They sprinted down the hall as the ball began to chirp. They made it twenty feet before it exploded. Alistair clapped his hands over his ears at the deafening noise and turned to watch. The ward outside the door flared bright red, shielding the occupants from the blast, which blew a hole through the door on the other side of the hall. As Alistair stared, the ward flickered.
“It’s starting to fail!” Lucyan cried, springing forward. He ran into the flames and opened his maw wide, blasting the door with more fire. The ward tried to withstand it, but failed after only a few seconds.
Beyond the door, terrified women screamed. Alistair kicked open the door to find two beautiful, petite redheads cowering in a giant bed draped in black silk. The flames raced across the carpet toward them. The window was wide open, the drapes fluttering. King Wulorian was nowhere to be found.
“Blast it!” Alistair roared as he stamped out the flames. Lucyan ran to the window, every swear word Alistair had ever heard springing from his lips. Suddenly, his cursing turned to laughter.
“Look,” he said, pointing. “Our sister has brought us a gift.”
Alistair and Sorana hurried to the window to see Tariana hovering outside. The king was clutched in her clawed fist, wearing nothing but a black and gold robe. His black hair fluttered in the wind, his pale cheeks bright red as he struggled against Tariana’s grip, calling her every name in the sun as he flung magic at her hide. Thankfully, the amulet held, and the spells bounced off harmlessly.
“A wonderful gift indeed,” Sorana said with a grin. “I am sure King Wulorian did not imagine how his day was going to start.”
“Father!” a familiar voice cried.
Alistair turned toward the footsteps rushing down the hall. To his delight, Prince Mordan barreled into the room. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the three dragon siblings, his eyes widening in horror.
“You!” he cried, blasting them with magic. Alistair and Lucyan dove out of the way, but Sorana wasn’t quite so fast. The bolt of magic hit her in the arm. An acid scent filled Alistair’s nose, and the resulting scream chilled him straight to the bone. Horrified, Alistair watched as Sorana’s arm melted into nothing. The amulet around her neck had broken—Mordan, unlike his father, had not expended his energy on a ward, and he was too powerful for the amulet to withstand.
“Bastard!” Lucyan roared, charging at Mordan.
Smirking, Mordan sidestepped Lucyan’s sword swing. Alistair roared fire at him, but several amulets Mordan wore flared to life, absorbing the fire.
“Unlike my father, I am always prepared for battle,” Mordan sneered. He lifted his hands, magic crackling around them, and pointed one at each prince. “Tell your dragon to release my father, or I will kill you both.”
Lucyan and Alistair hesitated. They could not afford to die, not when Shalia’s Curse had not been lifted, and yet, they could not give up the king either.
“Don’t do it,” Solara panted, clutching at her arm. “Mordan is not an honorable man. He has no reason to keep his word once you give him what he wants.”
“Shut up, you stupid twat,” Mordan snapped. He pointed one of his hands at Solara rather than Lucyan. “Or do you want me to kill you instead—”
Alistair leapt high in the air, well above Mordan’s hands. He drew his dagger, gripped it in both hands, and buried it into Mordan’s skull as he came down. The warlock prince’s head split in two from the effort, brains and blood splashing all over Alistair and Lucyan. The stench was awful, especially to Alistair’s sensitive nose, and he stumbled back, gagging.
Shocked silence filled the room as Mordan’s dead body slumped to the ground. They all stared at it for a few moments, not quite able to believe it. Even the women, who had been screaming in terror, had gone completely silent. But as the seconds passed, they began to sob again, huddling against each other for comfort.
“P-please,” one of them stammered, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t kill us.”
Alistair approached the bed. “No one is going to kill you.” The women shrank back, and Alistair stopped. The sight of him covered in their prince’s blood wasn’t helping. He glanced to Sorana, but she was still clutching her shoulder, her face white with pain as she slumped on the ground. He knew how agonizing it was to lose an arm, even knowing she would grow it back.
Several strike force soldiers ran into the room, breathing hard. “We’ve secured the manor, my prince,” they said, bowing to Alistair. “There is no one left alive.”
“Good.” Alistair gestured to the women. “Please get these ladies some proper clothes, and see to it that they are not carrying any weapons or devices on their persons.” He gave them orders to watch them closely—they did not smell like warlocks, but he knew the people of Shadowhaven could do just as much damage with the aid of magical devices.
“That may have been the most horrific thing I’ve seen in my life,” Lucyan finally said once the women had been taken away. He crouched by Sorana’s side and put an arm around her. “Are you all right, sister?”
She nodded shakily. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get outside and shift.”
Alistair sighed, looking back at the dead body on the ground. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said. “It would have been much better to take him hostage as well. But under the circumstances—”
“I much prefer you saving my life to taking home a second royal prisoner,” Sorana said dryly, interrupting him. “The people of Shadowhaven will be angry that we have killed their crown prince, but they will still want their king back. We have accomplished our mission.”
“Mordan must have only gotten here last night,” Lucyan said, getting to his feet. “Or else Shadley would have known he was here.” Crouching next to the prince’s body, he did a quick search for valuables. “Oooh.” He pulled a device from the prince’s shirt that looked like some kind of pocket watch. “This will be quite useful.”
Alistair helped Sorana to her feet and guided her around them. “We’ll be waiting for you outside.” Lucyan would no doubt find quite a few useful gadgets on the prince’s person, but Alistair wasn’t interested. He just wanted to get home and put an end to this gods-forsaken war.
35
While Alistair, Lucyan, Sorana, and Tariana were out raiding King Wulorian’s country estate, Drystan and Dareena stayed behind to take care of the Keep’s affairs. The two of them buried themselves in work to keep their anxiety at bay, Dareena focusing on the wedding preparations—which her friends were eagerly helping with—while Drystan focused on various matters of state.
“My prince,” the steward said, interrupting him for the third time that morning. “I have wonderful news!”
“This had better be about King Wulorian,” Drystan said. He’d already been disappointed twice that morning, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. “Has he been captured?”
“I am not certain about that,” the steward said blithely, ignoring Drystan’s temper, “but there is a more pressing matter. The elven king and his progeny have arrived, and they wish for an audience with you and Lady Dareena.”