Then it happened. Too quick for me to process what I was seeing.
Galen lunged. Not for the Emperor. Or his consort. But for the Blade. His fist crashed against the Arkturion’s cheek, forcing him back just enough to give Galen an opening, a chance to withdraw the old man’s sword.
Everyone was screaming. Some nobles rushed forward, while others were running out of the room.
But all I saw was my best friend doom himself, as he pointed the blade at Emperor Theotis, and with a cry of, “This is for Haleika!” he plunged the sword into His Majesty’s belly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LYRIANA
By the Gods! By the fucking Gods. I blinked rapidly, barely able to believe what I was seeing.
Everything was happening at once. Soturi tackled the soldier playing Moriel. Mages were casting protective domes around the Emperor as he was lifted into the air and floated from the room with what felt like a legion of soturi running after him.
The Blade had recovered from his punch and rushed forward to the man playing Moriel. He was already bound, and encircled by the Emperor’s men. But with a growl, the Arkturion lunged forward, punching the soturion on the nose. The crack echoed across the room and left me shuddering.
Imperator Hart was on the move, shouting orders I could barely comprehend at Kane as he rushed into the fray. And just like that, I realized the danger we were all in. If there was one assassin, there could be more. Like the Emartis.
My heart began to thunder as I looked for Meera in the crowd. Aiden was already leading her toward me. I could see Rhyan, his eyes frantic as he let go of Amalthea, rushing to my side.
“LYR!” he yelled, but his voice could barely be heard over the shouting coming from every direction.
Dario grabbed my arms and pulled me back as I struggled against his hold. Every fiber of my being was desperate to reach Rhyan. To reassure him I was okay. To reassure myself that he wasn’t hurt. I needed to get him. To touch him. To feel him. To pull him out of there.
He pushed soturi out of his way as the man playing Moriel was taken from the room. Orders from the multitude of escorts present were flying back and forth across the floor. There were shouts to protect the Arkasvim, the Arkturi, the Heirs.
Meera and Aiden were close, and I reached one hand for her, and the other for Rhyan. He was about to reach me. Our fingers nearly touching.
And then we were surrounded. Soturi withdrew their swords, each blade pointed directly at us, as they glowered, and moved in. Orders were shouted from the Emperor’s men to our escorts and guards—we were to all cooperate, noble, or not. Our soturi had to answer to the Emperor’s. And if any of us disobeyed, no matter our station, we would pay the price.
“Hands up,” one shouted. “No one moves. No one leaves.”
My pulse thrummed as I watched Rhyan still, and then Meera, swords encircling them.
Rhyan’s eyes met mine, concern all over his face.
“Steady,” Dario whispered. “Steady.”
“You, too,” I said, “Careful,” but my eyes were still on Rhyan’s.
A trumpet blared, and the herald shouted. “His Majesty’s Second, Lord Emmaron.”
A dozen soturi, all wearing the golden tattoo across their cheeks descended the stairs. A white dome appeared,followed by another dozen soturi, all wearing the pale gold of the Emperor’s armor.
Lord Emmaron was a middle-aged man, his hair a mix of black and gray cut short with a thick black beard. He also wore pale purple robes, though without any of the golden trim found on Theotis’s. Like Theotis, and the Blade, he was in far better shape than seemed natural at his age, with a thick torso, and incredibly muscular arms.
Reaching the stage, Lord Emmaron stepped up, his protection dome still around him. The mages who’d conjured it were visibly sweating, and I wondered why the Emperor hadn’t had one before. The magical protections in this room must have been so extreme, even he had lacked the proper magic needed to fully guard him. Then again, a stave was little use against a sword already embedded in one’s belly. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Bow,” commanded the herald.
The soturi who surrounded us remained still and stoic. Their blades glinted in the firelight. They did not move, nor withdraw their weapons. Instead, they jerked their chins to the ground, indicating we were to fall.
Swallowing hard, and again, far too acutely aware of how little dress I wore, I sank to my knees, my belly tightening to ensure I didn’t lose my balance and accidentally find myself impaled.
“An assassination attempt has been made on His Majesty, Emperor Theotis, High Lord of Lumeria Nutavia,” shouted Lord Emmaron. Spit flew from his mouth as he continued. “He remains in dire condition. Our medic mages are currently with him. We all pray for His Majesty’s immediate recovery.”
He paused, looking around the room, his eyes slowly taking in everyone, before he continued.
