Dante stood in his destroyed room, staring at the wooden box. His few possessions were scattered and broken—clothes torn, furniture overturned, even the floorboards pried up. Someone had searched thoroughly, looking for something.
Or leaving a message.
The box sat untouched on his bed like a coiled snake. The Blackwell family crest gleamed in the moonlight—a dragon with three heads, representing the three sons. Dante had once worn that crest with pride.
Now it mocked him.
He opened the box carefully. Inside, cushioned in black velvet, lay an official tournament invitation. The parchment was expensive, the calligraphy perfect. His name was already registered: Dante Blackwell, House Blackwell, Third Son.
Not Dante Ash. Not a false identity. His real name, announced to the entire kingdom.
The note beneath was written in Victor's flowing script:
*"We'll be waiting. Come home, little brother. Let's finish what we started five years ago. The family should stay together, don't you think? Mother would have wanted that. -V"*
The mention of their mother felt like a blade between his ribs. Victor knew exactly how to twist the knife.
Footsteps on the stairs. Dante's hand went to the knife at his belt—a reflex from his military days. He relaxed slightly when General Stone appeared in the doorway, two guards behind him.
Stone surveyed the destroyed room. "They wanted you to know they were here."
"Victor's always had a flair for drama," Dante said coldly. He handed Stone the invitation and note.
Stone read them, his expression darkening. "They've registered you under your real name. Everyone in the capital will know you're alive. Every noble family, every political faction." He looked up. "This changes everything. You won't just be fighting in the tournament. You'll be fighting off assassination attempts, political schemes, and probably direct attacks from your brothers."
"I know."
"And you're still going?"
"I have to." Dante looked at the Blackwell crest on the box. "They've been controlling my life for five years. Watching me, manipulating events, making sure I stayed buried. This is my chance to take control back."
Stone nodded slowly. "Then we need to be smarter than they expect. They think they know you—the honorable soldier who accepted exile to protect his mother. They're expecting that same man."
"I'm not that man anymore," Dante said quietly.
"No. You're something more dangerous." Stone's eyes gleamed. "You're a man with nothing left to lose and everything to prove. That's what they don't understand."
One of the guards cleared his throat. "Sir, we found evidence of four intruders. They came in through the back, moved professionally. Military training, probably."
"Victor's personal guards," Dante said. "He always kept a few former soldiers on payroll for dirty work."
"They left tracks heading north out of town," the guard continued. "Should we pursue?"
"No," Stone said. "They're long gone by now. And they got what they came for—proof that Dante received the message." He turned to Dante. "Pack what you need. We're leaving tonight instead of dawn. I don't like how exposed we are here."
"What about Isabella and Tom?"
"Already being moved to a safe location. I sent word the moment I heard about the break-in." Stone checked the window, ever vigilant. "Your brothers are playing a dangerous game. They want you in the capital, but they also want you scared. Off-balance."
"I'm not scared," Dante said.
"I know. That's why we'll win." Stone gestured to the guards. "Help him gather what's salvageable. Then burn this room. Leave nothing for them to come back to."
Twenty minutes later, Dante stood in the street watching his room burn. It was the second fire he'd seen tonight, but this one felt different. Cleansing, almost. The last remnants of his exile are turning to ash.
Old Martha from the bakery appeared, tears streaming down her face. "First the warehouse, now this. What's happening to our town?"
"I'm sorry," Dante said sincerely. "I never meant to bring trouble here."
Martha studied him in the firelight. "You're not what people say, are you? Not really."
"No."
"I didn't think so. You were always too kind, too controlled." She touched his arm gently. "Whatever you're going to do in the capital, be careful. Men with power don't like being challenged."
"I know. But some things are worth the risk."
A covered wagon pulled up, driven by one of Stone's guards. Isabella and Tom sat inside, both looking worried.
"Dante!" Isabella climbed down before the wagon fully stopped. "Are you alright? They said someone broke into your room."
"I'm fine. Just my brothers sending a message."
Tom peered at the burning building. "Some message. They're trying to kill you before you even leave town?"
"No. They want me alive." Dante showed them the tournament invitation. "They've been planning this. Maybe for years."
Isabella read the invitation, her face paling. "They registered you under your real name. Everyone will know."
"That's the point," Stone said, approaching the wagon. "They want Dante exposed, vulnerable. They think it gives them the advantage." He smiled grimly. "They're wrong."
"How are we wrong?" Tom asked. "Seems to me they've got Dante exactly where they want him."
"They have him where they THINK they want him," Stone corrected. "There's a difference. Victor and Sebastian are arrogant. They believe Dante is still the same honorable boy they betrayed five years ago. But exile changes a man. It teaches patience. Strategy. How to hide strength until the perfect moment."
Isabella looked at Dante. "Is that what you've been doing? Hiding your strength?"
"Every day for five years," Dante admitted. "Watching, waiting, learning. Everyone thought I was broken. Even you, at first."
"I stopped thinking that a long time ago," Isabella said softly. "I just didn't understand why you stayed small when you were clearly capable of so much more."
"Because being small kept me safe. Kept you safe. If I'd revealed myself earlier, Victor would have moved against everyone I cared about." Dante gestured at the burning building. "Now he's moving anyway. Which means I'm free to be who I really am."
More of Stone's guards arrived on horseback. Six men, all wearing plain clothes but moving with military precision. These were the soldiers Stone had promised to protect Ashford.
Their leader, a scarred veteran named Garrett, saluted Stone. "Sir. We'll maintain presence here and ensure no further incidents."
"Good. Keep special watch on the mayor's house and the town's main families. Marcus Thorne may try to leverage them against us." Stone mounted his horse. "We'll send word once we reach the capital."
Dante climbed into the wagon beside Isabella and Tom. As they pulled away from Ashford, he looked back at the town that had been his prison and sanctuary for five years.
People watched from windows and doorways. Some still looked angry, blaming him for the night's chaos. Others looked thoughtful, perhaps beginning to question the simple story they'd been told about the disgraced noble.
"Will you come back?" Tom asked. "After the tournament, I mean. Assuming you win."
"I don't know," Dante said honestly. "Depends what's left when this is over."
Isabella leaned against his shoulder, exhausted. "Whatever happens, we face it together."
The wagon rolled through Ashford's gates and onto the northern road. Behind them, smoke from two fires drifted into the night sky. Ahead, somewhere in the darkness, lay the capital city of Thornhaven.
And waiting there, his brothers. Victor and Sebastian, who'd stolen his life and murdered his reputation. Who'd poisoned their mother's final years with lies. Who thought they'd broken him.
They were about to discover how wrong they were.
Stone rode alongside the wagon. "We should reach the capital in six days if we push hard. That gives us one week to prepare before the tournament begins."
"One week," Dante repeated. "To train, to plan, to turn their trap against them."
"Exactly." Stone's expression was fierce. "They invited you to the capital thinking you'd be a lamb to slaughter. Instead, they've invited a dragon into their home."
The Dragon Commander smiled for the first time in five years. It wasn't a pleasant expression.
Three days into their journey, a messenger caught up with their group. He carried an urgent letter sealed with the royal crest. Stone read it, his face going pale. "Dante... you need to see this. The king himself has taken an interest in your case. He's made the tournament personal—the winner gets more than an audience. Winner gets your family's entire fortune and the position of Lord Commander of the Realm.