Still torn between running for help and throwing open the door, Ariane looked for any sign of what his magic might be. Her worries were answered when Prince Lucien’s and Henry’s shadows peeled off the ground and stood. The shadows were more rounded and slower to move than their real-life counterparts, but Ariane was willing to bet their swords pierced flesh just as easily.
She opened her mouth to shout, when Henry swung around, sliding between Prince Lucien and the shadows in the nick of time. Hornets crawled across his back—stinging him through the cloth of his shirt and vest. Lucien bared his teeth and sprinted for the female mage, but every time he lunged towards her, the wasps created a solid wall in front of him as their brethren stabbed every uncovered bit of flesh on his person.
I have to help! Ariane glanced at the male mage—who still stood directly in front of her door, his back to her. Her palms were sweaty with fear as she picked up her broom and slowly swung the door open. When she realized the buzz of the wasps covered all other noise—except for Prince Lucien’s and Henry’s growls—she took a few steps forward and adjusted her grip on her broom. I better make this count—or we’ll all die.
She licked her lips as she narrowed her gaze to the back of the mage’s neck, homing in on the small—very vulnerable—spot where his skull melded with his neck. As she pulled the broom back, she could hear her papa’s endlessly repeated advice.
“Hit ‘im fast, in a spot that will stop him long enough for you to get the upper hand. Go for maximum damage. Making a fair fight when you battle out of your league is a dead man’s sentiments.”
Henry growled when one of the shadows stabbed his left calf, and Prince Lucien’s throat was puffy from the venom of the wasps.
Ariane swallowed, then struck like a snake, hitting the male mage at the top of his spine and the base of his skull with the tip of her sturdy broom handle.
The mage toppled like an oak tree.
Ruthlessly, Ariane shifted her grip on the broom, then stood over the mage and slammed the end of it into the mage’s throat. He gurgled and didn’t breathe. The tarry shadows fell to the ground with a splat.
His fall caught the female mage’s attention, who looked away from Lucien and Henry and made a questioning garbled sound.
Lucien took the moment to duck around the wall of wasps, his expression lethal as he lunged forward and stabbed his sword at the bug mage. He landed a deep blow to her side, making her shriek.
The male mage was twitching as Ariane panicked. Where am I supposed to hit him next? Papa always said to run as soon as the opponent was down, but I can’t do that! She considered popping him in the face with her trusty broom handle, but the bug mage made a keening noise, and a cloud of wasps forced Ariane back into the hallway.
When the insects finally left, both of the mages were gone.
Ariane poked her head into the garden to affirm His Highness and Henry were breathing before she turned on her heels and, still clutching her broom, sprinted down the hallway. “Guards!” She shouted. “There’s been an attack on Prince Lucien! Guards!”
Lucien wrinkled his nose and glared at his hands, slick with the paste that was supposed to take the puff out of his skin from all the wasps’ stings. “I smell like I've bathed in a bower,” he said.
Elle, his sister-in-law and the smart-mouthed beloved of Severin, grinned mischievously. “But Lucien, haven't you heard? Floral scents are all the rage with royal women.”
“With women, yes,” Lucien said. “But I am a man. I should smell of leather and gold, not...” Lucien paused to take a whiff of his hands. “Daisies.”
Severin, his arms folded across his broad chest—a feature Lucien had always envied—frowned at him. “The paste does not smell like daisies.”
“And you don't want to smell like gold,” Elle assured Lucien as she plopped down on an armchair with no care for the skirts of her gown. “When it gets old, it starts to smell overly metallic and almost blood-like.”
Lucien heaved his eyes to look up at the ceiling. “Let me guess. One of your blasted assignments back when you were Ranger Seventy-Eight took you to the vaults of Arcainia?”
“Close—the gold hordes of Baris.”
“Baris, I should have known,” Lucien grumbled.
“Though Elle may be in a mood to entertain your false bravado, I do not intend to let this incident pass by, Lucien,” Severin rumbled. (Seven rumbled a great deal more now than he had when they were boys, probably due to his stint as a catlike beast.)
“What is there to discuss?” Lucien asked. “Two rogue mages tried to kill me. I'm hardly the first royal to have faced danger over the past five years. You know as much, Severin. You were among the first to be attacked by that witch who turned you into a beast.”
“Obviously I am aware of the disturbing number of renegade magic users who have attacked royalty across the continent. It is why I have called the upcoming Summit,” Severin said. “What I will not abide is that they attacked you in Noyers—in the palace. We have the most powerful army in the continent, and we couldn't keep you safe in our strongest city.”
Lucien studied his brother for a moment, taking in the dark circles that ringed his eyes and the ever-constant wrinkle of worry on his brow. He made himself smirk. “Perhaps we should consider recruiting from the palace staff. That maid was quite vicious in her defensive maneuverings.”
Severin slammed a fist on an end table. “That maid may be the only reason you are alive.”
Elle roused herself from her seat to stand at her husband’s side. She touched his shoulder and murmured words to him that Lucien could not hear, though he could see the effect of them as they made Severin stand taller and ease the clenching of his jaw.
She is as polite and noble as a mountain hag, but there are some benefits in having her hanging about.... Despite his less than charitable thoughts about her, Lucien had come to like Elle. While Severin was honorable and meticulous about everything from his military plans to staffing his chateau, Elle was far craftier and not nearly as mule-ish. She was a fine foil for his brother, though Lucien wished she showed more passion for the Loire nobility as Severin, and now Elle, both skipped out on as many court functions as possible. This was more than a small worry for Lucien because, as Severin was going to be his top advisor in everything, it did not bode well if he was absent whenever possible.
Perhaps I should begin attempting to make the courts more enjoyable for Elle; she would drag Severin in her wake. He studied the pair thoughtfully. Though I should wait at least until the Summit is over—they both look burdened. And this rotten assassination attempt will not ease their worries. It occurred to Lucien for a moment that he could likely use the day’s events as a reason to lure them into polite society more often, but another glance at them showed that Elle shifted like a nervous filly, and Severin rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. No—I will not be that selfish. So how to lighten the mood? Lucien rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I need wine.”
The complaint had the desired effect, for Severin narrowed his eyes and glared at Lucien like a grudging grandfather.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.