Page 72 of Severed Heir

The king’s voice rang out like a war drum, echoing from the academy towers and across the stone bleachers. He was using something to enhance it. Probably magic. Because of course he was.

“Welcome, honored spectators, noble bloodlines, and civilians from far and wide! Today, you witness Skyfall, Verdonia’s most ruthless rite for dragon riders. A spectacle of wings, will, and war.”

The crowd erupted, a thunder of cheers crashing against the cliffs and the academy walls.

“These are your possible heirs,” the king continued. “Born to rule. Raised to conquer. Bound to risk everything for a title that cannot be gifted... only earned.”

His gaze swept the arena like a blade. “And remember this, in Skyfall, only one will rise. The rest will fall.”

The horn split the sky.

Ciaran launched upward, wings slicing through the cold with practiced fury. Below, the crowd blurred into a smear of color and sound—except for two figures on the viewing platform.

My grandfather, Theodore Octavion, stood tall in a dark-hemmed cloak. Beside him was a hooded woman I didn’t recognize.

Neither of them looked at me. They were watching Klaus. The woman leaned in toward my grandfather, her lips moving just enough for me to catch the words:“Is that the Seeker boy?”

My grandfather nodded once, then mouthed something back.

My blood turned cold. No one knew what Klaus was. Not even his family. He’d kept it buried, protected. We both had. So how the hell did they?

“Archer,”Ciaran rasped in my mind,“your heart is beating too fast.”

“My grandfather mouthed something about Seekers,” I said. “And he was looking at Klaus.”

Ciaran surged faster, wings snapping through cloud. But it was too late, we were already trailing in last place.

Then a voice blared from the enchanted speakers, thundering through the arena. “Who will claim Skyfall this year? It certainlywon’t be Archer Lynch, who seems more interested in the crowd than the crown!”

Laughter rippled through the stadium. My grandfather didn’t smile. He just stared, like he’d disown me on the spot if I didn’t get the hell off the field.

I pounded on our bond.“Klaus, where are you?”

“Not telling. You’ll cheat.”

“Be serious for once.”

We shot into the trails—and a dagger sliced across my shoulder. Just a graze, but it burned like hell.

I twisted on Ciaran’s back, eyes locking onto the culprit. Some cocky second-year from Autumn, riding like he had something to prove.

“Wrong move,” I muttered, the words low and sharp.

Shadows flared. I launched a pair of daggers that clipped his cloak. The rider tumbled, screaming, until the wind swallowed him whole.

Ciaran banked sharply, wings churning us higher. The trees fell away as we surged above the canopy, climbing fast.

“You’ve still got that letter, right?”Klaus asked through our bond.

I hit a cliffside curve hard, pain jarring through my side as the wind slammed into my ribs. Each gust stung like needles against raw skin.

“Klaus,”I gritted out, scanning the sky.“Where are you?”

“Beating your ass in this race,”he replied dryly.

Typical sarcastic bastard, I growled under my breath as rain knifed through the sky and we tore into the Autumn sector. Ciaran lunged, snapping her jaws around the velvet ribbon threaded through a circular obstacle, shredding it clean as we passed.

“We could still win,”she rasped.

---