Tomas was still in shock, but as the black-garbed figure approached, instincts kicked in and he finally snapped from his stupor and launched himself forward toward the mother he’d never known.

Wham! The intruder leapt from the rope while still well off the floor, feet slamming into Tomas’s chest and rocking him back. He skidded on his rear for a few feet, clutching his chest, unable to breathe.

And yet his eyes still found the mother he’d lost, a woman he’d truly never despised, a woman who, even now, he was hoping would love him. The intruder grabbed at a red belt slung around his waist, untethering it in an instant. Before Tomas’s very eyes, the previously flexible belt stiffened into a long shaft. The sword flashed crimson, its edge catching the sunlight. The black-garbed assassin spun deftly around behind the queen, held her firmly with one hand while she tried to kick free, met Tomas’s eyes across the room—dark with a violent promise—and then, without hesitation, drew the blade across her throat.

Still gasping, Tomas fought to his feet, trying to scream at the assassin, who calmly stood, pointing the sword at his chest. “You need to run,” the voice said. A man’s deep rumble, though there was something off about it, like he was trying to disguise it. His face was hidden by the cowl of the dark hood draped over his head. At his feet, the queen was still, blood pooling around her.

It was impossible. Unfathomable.

“You…you killed her.”

“I did as I was commanded. And you should too. No matter what you say, you’ll be blamed. You’ll be arrested. You’ll be executed.”

Tomas stared at the red blade dripping blood. “You’re a Crimson Dagger. Who sent you?” Finfalla was filled with plenty of warmongering nobles, but this was a step beyond the edge even for them. “Who paid you?”

Compared to the panic rising inside Tomas, the assassin was as calm as a spring breeze. “You must escape. It is your duty as Crown Prince. Now go! You must climb!”

With that, the assassin slapped the broad side of the sword against his hip, and it instantly lost its form, coiling around his midsection and cinching in the middle. Where its hilt had been a moment ago was now a gleaming red belt buckle. He leapt onto the rope and clambered up faster than should’ve been possible. Tomas stared at his mother’s lifeless body, battling entire armies of emotions, fighting them back, along with the nausea rising in his throat.

He focused on what the assassin had said, analyzing it from every angle. The queen was alive when he’d entered her sanctuary. Now she wasn’t. There were no other witnesses, because she’d sent Lord Stapleton away. Clearly someone else had entered through the roof—the shattered glass and rope dangling from above was evidence enough of that—but would they believe him when he swore he had nothing to do with what had happened? Could he have saved her? Could he have fought harder? Raised the alarm? Given his mother a chance to flee? The peace between Finfalla and Kinkalla had never been strong and had only persevered as long as it had because his father and mother had made it so. But now…