Page 90 of Burning Heir

I shrugged Malachi off as a dream. “Go away.”

“Get up.” The wind ripped through the duvet, snatching it off my body.

I shook my head. “The king has called forme?”

She grinned. “Yes, you won Skyfall. It’s tradition to have dinner with him. Now, I suggest changing and combing your hair first.”

I got out of bed and began yanking a brush through the ends of my hair. “This is your fault. I was okay with losing, and now Naraic’s life is in danger because you had to be noble.”

“All I said was Ciaran was bonded with your dragon. He doesn’t know you rose him from the dead. For all we know, Naraic was in hiding for two years. I thought you’d be happy you won. It’s an honor to be invited to dinner with the king. Smile and accept anything he offers.”

I cursed under my breath, rifling through my closet for the nicest academy clothes I could find. Malachi tossed me a white, long-sleeved button-down and a black skirt from her closet. “Wear this,” she said.

“Thank you,” I muttered, pleating my bangs back. I stopped mid-braid and stared at her, raising a brow. “Can you come? Please.”

She dusted a fleck off my shoulder. “No, I can’t come. I wasn’t invited.”

“Fine.”

A knock sounded at our door.

Three guards stood motionless outside, their silver armor faintly glinting in the dim light, swords strapped in rigid precision across their backs. Without a word, they flanked me, their heavyboots echoing through the stone halls as they led me upward—through winding staircases and toward the highest door in the castle.

A serpent statue loomed atop the academy’s tallest peak.

Dawn brushed against the melted shadows of Night, their meeting drenched in Autumn’s weeping haze. Summer’s warmth lingered on the edges of Spring’s tender lush, clinging to the barriers of Day’s golden light. People had died to see this view. Killed… like me.

The air felt stale and heavy, each gasp dragging through my tightening chest. Behind me, the door clicked shut.

A golden cloak draped along the stone tiles, glinting pure light within the stained-glass window—not a sea of stars, but the sun. Half-drunk, a goblet of wine perched in the king’s slender hands, stained with red film. He wore no crown—but the sight of him had me bowing amidst the ache in my shoulders.

I was seven again. My father, years younger, fewer wrinkles, with his hand pressed firmly on my back. “If you are ever to grace the king with your presence, first you must bow and smile.” And so, I did. “If the king offers you something, you take it.”

“Your majesty,” I began, my voice trembling. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

I took my first step toward the large mahogany dining table carved with intricate designs. A crystal chandelier hung over the table, scattering embers across the room. Another empty chair, arched claw-footed legs curled into a spiral with a deep-purple velvet cushion, faced the twenty-foot slab of wood, covered with every delicacy I could imagine. Fresh ham with cranberry sauce, stuffed turkey, and every vegetable—even ones that would never grow in the bitter cold of the north.

The king turned to face me, curiosity beaming in his wide green eyes. I sat without hesitation.

He strummed his empty fingers along the table. “Severyn Blanche, where have you been hiding all these years?”

“Sir, I was born in the Frozen Valley of Northern Colindale. It isn’t exactly a place one leisurely visits.” My breath was shallow. I didn’t linger on his aged face for too long.

He hummed a low tune I couldn’t quite place. “You willed flame. It always fascinates me when students are called to a realm they have never stepped foot in. This academy was designed to have great leaders flourish in the lands. Some of the strongest blood has been poured to create the trials, the wards that keep Winter chilled and Summer hot. My, the academy’s founders imported every flower and vine from across the lands.”

A chill ran down my spine. “My mother was born in Ravensla, your honor. If chosen to be a Serpent, I will do my best.” I kept my hands laced in my lap and didn’t dare take a sip of the red wine the aide poured before he did.

He swirled his goblet thrice, legs of red crawling the glass rim. “Fallon Blanche could have taken the entire Continent at its reins. I see you in her. She sat in that same seat twenty-six years ago.” He gulped a heavy sip, a grin curling his thin lips as he jangled a lavender pendant on his wrist. “You have her eyes, my dear.”

I sipped the wine, tasting berries and oak. “Her eyes are gone.”

“She bartered them for her life. Your mother, as powerful as she is, was also reckless.”

I dared to ask how.

“She chose to give up her quell to live in the North. She chose babies and a family over her life. Anger claimed her. A quell is what makes us, Severyn.” He leaned in closer. “Do you understand?”

There was something uncanny about his eyes and how they lagged behind the rest of his head.

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