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Prisca shifted in her sleep, a tiny sound leaving her throat.

I opened my eyes to slits. But that sound hadn’t been what woke me.

No, it was the screaming in the distance.

Prisca shifted again. I wasn’t surprised she hadn’t yet woken. I could barely make out the sound with my fae senses.

But it was getting closer.

Rolling out of bed, I pulled on my pants, reaching for my sword. Crossing to the balcony, I looked down into the gardens.

Nothing.

From the front, then.

Regner had learned of our wedding night. And he’d waited until we were the happiest we could be. Until Rekja’s guards were tired. Until there were more people moving in and out of the castle than usual. People he could use.

The screams had cut off. A bad sign. Likely, Regner’siron guards were sneaking through this castle, slicing throats and dragging bodies into the shadows.

Prowling back toward our bed. I placed my hand over Prisca’s mouth. She came awake swinging, and pride flashed through me even as her fist caught the side of my face.

“We’re under attack,” I whispered into her ear. She tensed, pushing against my arm, and I let her sit up.

“Lorian.” The word was almost soundless, but confusion flickered across her face.

“I know. It’s too quiet. But I heard screaming. We need to get to Galon and Marth.” Without her power, Prisca was too vulnerable here. They could guard her while I went hunting.

Something that looked almost like despair flickered across her face, and I knew she was mourning her missing power. Knew she loathed that we had to make allowances for it. But she didn’t argue when I threw her my shirt— simply pulled it on, grabbed a knife from the bedside table, and slid from the bed, moving almost as soundlessly as I had.

We took two steps toward the door…

And soldiers burst into the room.

All of them wore Eprothan colors.

Grinding my teeth, I reached for my control, refusing to allow myself to end each and every one of them. If I used all of my remaining power here and now, I would be drained when I needed to get whoever survived this attack out of the city later.

So I shoved my power down deep. So deep that it felt as if it might burn me alive. And I tightened my handaround my sword.

Gods, I hoped the others were still alive.

“You made a mistake coming here,” I said, pushing Prisca behind me, toward the bed. And I didn’t miss the confusion on her face. I couldn’t blame her for that confusion. She’d trusted me, and I’d let this happen. On our wedding night.

“The Bloodthirsty Prince,” a man hissed, stepping forward.

I no longer saw him as human. I simply saw him as a target.

Until I looked at his face. Hisruinedface. A face that had been melted.

The realization slid into me slowly. My head spun. I’d already killed this man. I was sure I had.

To my left, several soldiers snarled at me, stab wounds leaking blood down their chests. To my right, another lifted his dagger with a hiss, the bottom half of his leg missing.

These were the dead. And they wanted their revenge.

A man stumbled toward me. A man with no hands. A man I’d killed in an inn far from here, when he’d dared put those hands on my wildcat.

He gave me a nasty grin and held up his stumps. “Oh, how I’ve wanted to pay you back for this. You and that little bitch.”