Still, my body moves before my mind can stop me. I need to be closer to Arlet. If they won’t protect her, I can try.
I cross half the room in seconds, the crowd a blur of feathers and flame. One of Mrath’s sister assassins lunges at me, her face covered in fabric and smeared with ash.
She withdraws a blade and tries to stab me.
“Stop,” I insist. I don’t want to kill an ally, so I try to reveal myself.“I’m with the Enduares.”
She swipes at me again. “And I am actually the one set to marry the king,” she laughs.
“Please, I don’t want to do this,” I say. “We are not enemies.”
She continues to ignore me. I grab the top of her bound hair.
“Please,” I beg.
“Your king tried to kill us all. He tried to take Mrath’s right to the throne. You all deserve to rot.”
Understanding blossoms. That’s what the men in the tavern were referencing. Arion tried to get the artifact and now Mrath has decided to strike back. Her troupe is bringing back the corpses of his men.
Genius.
Then she cuts through my thoughts and slices my arm.
Growling, destroyed by the loss of Arlet, my anger at myself, andmy despair at the situation, I act in self-defense. I will end this as quickly as I can.
I take a deep breath and slam the back of her skull hard against the pillar. I hear a crack, and then see the red streaking the wood behind her. My hand comes away red, too.
I hear Arlet gasp, and turn back around to see her watching me.
My heart breaks again. For the smallest breath, we are exactly what we have always been—the connection too fierce to sever even after death and distance. I feel her heartbeat. I feel the collar burning her skin.
Then the royal guard swarms her, shields forming a wall of silver between us.
“Arlet—” The word dies in my throat. The name comes out like an oath and a curse. I can’t reach her. Not with a dozen spears between us. Arion pulls her backward, placing her in front of him, the light of the collar flickering as he shields himself with her body. It’s as if the king of cowards hides behind his prey.
Then she is gone. A part of me is relieved, another wants to tear through this place to get to her.
I run, knowing that this isn’t even my battle to fight. I could follow her, but now the place is swarming with guards. I can’t get her if I’m dead. So, like other courtiers, I turn and run away. The screams follow me down the corridor, mingling with the sound of blades and burning wood.
Outside, the night smells of rebellion and rain.
I press my hand against my chest, where my own heart struggles to beat evenly. The rhythm is wrong, too fast. Fuck, it has been so long since I have been in battle as a whole man, with my heart so broken.
I think of all the things that I want to show her now that I almost had her. I need to bring her to her dragon. I need her to see me whole. I want to do so much. I close my eyes and swear.
I will find her rooms, and then I will take her.
But first, I need to get to safety. I don’t want to kill any more or the sisterhood, or be killed on accident. Gods forbid this glamor breaks, and the elves try to capture me.
When I cross farther from the palace, fleeing past the gates where carriages are moving out of it at abundant speeds, I hear something behind me.
I turn to see a shock of short silver hair and green eyes.
Thorne.
“I don’t think you were invited tonight, wood elf,” he says. “Lord Sprig, I should say. Whoever the fuck that is.”
I stand there, staring at him in my full glamour. My anger is a hot tunneling jet of lava, ready to burst out of the earth’s surface. I want to kill him, but he might know where she is.