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“What’s happened out here?” I ask.
She drags her arm across her forehead, wiping sweat. “That Lady Raya—thatbitch—she killed the Captain of the Guard. She killed all of his men—no, she transformed them. And then the rest of us had to kill them.” She swallows. “Most of the beasts are probably them. We had no choice when they attacked the ballroom. But it could have been a lot worse—probably half the attendees are cloistered in the east wing right now, safe. I came out here to find you.”
We are all barely holding it together. “Areyouokay?”
“That witch nearly killed me when she ambushed me and Nadiya in my quarters before the wedding, but it’ll take more than some vines to strangle me.” She grins shakily.“I haven’t seen Nadiya since, though—sheisjust Nadiya, right? I heard about the two Lady Rayas.”
“Yes.” Cyrus’s eyes flutter shut, accepting his error far too late for it to matter. “She’s just Nadiya. Have you seen Dante?”
“He was with me earlier, but I lost him during a scuffle. I’m sure he’s fine—he has to be. He’s never reckless.” Then, as if realizing she’s staring at the twomostreckless people in her life, she adds, “Why don’t I get you two upstairs? It should be safe there. You both lookrough.You’ll be more of a hindrance than a help down here.”
Camilla takes over carrying Cyrus and we plod over claw-scraped carpets and broken glass toward the main staircase. I tell her the witch got away, though I got a good stab in. She cheers at that, because I don’t tell her about anything else that happened in that room, nor does Cyrus.
I’m winded by the time we arrive in the royal wing. I could collapse and fall comfortably asleep on the carpet. Close to Cyrus’s quarters, an open door farther down thewing catches my eye. I might not think twice about it on a different night, but there’s never been a night like tonight.
“Are those your father’s quarters?” I ask, lifting an elbow in its direction.
The three of us are suspicious enough of the eerie quiet to creep closer, trepidation jolting my tired muscles to life. Camilla peeks in and flinches away with a sob.
The guards inside are dead—one stabbed in the eye, the other scuffed up as if he put up a fight, but ultimately died with a knife in his neck.
Cyrus pushes past both of us, stumbling toward the shut doors of the king’s bedroom.
“It could be dangerous!” Camilla hisses, readying her sword.
But he doesn’t heed her at all. He pushes the bedroom doors open without any finesse, panting and desperate to discover what’s inside, as if he already knew what he’d find.
When I draw up beside him, I follow his frozen gaze along the trail of shattered porcelain and the dropped lion-headed cane to the winged armchair by the fireplace. Where Dante, dressed in all black, has a dagger to King Emilius’s throat.
A spy.
An assassin.
“No, no—you can’t—” But at Cyrus’s approach, Dante presses the dagger deeper until a red line appears on the king’s pallid skin; the king groans, barely conscious. Cyrus halts, empty hands up. “No one has to know. Don’t—”
“Did you think I would be here if this weren’t my last resort?” Dante says, low and calm. There is still warmth in his eyes.Pity.“The Seer of Balica told me of many futures. This is the final one that might save us.”
“Please—”
With a flick of his wrist, Dante slashes the dagger across the king’s neck.
Emilius slumps fish-eyed in his shining mantle, red spilling from his cut throat.
Camilla screams. Cyrus staggers forward like the world has tilted. I am the only one who never looks away fromDante, all at once horrified and understanding of what he’ddone.
He saw his destiny. He chose without hesitation.
Dante paces backward to the open window behind him and climbs onto the sill in a single lithe leap. He pauses, framed by the night and the fluttering curtains, his mouth shaping things he seems to want to say.
All that finally comes out is, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
And without another word, he tips backward out thewindow.
The Sun Capital mourns amid chaos. Celebration banners are taken down. Regalia is exchanged for somber black. Whispers are louder than ever.
I don’t mourn King Emilius, but he was like a father, even if he was an awful one. Close to everything in my life. Once the most powerful man on this continent, and now he’s just gone. I can’t be anything but shaken by that.
No official culprit has been named for his murder, mostly because Cyrus refuses to do it. Camilla is silent but furious about it. She won’t out Dante directly—more sentiment lives in her heart than she will ever let on—but she was attached enough to her father to want a taste of vengeance as well, or at least an answer.
