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The king’s deep blue eyes focused on her, as did the queen, sitting beside him in her exquisitely fancy dress, her moss-green skin radiant in the light of the chandeliers, her red locks adorned with her sparkling crown. Boredom lurked in her gaze, as well as a finely-honed cruelty, and it was she who replied to Isa’s accusation.
“There has been an amendment to the contract. The reward has been adjusted.”
Isa exhaled through her nose. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “With all due respect, my lady, that is illegal.”
“Against the law, yes?” The queen leaned forward. “Pray tell me, sayunai, who is it that makes the law?”
It had been a long time since someone had referred to Isa with that term, a name for bounty hunters that wasn’t quite an insult, but carried enough of a sneering undertone that it felt like one.
“You are welcome to file a complaint about your remuneration,” the king chimed in, his smirk revealing the knowledge that Isa would do no such thing.
And he was right. She knew when to cut her losses and run. Filing a complaint would lead nowhere, might even eat up more money than she’d get out of the process in the end.
“No, thank you,” she murmured, clutched the satchel and strode toward the exit.
She was almost at the threshold when the double doors slammed shut with a bang that reverberated in the lofty hall. Stunned, Isa swiveled around, her hand already hovering over the dagger at her thigh, her eyes darting toward the royal dais and the guards.
But they looked just as baffled as she felt.
Bang, bang, bang.
Three more doors along the walls of the throne room slammed shut as well. Agitated whispers ran through the ranks of the two dozen or so highborn fae in attendance. Before anyone could move, a storm of rage and hatred blasted through the one remaining open door, which closed behind the intruder in the very next instant.
With a gasp, Isa backed up against the wall, the hand that had reached for her dagger now flattened against the smooth surface of the stone. As soon as she touched it, she called upon her magic, and it sang to the stone, flowing over and through her until she merged with the marble at her back. She wasn’t really part of the wall, of course, just concealed so well that, for everyone else, she’d become invisible.
Whatever was about to happen here, it was going to be ugly, and she wanted no part of it.
Magic swelled in the air to deafening levels, and the storm in the middle of the throne room raged on, swirling, howling, whipping, and then collapsed in on itself with a whoosh that rang in Isa’s ears. The lone figure of a male fae emerged out of the lingering cloud of darkness—and murder whispered about his vibrating form like mist gathering upon graves.
The king took one look at the intruder and yelled at his guards to arrest the threat…those feeble, arrogant, complacent guards, whose last serious battle might well have been hundreds of years ago.
Still plastered to the wall, Isa could only watch in horrified paralysis while the royal guards met their match—and their deaths.
The intruder moved like liquid, like lightning, there and gone again in the span of a heartbeat, wielding his slim sword with lethal efficiency. The guards around him fell like flies. Panic surged in the room, and the noble fae rushed to the doors, rattled on the handles—in vain. Magic locked all the exits.
The blood of the guards spilled over the gleaming stone floor, saturated the air with its thick, coppery scent. Hissing, the king threw out his arm toward the attacker, but whatever power he’d meant to hurl fizzled out when the intruder blocked the magic with a flick of his hand.
“You killed her!” the attacker bellowed. “You murdered them both!” He took a step toward the dais, where the king and queen sat in horrified paralysis. “Their blood is on your hands. Now I’ll drench this room in your blood. This is for Roana!”
With a roar, the intruder launched himself at the royal pair. The queen jumped to the side and threw a dagger at the attacker. It penetrated his chest, yet didn’t slow him at all. As if forged from the fires of wrath, the intruder seemed unfazed by any of the king and queen’s defensive moves. Neither magic nor weapons deterred him. Within seconds, he decapitated the king and shoved his sword through the queen’s eye. She twitched once, and collapsed in a lifeless heap. The intruder planted his foot on her face and pulled his sword out of her head.
Without so much as a pause, he went for the rest of the noble fae huddling against the walls and in the corners. He slashed and ripped and stabbed, blood sprayed, screams filled the room, fear and darkness descending until Isa couldn’t breathe anymore.
He was down to the last remaining faery, a female already lying on the floor, holding her injured side, but still alive. When he raised his sword to deliver the death blow, the fae rasped, “Your child lives…”
The intruder hesitated, halted his downward strike.
“Your son…” the fae coughed. “He’s…alive.”
A sound escaped from the attacker’s throat, so anguished, so broken, it reminded Isa of the rabid wolf she once had to kill in an act of mercy. The intruder lowered his sword, his chest heaving with his labored breaths.
“How?” His single question was half a growl, half a whisper.
The female fae shuddered, her light brown skin reduced to a sick pallor. “I…smuggled him out. Exchanged him… Witch family…” She coughed again. “Murray.”
The attacker’s sword clattered on the floor. He went down on his knees in front of the fae. “Why?”
“Roana…” The fae lifted her head to look directly at the intruder, her face wracked with pain. “She was my friend.” Old magic echoed in her words…so much love, so much devotion it made Isa shiver.
