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Artem took his command immediately and moved.

His heart sank to his churning stomach. He prayed for the sake of everyone in the kingdom that the blood on the floor was not hers.

He knew he had to send Artem away, because if this was Emara’s blood, he wasn’t sure how much he would lose control.

For the first time in Torin’s life, he felt genuine fear. Instantly, rage overtook fear as he propped the door open a little. Before stepping in, he could see a body lying on the floor, face down, in full guard regalia. Torin hissed a curse as he took in the amount of blood pooled on the floor. It was too much blood for the guard to be alive.

It was Magin.

But he had no time to feel any emotion. That is not how he had been trained.

He titled his head, even though he couldn’t see the sky, and said, “May all the stars in the Gods’ sky guide you back home, brother.”

He pulled the two swords that were strapped to his back out of their cases. The sound of the metal being unleashed was so satisfyingly beautiful, his heart almost slowed. He couldn’t wait to use them, driving his steel through whoever had done this. He would find them, and when he did, the Gods would have no mercy for them.

Stepping slowly through the threshold, he called her name lowly. “Emara?”

No response.

The silence that lingered in the room gave a maddening edge to his violent thoughts.

“Emara,” he called again despite knowing that she wouldn’t be there.

The sliver of hope that he had withered and died, and a coldness spread across his chest in its place. He looked over Magin’s body quickly, not taking his eyes off his surroundings for too long in case there was anything in this room that he could blame for his death.

Magin had been stabbed in the back.

Fucking bastards.

Whoever had done this knew exactly how to incapacitate and kill a man.

But lucky enough for Torin, he did too. And he would, demon or not.

He scanned the room, looking for anything at all that would give him an indication of what had happened, where they had taken her.

He looked to the archway. Nothing.

He glanced over the floor, noting a mixture of bloods, not just Magin’s.

Torin pulled in a breath through his teeth.

If the intruder had touched one hair on her head, so help him Thorin, he would murder whoever had taken her, whoever had helped them, whoever even knew about this.

Focus, he shouted inwardly.

Torin followed the droplets of blood over to where things that normally sat on her dresser were lying on the floor. There had most definitely been a struggle. As he took in the details of the fight, his heart split right down the middle as he saw her spear.

She had fought whoever was in here. Pride swelled in his heart before an overwhelming dread took over.

The fact that she’d had to fight for her life stirred the most vicious part of him to the surface.

His eyes worked up the vanity table, where broken items lay messy amongst the blood. Torin moved in a flash, taking in the details of the struggle that seemed to have smashed the mirror.

Whatever had smashed it, had been done at a great force, like a fist or maybe a boot.

His eyes squinted and his heart burst into shards of fury as he took in what he saw. Moving one sword over into the other hand, he leaned forward.

A dark strand of her beautiful midnight hair was caught in the fractured mirror.