Dante stared at the letter, his blood turning cold. The elegant script was unmistakable—Victor's handwriting. His eldest brother's signature flourish on the "V" was exactly as Dante remembered from five years ago.
"What is it?" Isabella asked weakly, still leaning against him.
Dante crumpled the letter in his fist. "Nothing. Just confirmation of what I already knew."
But it wasn't nothing. Victor knowing about the warehouse fire meant one of two things: either Marcus Thorne had connections to the Blackwell family, or Victor had been watching Dante all along. Neither possibility was good.
General Stone took the letter from Dante's hand, smoothed it out, and read it. His expression darkened. "How long have they known you were here?"
"I don't know," Dante admitted. "Maybe always. Maybe they've been watching me for five years, making sure I stayed buried."
"Or maybe Marcus contacted them when you started causing problems," Stone said grimly. "Either way, this changes things. If Victor knows you're alive and active, he'll move against you faster than we anticipated."
Tom helped Isabella to her feet. "I don't understand. Who's Victor? What's happening?"
"My brother," Dante said quietly. "The man who framed me and took everything I had. And apparently, he's still taking."
Isabella's eyes widened. "You think your brother ordered the fire?"
"I think Marcus Thorne is connected to people in the capital. And I think those connections lead back to my family." Dante looked at the burning warehouse, at the destruction meant to break Isabella's spirit. "This isn't just about Marcus wanting you. This is about keeping me powerless, making sure I can't fight back."
"Then we fight back anyway," Isabella said, her voice gaining strength despite the smoke damage. "You said something about a tournament?"
Stone nodded. "The Dragon Tournament. It begins in three weeks in the capital. The winner gets an audience with the king—an audience that cannot be refused. It's our chance to present evidence against Victor and Sebastian, to clear Dante's name and expose their crimes."
"And you think Dante can win?" Tom asked.
"I know he can," Stone said firmly. "I trained him myself. No fighter in the kingdom can match the Dragon Commander in single combat."
Isabella looked at Dante with new understanding. "That's why you moved the way you did against Marcus's guards. That's why you knew how to save me from the smoke." She touched his face gently. "You've been hiding who you really are this whole time."
"I had to," Dante said. "My brothers wanted me dead or forgotten. Exile was the compromise that kept my mother from learning the truth." His jaw tightened. "But she's gone now. And I'm tired of hiding."
Captain Harris approached cautiously, with other guards behind him. "General Stone, I've received official word from the capital. Dante Blackwell is released into your custody pending his participation in the Dragon Tournament. The assault charges are suspended by royal decree."
"Convenient timing," Tom muttered. "Right after the warehouse burns."
Harris looked uncomfortable. "I'm just following orders. But..." He glanced at the smoldering warehouse. "I'll be investigating this fire thoroughly. If I find evidence of arson, noble or not, I'll pursue charges."
"You won't find anything," Dante said. "Marcus is too careful. He'll have made sure there's no trail leading back to him."
"Maybe. But I'll look anyway." Harris gestured to the shackles still on Dante's wrists. "Let me remove those."
As Harris unlocked the shackles, Dante felt five years of weight lifting. Not just the iron, but the constraint of pretending to be powerless. The necessity of staying invisible.
That time was over.
"Where will you stay tonight?" Stone asked Isabella. "Your home is with your father, correct?"
Isabella nodded. "Yes, but I need to check the warehouse first. See if anything survived."
"There's nothing left," Tom said gently. "I'm sorry, Isabella. It's all gone."
Isabella's shoulders slumped. Everything her father had built, every record of their family's business, was reduced to ash. And for what? Because a nobleman wanted her and she'd refused. Because Dante had defended her.
"This is my fault," Dante said quietly. "If I hadn't fought back against Marcus—"
"Don't," Isabella interrupted firmly. "Don't you dare blame yourself. Marcus chose to do this. Your brothers chose to contact him. This is on them, not you." She straightened, wincing at her smoke-damaged lungs. "You're going to the capital. You're going to win this tournament. And you're going to make them all pay."
"She's right," Stone said. "But first, we need to get you both somewhere safe. Marcus may try something else tonight."
"My father's house," Isabella said. "Marcus wouldn't dare attack there. Too public, too many witnesses."
They made their way through Ashford's streets. The fire was finally under control, but the warehouse district was devastated. Three buildings had been damaged beyond repair. Dozens of merchants had lost their inventory and livelihood.
And they all blamed Dante.
Hostile stares followed them. Whispered accusations. Dante heard them clearly.
"Troublemaker."
"Should have stayed quiet."
"Brought a nobleman's wrath down on us all."
Isabella heard them too and moved closer to Dante. "Ignore them. They're scared."
"They're right to be scared," Dante said. "Marcus won't stop with the warehouse. He'll keep hurting people until he gets what he wants."
"Which is why I'm leaving guards here," Stone said. "Six of my best men. They'll protect the town and especially Miss Grey and her father while we're gone."
They reached the mayor's house. Inside, Isabella's father was asleep, thankfully unaware of the night's events. Doctor Harris had been there earlier, leaving medicine and instructions.
Isabella checked on her father, then returned to the sitting room where Dante, Stone, and Tom waited.
"How is he?" Tom asked.
"Sleeping peacefully. The medicine helps." Isabella sank into a chair, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "When do you leave?"
"Dawn," Stone said. "We'll need to move quickly. The tournament registration closes in two weeks, and it's a week's journey to the capital."
"I'm coming with you," Isabella said immediately.
"Absolutely not," Dante replied. "The capital is dangerous, especially now. If my brothers know I'm coming—"
"I don't care. You saved my life tonight. You've protected me for five years without me even knowing it." Isabella's eyes were fierce despite her exhaustion. "I'm not staying here while you risk everything. Besides, someone needs to watch your back."
"She has a point," Tom said. "And before you argue, I'm coming too. You'll need people you trust around you."
Stone considered this. "Actually, it might work in our favor. A disgraced noble traveling alone draws attention. A small group traveling together looks more legitimate." He nodded. "Fine. But you both follow my orders without question. The capital isn't Ashford. The people there play games that can get you killed."
"Understood," Isabella said.
Dante wanted to protest further, but he knew that look in Isabella's eyes. She'd made up her mind, and nothing would change it.
"Then we should all rest," Stone said. "We have a long journey ahead." He looked at Dante. "And an even longer fight waiting at the end of it."
After Stone left to arrange accommodations, Isabella walked Dante to the door.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For saving me tonight. For everything."
"You gave me a reason to stop hiding," Dante replied. "I should be thanking you."
Isabella smiled, then winced as her smoke-damaged throat protested. "Get some sleep, Dante Blackwell. Tomorrow, we start taking your life back."
As Dante walked through Ashford's dark streets toward his room, he thought about Victor's letter. His brother wanted him to know that he was being watched, that he was still under control.
But Victor had made a mistake. He'd pushed too hard, destroyed too much. He'd given Dante a reason to fight back that went beyond personal redemption.
Now it was about justice. For Isabella. For her father. For everyone, Marcus Thorne and the Blackwell brothers had hurt.
The Dragon Commander was going to war.
When Dante reached his room, he found it ransacked. Everything was destroyed—except for one thing. Sitting on his bed was an ornate wooden box with the Blackwell family crest. Inside was a tournament invitation with his name already registered, and a note: "We'll be waiting. Come home, little brother.-V