Nothing.
Just the same uneasy looks, the same stiff backs, the same shuttered windows swinging closed as we passed.
But there was something else, too. Fear.
It bled off the people in waves. The way their hands trembled slightly. The way their eyes darted to the forests beyond the walls, like they expected something or someone to emerge from the trees at any moment.
As the sun dipped low and the streets emptied, Riven and I finally turned back toward the castle, our boots heavier than before.
Dinner was a muted affair in the same cramped room as this morning. Bread, cold meat, and a thick stew that tasted of too much salt and too little hope.
No one talked much.
The weight of the day hung over all of us like a suffocating cloak.
Afterward, we drifted back to our rooms one by one.
I closed the door behind me, leaned my forehead against the rough wood for a long moment, and finally pulled off my boots, my jacket, the sword belt digging into my hip.
Then I collapsed into bed, the faint sounds of the castle settling into silence outside my window, my mind already bracing for whatever tomorrow would bring.
The door to my room exploded inward with a deafeningcrack, splinters flying like shrapnel.
I was already moving with my heart in my throat and my blade in hand. I’d slept in my armor, my instincts still honed from the last intrusion. My fingers found the hilt of the dagger beneath my pillow, and I rolled off the cot in one fluid motion.
But I wasn’t expecting palace guards.
Six of them stormed the room, heavy boots shaking the floor, the glint of royal insignia from Kruisaan flashing off their shoulders.
“Stand down!” one barked, sword raised.
My back hit the stone wall as I kept my blade raised, breath tight in my chest.
Zander burst in through the adjoining door between our rooms, weapon half-drawn, only to be grabbed from behind by another enforcer.
“What the hell is this?” I shouted.
“You are under arrest,” one of them snapped, stepping forward with a scroll in hand. The seal wasn’t Warriath’s. It was Kruisaan’s.
“The charge is collusion with the Blood Fae.”
Zander’s eyes blazed. “That is ridiculous.” He turned his head quickly toward the hall. “Thrall Squad, grab your gear and go! Now!”
The other rooms erupted into motion. I heard the others rousing, the echo of doors slamming open, boots pounding against stone.
Ferrula’s voice carried down the hall. “What’s happening?!”
“Run!” I yelled. “Get to the dragons!”
They didn’t hesitate.
Gear was thrown over shoulders, blades strapped in place mid-sprint. One by one they burst through the corridor, ducking and weaving past enforcers trying to close in.
We were shoved, dragged toward the courtyard, my dagger torn from my grip as one of the guards twisted my arm behind my back.
Zander fought harder than I did, teeth bared, one man clinging to each of his arms.
We were forced into the courtyard under the pale morning sky, where a dozen more guards ringed the stone.
