The clash of steel rang in her ears, but Liora couldn't look away from Lucien. The way he fought wasn't like the cold, detached man who had sat at the head of the dinner table. Here, in the chaos of firelight and steel, he was alive, terrifyingly so. Every movement was precise, measured, yet ruthless, as though he'd been born for nothing but battle.
Rowan fought like his shadow, the two of them moving with a rhythm too practiced to be coincidence. One parried while the other struck; one feinted while the other delivered the killing blow. It was a dance of death, and the courtyard was littered with proof of it.
"Stay behind me," Edgar barked, pulling Liora back just as an arrow whistled past where her head had been.
But she had already seen it, one of the assassins breaking through the circle, his blade glinting as he charged straight for Lucien's exposed back.
"Lucien!"
Her voice tore out of her before she could stop it.
Lucien turned, but not fast enough.
The assassin lunged.
