As the king tired, his guards moved in, swords drawn, and she was no longer fighting one fae, but three. She spun, her sword clashing in a blur of steel, slicing into muscle and flesh. Arcs of red blood sprayed through the air, and she no longer knew who she was fighting; she only knew that she wanted to kill.

Another guard swung for her and she ducked, her sword slashing for his legs. But the fae leapt into the air, bringing the pommel of his sword down on the back of her head.

Pain exploded through her skull; she stumbled back, dropping her blade. Her vision darkened and rough hands grabbed her, pulling her to the floor.

When her vision cleared, the king and Abrax stood above her while six fae guards pinned her to the ground.

“You stupid bitch,” Oberon spat. “Once I’m done using you for pleasure, I will flay you alive.”

Rage stole her breath. Kester is dead. And they’re going to kill me. Bastards.

Wild with fury, she struggled to free herself, but the grip of the fae’s hands were too strong. Abrax bent low, narrowing his eyes. He touched her cheek, purring. “What kind of thing are you?” He ran his fingers over her skin, and bile rose in her throat.

“Strip her,” said Oberon.

Fire. In her panic she’d forgotten to use Emerazel’s fire. She let the volcanic rage blaze white-hot, and the fae released her.

Just as she was scrambling to her feet, a growl rumbled through the hall. A dark beast crashed into the crowd of fae, green eyes blazing. The female fae screamed, running for the movable dais. As soon as they crowded on, it began to lower.

Kester? The hound circled her, snarling at the fae who surrounded her with swords drawn. He was protecting her.

Relief flooded her. How the hell was he alive?

It struck her like a bolt of lightning. The spell. Whatever spell they’d chanted before leaving had actually worked. Not only that, but it must have changed his hound form. He was ten feet tall at least.

She rose, snatching the fallen sword from the ground.

Kester’s eyes blazed; blood dripped from his jaw. A guard swung for him, and he roared, picking up the fae in his teeth and flinging him across the room.

The king drew his sword again, his eyes locked on Ursula. “Filthy animals.”

Kester snarled at the king, who now stood surrounded by a troop of fae guards.

“Get him to safety,” one of them shouted. As they closed in around the king, their bodies shimmered away, leaving behind only a pale, iridescent glimmer. The temperature in the room chilled by ten degrees.

Ursula whirled, gripping her sword and scanning the room for Abrax. The incubus stood near the balcony, gripping the king’s halberd. Blood dripped from his fingers—Kester must have bitten him before lunging into the crowd.