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She should be afraid.

But she isn't.

She is staring at me.

And there is something in her gaze that I cannot name.

Not relief.

Not gratitude.

Something darker.

My jaw clenches.

I wipe the blood from my blade, slow and deliberate, the tension between us pressing like a dagger against a throat.

She is waiting for what I will do.

That alone is why I can’t lose her.

17

SERA

More assassins come. Just how many? I tremble, making myself as small as possible as Veylan fights them off.

I bite back the scream trying to spill from my throat when one falls on the bed. I watch, fixated on Veyal as he slices another throat.

At the corner of my eyes, a shadow moves. And suddenly, there’s an assassin behind me. He yanks me off the bed, and I fall loudly on the floor.

I let out a pained moan as I try to crawl away, but he pulls me by the hair.

“No!” I scream, it feels like he’s ripping my scalp.

Then, his dagger is at my throat.

The assassin’s breath ghosts against my cheek, shallow and controlled, the restraint of a man used to cutting flesh but waiting—for what? For permission? For a signal?

For the right moment to end me.

My body is frozen, heart hammering so violently I swear he can hear it.

Veylan killed the others. The wet crunch of bone, the sharp crack of skull meeting stone.

But this one got past him. I can only rely on myself.

I curse my helplessness.

This one will?—

My lips part.

The sound spills free before I can think.

Low, breathless, a whisper of a note—pure and raw and laced with power I can’t quite grasp.

The assassin flinches.