have to worry about his realm while he’s at the academy.”

The weight of her words pressed on me. “He stays,” I whispered, more to myself than her. I lifted my gaze, meeting her eyes with quiet resolve. “And I will stay.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Archer and I left for the capital—a day’s flight away, and most of it was over the shadows of the Night realm.

Archer suggested we take Ciaran while Naraic was still healing.

The darkness stretched on, but the stars followed—gliding like fireflies weaving through fields. I’d glimpsed Naraic earlier, a pearl dipped in oil from below, shining against the black sea. We rode over the riptide, winding through valleys of crystalline mountains. At the edge of Verdonia, at the edge of everything, I remembered Damien’s words—about a world without quells, where the restrictions of wards no longer separated Night from Day, where sunlight existed in seasons, not bartered for or brined.

And if I could be his calm for just a moment longer, I would.

I had dreamed of leaving the North my entire life—dreamed of darkness and daylight, of autumn leaves. Now, the worldseemed vast, infinite, with every beat of Ciaran’s heart echoing in my lungs. I thought I would be a Winter, and make Father proud as snow danced between my fingers. And when fire boiled in my blood, I thought I’d make my estranged grandmother proud, too.

My mother’s words about living in someone else’s shadow made sense now. I would not live in anyone’s shadow, but I would become one.

Archer guided Ciaran, his eyes accustomed to the dark, promising that in a few months, I’d see as clearly as daylight.

We’d sent a letter to the capital the night before our journey. No response had come, but Serpent Post worked differently. Archer had assured me the king had received our notice.

Night bent into light—a prism of stars above. We flew for twelve hours, then stopped to rest at a Serpent hostel on the capital’s nomadic outskirts. Once, this small plot had belonged to Spring. I imagined lush mountainsides, not barren and withered, the trees alive with color. The hostel was a dilapidated bunker, its walls coated with a decade of dust and decay.

I curled into Archer’s arms beneath the fractured, silver moonlight. The stiff mattress creaked beneath us as we shifted, but it was a bed—our bed to rest, for now.

“I promise the Capital is nicer. This place... well, it’s terrible,” he said, his mouth curling in distaste.

“I don’t care.” I nestled closer, threading my fingers through his.

He ran his fingers down my spine. “You’re already better than most Serpents. I don’t mind staying in these places. It is a reminder that nothing is permanent. I see the history of our land and what used to be.”

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