“Your Majesty, please!” says another man.
The queen doesn’t move.
“Give him to them!” says a woman I recognize as Clanna Sun, one of the queen’s primary advisers. She strides forward, then looks to one of the soldiers. “Take the king. Force him out.”
“No!” snaps the queen.
King Grey still hasn’t moved. His eyes haven’t left the queen. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” His voice is so quiet. “I will always yield for you.”
“Force him out,” says another adviser.
The soldiers have moved forward like they’re ready to do just that.
“Da!” cries little Sinna. “No!”
Lia Mara moves forward, blocking them. “No,” she says again. “You will not tear apart my family.”
The screams in the palace are growing closer. Glass shatters again. My pendant feels so warm against my chest, and guilt and fear swell in my belly.
Because it’s possible these scravers didn’t come for the king.
It’s possible they followed me.Camefor me.
I need to speak up. I need to tell them. If anyone should be forced out that door, it should be me.
But my sister’s hand is gripping mine so tightly, and my voice won’t work.
Something slams into the door, and the resulting shriek is intense. Then again.
Every guard and soldier in the room draws a weapon.
But half of them aren’t facing the door; they’re facing the king.
“Give him to them,” someone says, and I can’t even see who speaks, because it’s a chant, a plea, immediately taken up by everyone else in the room. “Force him out.”
The queen’s breath shakes.
But her eyes haven’t left the king, and after a moment, she squares her shoulders and inhales as if to speak an order.
Before she can, he steps forward, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her.
It’s only a second, but somehow also an eternity. Every ounce of emotion is potent in the room, and everyone falls silent. Even Nora gasps.
The king draws back almost immediately, then kisses little Sinna on the forehead. “Stay quiet,” he says. “Listen to your mother. I’ll be back.”
The queen’s eyes have flared wide. “Grey—”
“Stay with her,” the king says, and to my shock, he’s not talking to the guards or soldiers or advisers. His eyes are onme. “Help her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say, and my voice is barely more than a whisper.
Then he draws a weapon, and he walks through the door.
CHAPTER 45
TYCHO
The sounds of fighting in the distance are clear. Men and women are shouting, screaming, dying. I don’t know how many scravers have attacked, because my attention is solely focused on the one pinning me to the ground.
