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The High King’s army had come.

“We know there’s a Marked One around here. Tell us where they are and we might spare your life,” one soldier threatened from beneath his helmet, caging an older male’s charred tunic in his grip.

Panic reamed through her, stiffening her bones.

Alora was frozen, unable to speak, unable to breathe. Everything she had worked for. Her entire life, successfully concealing who she was, what she was forced to be. Where she suffered through cruel nights and endless days under the false security of the city and its lord, came down to a thin wooden door and glass as her last hope. Her last chance.

Death would have to wait—the High Kingwould have to wait.

By the time her body wrenched away, a sharp bang slammed against the tavern’s locked door. Inches beyond the glass, a torch waved through blinding shadows, growing darker with each flick of the flame.

Another bang.

Two.

They would break through that door. There was no time left. She needed to move. Needed to?—

Run. Get to the alley!It was the voice, and she trusted it wholly.

Alora threw her gaze around the room. If she had more time, every table would become an obstacle, stacked in front of the doorway. Instead, her hands clasped every chair in her path, knocking them to the floor in an attempt to hinder the soldier’s pursuit. It wouldn’t be much, but it was something.

Her mind … what a wicked thing it was, because, as her boots carried her to the back door, it warned of the events that were sure to come if she fell into the hands of the army. Her wrists in shackles, hair ripped out, skin flayed as she was thrown in front of the High King for his pleasure.

She held back the vomit building in her throat.

And, as if the stars themselves heard her desperation, in a burst of smoke-filled wind, the back door flew open.

Her feet slid to a stop, half expecting soldiers to storm in from the darkened alley. But there was no gleam of polished silver, no ruffle of purple fabric. No one surged inside.

Instead, only an empty alley stared back at her as she lurked around the threshold, surveying for dangers.

Enough stopping, get out of?—

The front door ruptured in on itself. Misting into dust and splinters and broken shards of wood.

Alora’s feet were running down the alley before the last speck hit the floorboards, an arm over her head to defend against the spray of debris. Shadows danced around every step. Disturbing the darkness as she ran. Her vision tunneled, narrowing on every object in her path. Jumping over barrels and crates, sliding around corners, and carefully setting her boots across loose cobblestones. She’d have to survive two miles of this before asmall, cracked hole in the northern city wall offered her refuge in a hidden section of the smuggler’s caves.

I can make it.She could—would. There was no other option. She wanted to escape Kaine. The only problem: she didn’t expect a force of hand. But that didn’t matter now.

So, Alora ran.

Every passing building was a blur. Until, ahead of her, the end of the alley opened into the main street connecting the two core gates of the city. If she could slip across unseen, she’d be clear to follow alleys and back roads to the refuge of the caves.

So close.

An amber glow of firelight filled the street ahead, crippling every last shred of her hope.

The soldiers were there.

Alora skidded along the dirt, stopping at the alley’s edge. She crouched down against a crumbling wall. The sound of soldiers’ voices, rushed footsteps, and horses stomped down the street to her right. Wavering hope bubbled in her chest once again, watching their retreat. Her feet shifted on the dirt, preparing a sturdy foothold as she jolted up.

She moved to step out onto the street, now surrounded by darkness, but her boot protested the movement, confining her in place.

Wait. Listen to what is around you.

Alora gripped the stones of the wall, not daring to move. The thrumming of footsteps, callous laughter, and horses echoed to her left. They were leaving. She pinched her eyebrows, unsure of the voice’s meaning, when soldiers suddenly flooded the street to her right. If she’d taken a step, they would have discovered her.

“There’s Marked Ones to the north. Get off your pathetic asses and find them!” ordered a short, red-headed, bearded High Fae on a black horse. A long scar of battle-worn yearscursed his left eye, whitening it out entirely. His face could be the bane of Elysian nightmares; when she looked at him, a shuddering shiver rippled down her spine.