This wasn’t some lone exploit, some drunken act fueled by bigotry. This was planned. Organized. Orchestrated.
The ballroom dissolved into utter chaos as guests fled in all directions, some toward the exit, others to cower near the guards encircling the king and Lord Church on the dais. Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric was grateful to see a wide-eyed Tristan hauling Tenny out of the room.
Cedric’s gaze shot to the far side of the ballroom next, where Kit and Nox held one assailant against the wall, and Thraigg had another pinned to the floor, his knee on the man’s back.
A chill ran down Cedric’s spine. He spun to see another man leap out from behind the dais, dodging the attempted grabs of the guards nearest the throne. They couldn’t leave their position to pursue him; their duty was to protect the king.
Cedric swung himself in front of Elyria, bracing for the man’s charge. But this one was clever. Hand at his hip, no doubt clutching the hilt of a blade, he didn’t come at them directly. He wove through the throng of still-scrambling nobles, slipping through pockets of people with startling speed.
The riotous crowd made him hard to track, and Cedric lost sight of him for a moment. Right up until he burst forth behind Elyria, dagger raised.
“No!”
Elyria’s shadows surged again, but Cedric’s instincts had already kicked in before the word tore from his throat.
He crashed into the attacker, driving them both sideways, momentum slamming them hard into a marble column. The blade clattered from the man’s grip, spinning across the floor.
Cedric’s vision sparked white at the edges.
His hand had closed around the attacker’s collar, but it wasn’t just fury roaring through him—it was fire, screaming beneath his skin. His palms burned. Heat pulsed behind his ribs, a monster begging to be unleashed.
Let go, it whispered.
He didn’t. He bit down hard on the urge, swallowing the fire back into his chest, caging the beast. Cedric hauled the man upright and slammed him against the pillar once more. “Who sent you?” he hissed.
The man only grinned, blood staining the gaps between his teeth. And before Cedric could press further, the guards were finally there, yanking the man from his grip.
“We have him, my lord,” one said, eyeing Cedric somewhat warily. “That’s the last of them. Are you all right?”
Cedric didn’t answer. His eyes had followed the path of the assailant’s blade to where it had landed—right at Elyria’s feet. Thedarksteelblade, he realized, as she bent to pick it up.
Her shadows swirled faintly along her skin, smoke curling aroundher—protective, predatory. A suit of dark armor.
Throughout the ballroom, cries continued to ring out as more guards stormed in. One of the musicians had dropped her instrument and was weeping against the wall. Nobles shrieked and shoved each other in their haste to reach the doors.
“Clear the room!” barked Barcroff.
“Protect the king!” came another voice.
And then, cutting through the din, one word rang like a crack of thunder. “Enough!”
Lord Church stood at the center of the dais, hands raised, voice full of command. The crowd stilled just enough to hear him, even as panic rippled through the remaining guests.
Cedric noted the way Elyria now held the darksteel blade in her hand. The way her grip tightened on its hilt.
Lord Church’s voice was flat, measured, when he commanded, “Guards. Remove the attackers. Lock them up in the dungeon for questioning. And as for everyone else...” He looked down at the king, who nodded stiffly, knuckles white on the arms of his throne. “I do believe the celebration has concluded for the evening.”
The royal guards obeyed, half of them hauling the four assailants off, bound and gagged. The others herded what remained of the nobility out of the ballroom like cattle, many of them sobbing, some angry, some simply stunned. They stared at Cedric and Elyria, still standing in the dead-center of the dance floor, the air stinking of fear and sweat and the sharp tang of spent mana.
Cedric turned to Elyria, every nerve in his body alight. “Are you?—”
“I’m fine,” she said, the last of her shadowy armor dissipating. “Are you...?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Never better.”
“I suppose that’s one way to get out of dancing with me,” she said.
Cedric huffed a laugh. “Not precisely the kind of footwork I’d expected to pull out tonight.”
