Carnoraxis.
I yank on my trousers and boots, my hands trembling as the horn wails again. Outside my door, the sounds of footsteps echo in the corridor—Ironshield soldiers, judging by their brisk, measured cadence.
By the time I step into the hallway, Nadya bursts out of her room, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders. “What is that sound?” she hisses, wide-eyed.
“Trouble.” I grab her arm, pulling her along. “We need to find out what’s happening.”
The marble floors are cold beneath my boots as we hurry toward the grand staircase. More guards flood the halls, stern-faced men in their crimson uniforms, their hands on the hilts of their swords. Each of them moves with practiced precision, their formation perfectly aligned, even in the chaos. It would almost be impressive if the air weren’t thick with tension.
As we reach the grand foyer, the towering double doors stand open. The Podrosan king and queen emerge from a side chamber. King Harold’s broad frame is stiff with authority, his dark hair gleaming beneath the light of the chandeliers. Queen Agatha glides beside him, her expression composed but her knuckles white where they clutch the folds of her ivory robe.
A guard bows low before them, his voice taut. “Your Majesties, the western perimeter has been breached. Creatures—dozens—advancing toward the city.” He swallows hard, his composure cracking. “They are unlike anything our forces have faced.”
Behind them, Hederan soldiers pour in from their quarters, swords drawn, their heavy boots clattering over the polished stone.
My pulse quickens as I search the crowd. Where is Dante?
I push closer, my robe slipping off my shoulders as I strain to hear the guard’s next words.
“They move fast,” he continues, his voice faltering. “Too fast. And the way they tear through flesh—” His words cut off with a shudder.
The king’s jaw tightens. “Sound the second alarm. Mobilize the outer guard and reinforce the gates. Nothing gets through.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard spins on his heel, but I step forwardbefore I can think better of it.
“Let me fight,” I say, my voice steady despite the icy dread curling through my chest.
Every head turns toward me. The king’s mouth pulls into a frown, his disapproval palpable. “You are a guest of this kingdom. And a mourning one, at that.”
Before I can reply, another voice cuts in.
“Celeste, no.” Marcos steps into my path, his brow furrowed beneath tousled, dark hair, his red cloak hanging open at his shoulders. He looks equal parts horrified and perplexed. “You can’t mean to go out there. It’s not your place. Not now.”
I lift my chin. “My place is at the front of the line, defending the people.”
He shakes his head, glancing toward the king and queen as if to appeal to their reason. “You’ll be breaking every rule of this court. You’re in mourning. It’s forbidden. The consequences—”
“Rules don’t save lives,” I snap. “I’ve seen what those things can do. If I stand by and watch more innocents die, then what good are any of your precious rules?”
The king’s face darkens, but I don’t wait for his retort. Because for all his rigid adherence to protocol, even he can’t deny the truth: neither he nor his soldiers have seen what’s coming.
I turn back to Marcos, whose jaw hangs open. “You’ve always been kind to me,” I say quietly, too quietly for anyone else to hear. “Please. Don’t stop now.”
He swallows, clearly torn, but he steps aside.
I don’t waste another second. I let my robe drop, draw my dagger from its sheath, the weight of it familiar in my grip, and bolt into the night.
As I force my way past the soldiers at the gate, a shadow falls over me. I turn my head to find Dante charging beside me. We don’t break our stride as we hold our weapons in our grasps.
“You didn’t think you were going to face this horde without me, did you?” he asks.
“What took you so long?” I tease.
He moves with easy confidence, but I see the flicker of worry in his storm-grey eyes when they meet mine. He’s already dressed for battle—black leather fitted to his frame, the hilt of his falchion gleaming at his side.
The cool, night air brushes against my skin, thick with the scent of rain on distant earth. The smell of smoke drifts faintly on the breeze, but there’s something else beneath it: an acrid, coppery scent that makes my stomach twist. I know that smell.Blood.
In the field between the castle and the oncoming carnoraxis, orderly rows of Podrosan soldiers flood into formation. Every movement is precise, mechanical. Nothing like the easy, fluid readiness of my own regiment. Dante and I push our way through, rushing out in front of the troops.
