Page 83 of Severed Heir

“No,” he replied. “I want you to choose my heir. If it’s not you, find someone worthy.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Archer. “In a world of scavengers hungry for power, you’re the only one who understands what nobility costs. You had seven chances to save the one you loved, and now you have none.”

“Everyone I saved, I cared about.”

He spun me once. “And yet you haven’t killed me. That proves my point. You could take a knife and crown yourself right now.”

The words struck like hot coal behind my ribs. Then he dipped me low, his scaled cloak sweeping past my knees. For a moment, I faltered under the weight of everything he’d said.

“How do I find someone worthy?” I whispered.

He didn’t miss a step. “Reach into that cursed heart of yours. There will be a trial for my title. Choose before then.”

“You’re making a mistake, trusting me with this.”

“When the Seekers wrote about Vera and me, I never imagined you’d exist. I searched the Continent for a child with her eyes and Neval markings.”

My voice dropped. “What does Neval mean?”

A wistful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Your grandmother liked codes. She spelled things backward so no one else could decipher her.Lavenmeans ‘to live.’Ciaranmeans ‘darkness.’Naraic…” He let the word hang, just long enough. “Is the opposite.”

I had never thought to spell the dragon names backward. But now... it made sense.

“Are you asking to die?” I asked quietly.

“The Herrings must remain in power,” he said simply. “We are the only pure souls in a world of deception.”

Then, without warning, he lifted my arm high into the air. A hush swept through the gathering.

A guard stepped forward, cradling an onyx crown and ring laced with obsidian and threaded starlight. The crown didn’t touch my head, but the ring, cold and solid, slid onto my pointer finger.

“Night has found its heir,” the king declared. “And her name is Severyn Blanche.”

Then the king turned, addressing the onlookers with a theatrical flare. “And now... perhaps a few words from Mr. Archer Lynch. I find truth keeps us all harmonious.”

Archer appeared moments later.

He moved with the same lethal grace he wore like armor, shadows curling at his heels like even the dark refused to leave him. He stepped onto the dais, raised a goblet of wine to the stars, and let the silence stretch.

Then his stare found mine. And for a breathless moment, something flickered there. No, something actually flickered in his eyes, like his pupils were glowing.

“Most don’t find their heir in two years,” he said, voice low and steady. “But I chose mine.”

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

The king leaned in. “And how,” he asked silkily, “did a Flame become your heir?”

Shadows coiled tighter around Archer’s boots. His silver gaze flared, not with defiance, but something almost resigned.That’s when I saw it. A gleam, pulsing in the king’s open palm. A truth quell. He was forcing Archer to speak.

Archer didn’t flinch. “To answer your question,” he said, calm as ever, “I must confess to treason.”

I jerked forward, the words slicing through me. “No.”

But he kept going. “I sought Severyn Blanche out. I fell in love with her. What the journalist wrote is true. And I want him released.”

My breath caught.

“What?” I whispered.

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