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“Open it,” growled a voice. A male.

Someone shoved against the door again, and I shrieked, scrambling out of bed to grab the nearest weapon—a fire poker.

Not that it would do much against a bloodthirsty Mage.

My hand shook as I held on to the poker, brandishing it toward the door in case my wards failed me.

A dark, chilling energy filled the air, making everything feel cold and empty. I shuddered, backing away from the door. My breath constricted in my lungs. The strange energy drew closer before it slammed into something.

My wards.

The warmth of my magic surrounded me as if reminding me it was still there to protect me. The strange dark power receded, and I sucked in a long breath. Thank the gods.

“The bitch did something to the door!” cried a second Mage. The doorknob rattled again, and he cursed loudly. “Even my magic can’t get through.”

Oh gods. That dark energy had been his magic. Nausea roiled in my gut, and my pulse roared in my ears.

“Leave it,” muttered the first voice. “We can slit her throat as soon as she leaves her room. She can’t stay in there forever.”

Dread crept up my spine, and a chill brushed over my skin.

“Hear that?” taunted the second voice loudly. “You’re not long for this world, girl. Make peace with your gods while you still can.”

The two Mages chuckled as their footsteps echoed down the hall. I held my breath, waiting for them to come back—or for someone else to join them. Someone powerful enough to tear through my wards.

But the hall remained silent.

I held onto the poker, my hand clammy and covered in sweat. Even as I crawled back into bed, I kept my fingers clamped around it for good measure.

For hours, I lay in bed, my hand wrapped so tightly around the fire poker that my fingers started to cramp. I kept waiting for the sky to lighten with dawn, but then I recalled how Alaric said it was always nighttime here.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep again. A loud thump by the door made me jolt awake. The poker fell from my loose grasp and landed on the floor with a deafening clatter. I scrambled out of bed, dizzy and disoriented as I grabbed the poker and stood to my full height. My braid had come loose, and several stray curls covered my face.

Thump. A muffled shout. Another thump.

Then… silence.

I frowned, the weapon shaking in my hand. I knew my wards were intact, but what if someone more powerful was trying to get in? What if they somehow figured out how to dismantle my spell?

Someone jiggled the handle of the door, and I sucked in a sharp breath. I backed farther away from the door, trying to put as much space between me and the attacker as possible. I needed time to strike. Time to conjure magic.

Storms, I was about to die.

Breathe, Cece, said a voice within me that sounded a lot like Gran. Keep your magic close. Prepare yourself.

I held my breath and steeled myself. The door swung open, and a huge figure appeared in the door frame. He moved, then uttered a loud, frustrated grunt.

My eyes flared wide, my heart lurching in my chest as I recognized the intruder as Alaric. He wore a loose cotton tunic open at the chest and dark brown trousers that came just past his knees.

He grunted again as he tried to enter the room. His body bounced off my invisible forcefield, and he shot an incredulous look my way. “What the hell is this?”

I released a long, slow breath, my heart still careening in my chest. I sheepishly rubbed the back of my neck. “I—I set up wards around the room.”

Alaric blinked slowly at me. “Wards,” he repeated.

“Yes. I didn’t trust your soldiers not to try to kill me in the night. And I was right. Some of them tried to break through my door earlier.” My heart quivered as I remembered their threat to return after I’d awoken.

Did they still intend to come back? Perhaps they were waiting for Alaric to leave.