Mariel nearly shrieked from the coach, but Ser Dalimont was at least halfway intelligent. He glanced at the confused [Necromancers].

“Of course, Your Highness. Dame Nifvta, Ser Julius, fix the wheel.”

Audacity gave them a minute, maybe less. They had to hurry, but not panic. Seraphel could hear the

[Necromancers] arguing.

“—assured me they were on the way!”

The lead [Necromancer] was shouting at the others. They were cowering as he raised his staff.

“We thought they were, Master! No one uses this road except the local villagers! A party that large—”

“You didn’t even think to check their armor? Afiele has no [Knights], you fools! They barely have a house guard!”

Seraphel glanced at their leader as she pretended to harangue the Thronebearers. The white-haired

[Necromancer], again. She turned and hissed to her escort.

“Hurry up.”

Then…

“How did a cabal of [Necromancers] appear?”

The [Knights] were trying to replace the broken wheel. Ser Dalimont glanced up.

“White hair. Black robes. He’s the image of The Necromancer.”

Az’kerash. There were [Necromancers], but when people said The Necromancer, they meant the former Archmage, the herald of death that had raised armies. By contrast—these were just imitators capable of raising only a hundred undead. But their leader was clearly emulating the legend. Seraphel shuddered.

“The wheel’s on? Get moving—”

She hurried around the side of the coach and a black bolt of magic lashed the ground. The two

[Handmaidens] screamed. Ser Dalimont raised his shield, covering Seraphel.

The [Necromancer] pointed down at Seraphel.

“Princess Seraphel du Marquin. It appears we were in error. You were not our target. It is quite regrettable; we have no quarrel with Calanfer. But we cannot allow you to leave.”

Slowly, the [Princess] swung around. She tried to smile.

“Sir Necromancer. We have no quarrel with your cul—cabal. We are quite willing to go on our way.

Consider that my kingdom will pursue its enemies to the ends of the world. But we are content to let…accidents lie.”

She waved at the fallen bodies of the [Knights], gold armor torn and dirtied.

“Allow us to go on our way and we will leave our dead. Upon my honor, I promise we will make no mention of your attack. My word as a [Princess] on it.”

She was sweating.

“Your Highness—”

One of the Thronebearers protested. But Ser Dalimont silenced him with a glance.

Leave the dead. The [Necromancers] could take the bodies and create stronger undead, protected by the magical armor. Seraphel knew it was dishonorable. But dishonor before death—

The white-haired [Necromancer] considered it for a second. The others were looking at the [Knights], clearly not relishing having to finish them off before their quarry arrived. But their leader slowly shook his head.