Roman released a breath of relief when he saw the junior warriors sequestered in a weapons room with a wall of guards blocking them in. “The juniors are all accounted for and safe?” he asked Latton, the new sparring instructor.
“Yes, Your Grace. All but you,” the man deadpanned.
Roman classified as a junior warrior, but his royal title and extra training put him high enough to not only fight alongside his men, but to call the shots if his mother and father weren’t around. It irked some of the other warriors and guards, Latton included.
Roman ignored the instructor and scanned the juniors, finally spotting the top of Vivian’s auburn hair. She chatted with the guy next to her, and Roman felt ridiculous for worrying. He closed his eyes and connected with War to check on Violet.
The moment they connected, he stumbled, watching helplessly through hisfamiliaras a man tried to force his way under Roman’s bed while another stood on the other side.
War ripped the man out from under the bed and attacked in a whirl of teeth and claws, but it was Violet’s screams as she begged the men to not kill her that embedded themselves into Roman’s soul. He would never forget that sound as long as he lived.
What have I done?
“Rome!” Vivian yelled. “What’s wrong?”
Roman cut the connection with War and took off in a full sprint, ignoring Vivian’s calls. He could feel her anxiety and fear mingling with his own, but he didn’t have time to explain. Vivian had always been safe. He’dknownthat—had been able to feel it—but he let his sense of duty override his instinct, and Violet paid the price.
If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t survive it.
Nothing prepared Roman for what awaited him when he stepped inside his bedroom.
There wasn’t much in way of furniture because he liked space and despised clutter, but what little he had, namely his bed and nightstands, glistened with darkening blood spatter.
The two rebels lay mauled and dismembered on the red-stained rug, as if War had thrown their severed limbs around like discarded chew toys. Bloody quills dotted the floor, some embedded in bits of flesh.
Roman found Violet on the other side of the bed, kneeling beside a blood-soaked War with her arms wrapped around the tigon’s neck.
“Princess,” Roman rasped and crossed the room in a daze. He reached out for her, but she flinched away from his touch, breaking him even more.
“I thought you’d be safe here,” he whispered helplessly, yet she still wouldn’t look at him.
He glanced back at the remains on the floor, absorbing the reality of what almost happened. A tether inside of him snapped, freeing a darkness full of hate.
I almost lost her.He blamed himself; blamed the rebels; blamed the gods.
Footsteps ran into the room. “Oh my gods,” Vivian choked out and pushed him aside to grab her sister.
Violet turned and threw herself into Vivian’s arms, and Roman stared numbly as Vivian rocked her sister back and forth, whispering soothing words into her ear.
Vivian’s chaotic emotions—fear, relief, and confusion—tangled together in Roman’s chest. His own emotions threatened to crush him, and he wondered if they were crushing her too.
Did she feel the utter devastation and fury so potent he could taste it on his tongue?
He stared at the Maekin sisters, knowing Violet would never be the same.
And neither would he.
9
Roman sat across from Vivian in one of his mother’s ostentatious drawing rooms. Paintings of his ancestors lined the walls, separated by large golden sconces. Rugs with busy patterns of rich reds and golds covered every inch of the floor and contrasted with the bright colors of the chairs and settees littered around the room.
Roman knew he looked haggard. His hair was a mess, accompanied by dark circles from lack of sleep, and his anger still simmered under his skin like a living entity.
He hadn’t spoken to Violet since the attack a week ago, and he wanted to rip the Maekins’ cottage to shreds until he stood in her room. Meri and Edgar kept her out of school and wouldn’t let him in to see her. He’d tried to pull rank, but Edgar wouldn’t budge, saying she needed her rest.
Roman couldn’t take it, and he’d resorted to glamouring himself invisible to slip inside their cottage. His girl looked as haunted as he felt. Violet’s ashen skin resembled death, and her vacant eyes stared at her bedroom wall. Seeing her like that broke something inside him, destroyed it so thoroughly that he’d never be the same.
“Why was Violet in your rooms the day of the attack?” Vivian demanded, bringing him back to the present with her curt tone.
