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My magic billows over the great cat, coating him in a protective ward. Heedless of the few seconds I have left, I turn the same spell on myself, my power moving down my form and readying me for battle. It won’t hold forever, these spells never do, but it will protect us for now at least.

A dozen or more sets of feet rush toward the end of the hall where we are, likely drawn in by my scream.

Quickly, I place a curse on my mother-in-law’s and sister-in-law’s bodies. “Skin like death, liquefy the innards of any who dare touch these corpses.” My voice breaks on that final word. My mind knows these women are gone; my heart cannot fathom it.

I cast the bodies one last grim look. The soldiers will try to desecrate their remains. I smile malevolently at the thought of the painful death that awaits such fools.

My power gathers beneath my skin, my muscles and joints throbbing from it. Rage makes even that pain feel good.

I glance at my panther. “Ready yourself, Ferox. Everyone beyond this room is an enemy. Kill whatever you can.”

I step out of the bedroom as the first of the Roman soldiers closes in on me. This soldier is a youthful man with rich, golden skin and thin, lithe legs.

His eyes widen a bit when he sees me, and he slows just a little. Behind him are more than a dozen others. I raise a hand, my magic gathering.

“Annihilate.”

BOOM!

The entire castle trembles as power explodes out of me, blowing the soldiers in front of me apart. Bloody limbs fly, smacking into other soldiers farther back, knocking them down.

All that’s left of that golden-skinned man is blood spatter on the ground.

I stride forward as more soldiers pour into the hallway off the stairs.

I waited too long to leave this place, but I no longer care. My rage burns in me, scalding my magic.

I storm down the hallway while Ferox rips out the throat of a soldier struggling to push off the mutilated torso of a fallen comrade.

More magic gathers. “Annihilate!”

Another explosion. More scattered bodies. Those pretty Roman helmets are blown from the heads of their soldiers or else they’re blown away with the severed heads of their owners still inside them.

The sight of the soldiers’ scattered remains soothes something primal in me. I never thought of myself as particularly malicious, but apparently, for my soul mate and my family, I am. Ruthlessly so.

So focused on the carnage am I that I don’t notice the first arrow that strikes me. It hits me in the right shoulder, andthough it doesn’t so much as tear the fabric of my warded tunic, the force of it still nearly knocks me off my feet.

Archers. There are archers inside the palace, despite the closeness of this space. The thought has me casting another annihilation spell. Bodies burst apart, dust falls from the ceilings, and the walls shake. I don’t care if this whole massive place falls on our heads, so long as it takes these men out with it.

I try not to think about the grief and sorrow that claw up my throat at what I’ve lost this evening—and what I might still lose.

I need to get to Memnon. Gods, I need to get to him. I still haven’t heard from him, and I sense little down our bond.

There are many places Eislyn could’ve taken Memnon, some of them entirely inaccessible. But if she and my mate are still here in this realm, then there is one place above all others where she would take him.

When I get to the stairs, I blow apart another cluster of soldiers, the spell taking out a large section of the stone steps with it.

I descend what remains, recasting the ward I placed on Ferox, who clings close to my side.

The palace temple, then. That’s where I must go.

Down on the first floor, the sounds of battle cries and anguished screams are louder. And when I catch sight of the melee, it takes my breath away. A few loyal Sarmatians fight back against the soldiers, but they’re vastly outnumbered. The Romans are also cutting down innocent palace servants who have no battle training, and they’re smashing or carrying out royal items, most of them relics of the rulers who lived here before us.

As soon as they notice me, the atmosphere shifts entirely.

“The queen!” someone shouts.

I can’t place the voice, and I have no clue whether it’s from friend or foe. But then I catch sight of Rakas, one of Memnon’snamed betrayers. Rakas, who escorted me from Rome and who’s fought at my side through many, many battles. He’s pointing his sword at me and shouting orders.