“He will try to take your hand.”
“I will not give it.”
“Maelor will try to activate the blood channels.”
“Then you stop him.”
Lucien’s gaze locked on hers.
“That is when you want me to move?”
“When the room shows what it is. Not before.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are asking me to wait for a blade to touch you.”
“I am asking you to let the blade be seen.”
The silence between them hurt.
Then he nodded once.
Not acceptance.
Agreement under protest.
A knock sounded at the outer door.
Lucien moved first, reaching for his trousers.
Sabine dressed quickly.
Lysa’s voice came through the door. “It is me. And Elara.”
Lucien opened it.
Lysa entered with Elara behind her.
Elara took in Lucien’s half-fastened shirt, Sabine’s loose hair, the rumpled bed, and said, “Good. At least someone in this palace is using the remaining hours productively.”
Lysa made a strangled sound.
Sabine ignored both of them. “What happened?”
Elara’s expression sharpened.
“Corvek filed the passage record. Serast objected formally. Ilyra countersigned the record before he could suppress it. The Trial of Surrender stands.”
Sabine exhaled.
“And,” Elara said, “the record clerk copied your revised vow phonetically because he did not understand all the High Veyran.”
Lucien went still.
Elara smiled.
“I have the copy.”
