Umbra could no longer afford to avoid the fight. For too long, he had believed that a well-timed ambush might be enough, that if he struck first, he could at least wound Roaxanne or leave her helpless long enough to buy himself precious minutes.
Minutes he needed to seize the Grand Duchess, the one prize the Emperor of Erengrad desired above all else. The Emperor's obsession with her was so great that he had poured out wealth and resources beyond measure, all for the sake of capturing her.
Yet something had gone wrong. The plan should have been flawless. Umbra had arranged everything with care, ensuring that none of his assassins could betray him. Each one had sworn an oath bound by sorcery so cruel that treachery meant death, their bodies dissolving from within, flesh and organs melting until nothing remained but agony.
