“Nothing at all?” she asks.
“They got it. But no reply yet.” I pull her against me, pressing a kiss to her temple. “They’ll answer. They’re just being cautious.”
She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t entirely believe it.
The apprehension doesn’t fade. Not through breakfast, not through our morning meetings. It sits heavy between us, mixing with the tension from Celeste’s accusations and the prophecy hanging over Astra’s head.
By the time we’re crossing the palace gardens this afternoon, Daciana’s anxiety has wound so tight, I can feel it thrumming through the bond like a plucked string.
“We should talk to Lucian again,” she’s saying, her voice tight. “About increasing security around Astra. If the gypsy witches don’t—”
The whistle cuts through the air. Sharp. High-pitched. Wrong.
Daciana whips around, her eyes widening. An arrow is streaking toward her chest.
“Daciana!” The shout tears from my throat.
She leaps sideways, the arrow missing her by inches. But another follows immediately. Then, another.
I’m moving before I can think, my body becoming a shield between her and the onslaught. An arrow grazes my shoulder, causing a sharp, burning pain that I ignore.
“Kieran!” Daciana’s cry is raw with fear.
Around us, chaos erupts. People scatter, screaming. Soldiers rush forward, drawing weapons—but arrows cut them down before they can target the source. Bodies hit the ground with sickening thuds.
I try to reach Daciana, but three arrows come at me simultaneously. I dodge, twisting away, my wolf surging beneath my skin.
More arrows. They’re coming from everywhere—the trees, the rooftops, I can’t tell. Whoever is shooting at us is hidden and very skilled.
And they’re not stopping.
Daciana ducks behind a stone bench, but arrows shatter against it. She rolls away, coming up in a crouch. Through the bond, I feel her fear—not for herself, but for me.
“Stay down!” I roar.
But she’s already moving, zigzagging toward better cover. An arrow catches her sleeve, tearing the fabric. Another embeds itself in the ground where her foot was a heartbeat before.
I lunge forward, desperate to reach her. Three more arrows fly straight at Daciana. My heart stops. She’s too exposed. Too far from cover.
I won’t make it.
I sprint anyway, desperation tearing through my chest, the bond screaming at me to get to her, protect her, save her.
A girl steps out from behind a column. She’s young, maybe sixteen, with dark eyes and wild black hair that whips around her face. She waves her hand almost lazily.
The arrows drop to the ground like stones.
She whispers words I can’t hear but I feel in my bones, ancient and powerful. The trees and shrubs around us rustle violently, like a sharp wind has torn through them. Leaves scatter. Branches shake.
The arrows stop. Complete silence falls over the garden except for the groans of the wounded.
Magic rolls off the girl in waves. Sharp and clean and absolutely unmistakable. My wolf recognizes it immediately.
Healers rush forward, tending to the fallen soldiers. I reach Daciana and pull her against me, my hands running over her body, checking for injuries even though I can feel through the bond that she is unharmed.
She’s shaking. “I’m okay,” she whispers. “I’m okay.”
Her eyes are fixed on the girl.
