How did they get past the guards? Weapons aren’t allowed in the palace by citizens, and every person is supposed to be thoroughly checked by the Royal Guard before they are let into these chambers. I’m furious, ready to demand they be removed and the guards be punished for their lapse in protocol, when the ground shakes beneath me. The room goes deathly silent. Even Fionn freezes in his trap of vines.

I scan the room closely, not sure what has caused the shaking. Fionn looks confused, but the fae with weapons only grin. The shaking intensifies as my eyes find Admon’s across the room, his own expression furrowed. All the other advisors look concerned and afraid, not a single one of them giving away their own potential involvement.

I barely have time to shield my advisors and myself before the room explodes in bright light and a roaring boom. Despite the magical shield, I’m knocked to the ground, banging my head against the sharp corner of my chair. Ears ringing, I struggle to focus my eyes. Admon slumps in his chair, and at least three other advisors are catatonic next to him. I stumble as I attempt to stand, but a second blast knocks me back down. Unsure what’s happened and head throbbing, I can’t concentrate on the scene around me. Shapes and bodies blur across my vision while I fight the fogginess of my mind to make sense of them.

High pitched screams finally pierce through the haze of my confusion, and it brings me out of my stupor. I clear away the thick smoke that has gathered in the hall with my magic. Unconscious bodies cover the floor, dark crimson blood sprayed across the walls and ceiling. The sharp metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils as I inhale. Limbs have been severed, and those still conscious moan or scream their pain. Velmara—or whoever is responsible—will pay for their deaths. The combination of sounds and smells transports me back to the war, to the endless bodies that fell and the blood that constantly lingered around the war camp. But I don’t crumple in fear—not this time.