Page 133 of Severed Heir

“Is it true?” Charles asked, his voice sharp. “Unfortunately, I had prior obligations and wasn’t able to attend.”

Archer raised a brow. “I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “But it’s true. Severyn isn’t Andrias’s child. We were searching for Fallon to find out who is.”

Charles lowered the blade at last, jaw tight with restraint. “Myla,” he said, without looking at her, “search the records from the Serpent gatherings twenty years ago for anything tied to Fallon Blanche.”

Myla blinked, then nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

I asked Charles. “Why would Mother hide this? Why lie?”

“If not to shield us from shame, then to protect you,” he said tightly. “Father needed a daughter, and the Blanche bloodline bore only sons.”

“None of this makes sense,” I whispered.

“We’ll figure it out. But let’s hope your true bloodline didn’t come with a price, like being bartered away before you were born.”

Myla returned moments later, arms full of seven worn, leather-bound tomes. “This is all I could find,” she said, breathless. “The Serpents… kept a lot.”

Charles snapped his fingers. “Bring in a journalist. Since my best one has mysteriously vanished, I have no choice but to involve others. Nothing leaves this room.”

From his corner, Rok smirked. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“This is a waste of resources,” Damien muttered. “Surely Malvoria has greater threats.”

“It involves the Forgotten,” Charles said. “If Severyn’s father is a Serpent, we need to know if he’s feeding them information about the Continent.”

Charles turned to Archer and Damien. “There are spare bunks in the western sector. Severyn needs rest. The infirmary doesn’t allow overnight wanderers.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Archer growled.

“I don’t care,” Charles said flatly. “This is a private ward. Every guest is accounted for. Severyn doesn’t need you hovering over her like a deprived beast.”

“I’ll be fine,” I cut in quickly, trying to defuse the heat between them. “Really. You both need rest. And a shower.”

From the corner, Rok muttered, “Three lone Serpents wandering the barren outskirts. They’ll heir anyone these days, won’t they?”

Archer didn’t answer. He only clenched his jaw, gave me one last look, and turned to follow Charles and Damien down the corridor.

Rok lingered as everyone else left.

He leaned against the far wall, my shadow now his—stretching toward the cot. Then he crossed the room in slow, deliberate strides and crouched beside me, chin tilted upward.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten our little barter, Severyn.”

“I want them back,” I said. “Our barter is over.”

He leaned in closer. “A man willing to strip himself of his gifts to protect a woman isn’t noble,” Rok murmured. “Makes me wonder what exactly he was protecting between you two.”

“Then what is it?”

“A man in love.”

His fingers flexed just beneath my chin, and I felt the familiar pull of power, the way my flame stirred beneath my skin, tethered and trembling. It danced like he could pluck the ember from me and scatter it into dust.

“Love,” he said softly, “is perhaps our greatest weakness… and our most dangerous weapon.”

“Our barter is off,” I urged again. “I am no longer here.”

A slender shade slipped from Rok’s fingers. “Do you want it back? The shadows? People will begin to wonder why your power is weaker.” He smiled. “I’m guessing you kept that a secret.”

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