“Because he was dying,” Casteel said simply, nodding at Nero. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
Before anyone could reply, the great doors thudded open. The captain of the guard barreled in, face pale.
“My lord! The Silver Guard’s coming up from the south—hundreds strong. High Priest Doran leads them himself.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The nobles lost theirminds—shouting, knocking over chairs, spilling wine across the maps.
"How the hell did they find us?" Nero's voice sliced through the chaos.
The captain's mouth hung open, but the thin noble stood up, smirking like he'd won a bet.
"Followed me here," he said, rising with a swagger. "Doran pays good coin for tips about fake prophets and rebel meetups."
Nero's lips pulled back from his teeth. "You backstabbing piece of shite."
"Just practical," the noble shot back, yanking out his sword as the room exploded into motion. "Doran takes care of his friends when this joke of yours crashes and burns."
Steel clashed as guards rushed him, but the bastard had picked his spot well. Two more nobles tore off their cloaks, flashing silver badges underneath—Doran's spies, planted from the start. Four guards suddenly turned on their comrades, daggers appearing in their hands.
Nero didn't think. He moved.
He caught the first traitor-guard under the chin, the man's neck snapping with a wet crack. Without pausing, Nero spun and drove his fist through another's chest, ripping out something vital. The third tried to run—Nero's boot crushed his spine. The thin noble's smirk vanished as Nero landed before him, eyes blazing silver. The noble's sword thrust forward; Nero caught the blade in his bare hand, blood dripping between his fingers as he yanked the man forward and tore out his throat with his teeth.
Bodies hit the floor in rapid succession, blood pooling across the stone in spreading fingers. Seven traitors dead in the space of heartbeats, their shocked expressions forever engraved onto their faces.
"How long until they get here?" Morven barked at his captain, after a brief stunned silence.
"A quarter of a bell, my lord,” and Morven swore and kicked at the nearest dead noble. “They must have taken out my advanced scouts.”
Nero felt Casteel's spike of terror—not for himself, but for River, alone and vulnerable in the kitchens. The boy had already lost one family to Doran's butchers.
"River," Casteel said urgently, voicing Nero's thoughts.
"Martha will keep him safe," Morven assured them, but his face was grim. "My people know the evacuation protocols."
"Evacuation?" The woman in emerald silk looked aghast. "We're to run like common criminals?"
"We're to survive," Eryken snapped, already moving toward the hall's rear exit. "Dead martyrs serve no cause."
"And my main forces are camped a few miles away," Morven added. "We join them."
But as they reached the doors, the sound of splintering wood echoed from the main entrance. Doran hadn't waitedfor a siege—he'd brought enough force to smash through the gates immediately, and it seemed like Morven was grossly unprepared.
"The tunnels," Morven commanded, pressing a hidden stone in the wall. A section swung inward, revealing darkness beyond. "They'll take us to the old wine caves."
Nero stopped, his hand on the tunnel entrance. He felt Casteel's desperate plea to keep moving, to escape while they could. But the wolf within him bristled at the thought he would leave others to die.
"Nero," Casteel whispered urgently. "We have to go."
"Do we?" Nero asked, silver eyes reflecting the torchlight. "How many will die because we fled? How many servants, how many guards who believed in something better?"
The sound of armored boots grew louder in the corridors beyond. Shouts echoed through the manor as Doran's forces moved even nearer.
"River needs you alive," Casteel said desperately. "My love, I need you alive."
For a heartbeat, Nero wavered. Then his jaw set with terrible resolve.
