Page 62 of Of Masks and Fury

Then I let loose a roar that shattered the garden’s silence. “Guards. To the princess! Assassin on the bridge!”

My voice carried across the grounds with all the authority of someone who expected immediate obedience.

This was war. Open and declared.

We stood together near Lord Crestin’s body.

Isi’s hand slipped from mine as people rushed our way.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TREW

Guards raced toward us, their torches blazing as they flooded the bridge. The light painted everything in harsh oranges and blacks, including Crestin’s body, the spreading pool of blood beneath him, and Isi’s pale face.

“Secure the perimeter,” I barked, though I’d already sent out magic to make sure there was no other assassin around. “Check the gardens. Search for accomplices.”

The guards moved quickly. Half a dozen fanned out along the bridge and into the surrounding paths while others formed a loose circle around us.

One guard, younger than the rest, sprinted back toward the castle. To alert the king, no doubt.

Pherin returned to Isi’s shoulder in a flutter of teal and silver feathers.

I positioned myself between Isi and the guards. Every instinct screamed to pull her into my arms, to check her for injury despite her telling me she was fine. I wanted to get her away from this place and these men who were already looking at her with too much speculation.

Instead, I looked for threats. Seven guards standing on the bridge. More approaching from the castle, their footsteps echoing across the gardens. Unknown variables in the darkness beyond the torchlight.

The guard captain for the evening, a thick-shouldered man with iron-gray hair, crouched beside Crestin’s body. His hand hovered over the blade still buried in the dead lord’s chest, close enough to examine without touching.

“Bloodbane, sir.” His voice carried across the bridge.

My jaw clenched.

“The lord attacked and the princess defended herself,” I said, steel clear in my voice. “I witnessed the entire assassination attempt.”

More guards arrived, these wearing the distinctive silver clasps of the king’s personal detail. They formed a tighter circle around Isi, close enough that it felt less like protection and more like a cage.

One of them, a lanky man with nervous hands, stepped toward her. “Your Highness, perhaps you should sit. You’ve had a shock.”

“I will remain standing,” she said.

The guards shifted, uncertain how to handle a woman who’d watched a man die and showed no signs of collapsing into hysteria.

I studied Isi from the corner of my eye, assessing her the way I would any warrior after a kill. Her spine remained straight, her shoulders were back, and her hands hung loose at her sides. But I also saw the slight tremor in her fingers before she stilled them. The too-careful way she breathed, as if she didn’t trust herself to take a natural inhalation.

She was holding on by sheer will alone.

The king strode through the gardens and up onto the bridge, flanked by his advisors. He still wore his formal tunic and pants from dinner. The torchlight caught on the gold thread woven through the fabric and the circlet resting on his graying head. His sharp eyes took the scene.

Dead suitor. Blood on the bridge. Daughter standing tall, surrounded by armed guards.

Lord Baswick, the king’s oldest advisor, took the lead with Lord Merkis at his back, whose face was twisted in a permanent expression of distaste. Lord Erradorn, whose concern seemed almost genuine, followed a few paces behind the others.

“Amarissa.” The king’s voice carried across the bridge. “What happened here?”

I stepped forward and bowed.

“Lord Crestin attacked Princess Amarissa with a blade. When he raised it, I moved to intercept. I grabbed his arm and twisted it as the princess stepped away from him. The combined momentum threw him into the railing. He fell on his own knife.”