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Before the intruder had a chance to throw, something skittered across the ground, rolling out from underneath the pews. It was a small, metallic ball, a few yards ahead of the intruder, blocking his path down the center aisle.

The assailant and Dagmara simultaneously realized what it was.

An explosion lit the throne room. The assassin threw up his hands, blocking his face from the rubble that scattered across the ground. Shards of the surrounding pews broke off, flying in haphazard directions. Dagmara felt the earth rumble underneath her, and she extended her hands for balance.

The smoke cleared, revealing the assassin behind, his figure menacing. He had been too far back from the explosion to be killed, but nevertheless, it had saved the princess. It had bought Magda enough time to make it to the exit.

With one glance toward the back exit, the assassin came to the conclusion that the princess had escaped. Then the assassin met Dagmara’s gaze once more, but she stood, unwavering. It was almost as if he gave her a promise that he would be back, before he turned and fled.

“Go after him!” Dagmara commanded the few guards that remained in the throne room. They obeyed immediately, charging after him.

After the throne room seemed to fall silent once more, the air thick from the small blast, Dagmara heard shuffling. She strode forward to the noise at the center of the throne room before dropping down and seeing her brother under the pews.

“I knew I wouldn’t make it in the stampede so I hid,” Teos’s explanation came tumbling out before Dagmara could ask.

But she didn’t care. Dropping to her knees, she reached out and grabbed his arms, pulling him out from underneath the pew before embracing him. The destruction of the explosive—his explosive—was still scattered around them.

“What did you do that for?” she let out, gripping him tighter and burying her cheek into his blonde hair.

He hugged her back, leaning all his weight into her. “We’re a team.”

A heavy weight fell over her, and she felt the tears rushing to her eyes. Squeezing him even stronger, as though she was making sure he was still there, she looked up to the rafters.

“He’s dead, Teos,” Dagmara gasped, a choked sob escaping her mouth. Her gaze shifted to the king, sprawled on the stage at the front of the throne room. “They’re both…” she had to look away from the king, the only father figure she ever had.

Then she looked at the dead body in the fountain—the first intruder that had fallen over the edge. His mask had snapped off his face, rolling farther down the aisle.

She didn’t recognize the symbol on the center of the mask. But she knew she wouldn’t forget it for the rest of her life.

“We’re safe—” Teos broke off into a fit of coughing.

Dagmara jerked back, taking in his face. Her heart plummeted in her chest as she met his bloodshot gaze.

“Teos…” she breathed.

“I-I’m fine,” he muttered. “It’s the dust and debris.”

The next cough was a gurgle, thick with mucus.

Gasping, Dagmara pulled him tight into an embrace. Denial and desperation coursed through her as tears rolled from her face. It wasn’t the debris making him cough. It wasn’t the dust turning his eyes bloodshot.

He had zowach, the deadly illness that plagued the children of Azurem. Maybe she had brought it back from one of her assassinations. She had no idea how the illness operated. If Teos was lucky, he had a year left before the disease took his life. He wouldn’t survive without medication.

The only cure was in Ilusauri, the kingdom with uniforms identical to the assassins. If the Mad King sent these assassins, there was no way he would send Azurem medicine. He probably liked watching Azurem’s children die.

Because of that monster, Teos was as good as dead.

CHAPTER 12

Magdalena

Magda threw herself across her bed and cried into the pillow. She had never cried so violently in her life. Greeting guests at her brother and father’s funeral was worse than anything she had ever endured, and the grief was slowly turning from sadness to anger.

Magda sat up, throwing the pillow across the room and into a portrait on the wall. It swung, but didn’t crash to the ground. She let out a scream, letting the grief consume her as she clenched her hands in anger. All of the sudden, a loud shatter pierced her eardrums. She was aware of the bouquet of poppies on the table that her mom had given her. Thorns had sprung from the vines in all directions, puncturing the glass vase and sending the pieces everywhere.

Odie shot up from his space at the foot of the bed.

Magda screamed again. A burning rage was growing inside of her, and she seized onto violent daydreams of her unleashing wrath on all of the assassins who had killed her family.