The nine remaining imperial elites gathered, joined by the men and women in red robes who Cyrus assumed to be some manner of priest. One of the nine trudged to the front and stood before the locked gateway. He showed no fear of an archer’s arrow, which wasn’t surprising given the enormous gray slab of steel he carried as his shield. His face was hidden underneath a gigantic bull helmet with horns that stretched a full foot to either side of his head. He said something in his imperial tongue, and then one of the priests came forward holding a blue medallion. The gigantic man took it, slipped it over his neck, and then addressed the castle.

“I am Imperator Magus of Eldrid!” the man shouted, and though his lips moved wrong, there was no doubt that he somehow spoke the native Thanese language. “Paragon of Shields, servant of the Uplifted Church, and faithful child of the God-Incarnate. I command this conquest. My word is law, and so shall it be until this island bends its knee and accepts the wisdom of the Everlorn Empire. I say this not out of pride, but so you may understand that none challenge my word. Should I make a promise, I shall keep it, even unto the breaking of the world.”

Magus drew a sword from his waist and lifted it high above him. He spoke again, the blue medallion flaring with light at his every word.

“I make you one offer, and it shall not be amended nor changed. Bring me the royal family who call this castle home. Cast them to the dirt at my feet, and I shall spare the lives of every single man, woman, and child within your walls. But if you will not…”

The Imperator lowered his blade.

“Then I shall execute every last one of you, so that only vermin remain to walk your halls.”

And with that, silence followed, but that silence was like the held breath between seeing a flash of lightning and feeling its thunder rumble against your bones. Shouts soon erupted within the castle, scattered at first, then numerous. Screams. Steel striking steel.

Mother! Father! Cyrus’s parents were both on a lower floor, watching the battle unfold from the castle windows. That their servants and soldiers would so easily turn upon them seemed unthinkable, but the sounds of battle were undeniable. Cyrus turned to the door to the balcony, still slightly ajar from when Rayan left.

“Oh no,” he whispered, and then broke into a sprint. The door wasn’t lockable, not from the outside, but if he could wedge it closed with something, even brace it with his weight…