Keiser felt it, a sudden tug at his cloak, sharp and unyielding.
Before he could react, he was yanked backward, his balance stolen, the fabric strangling against his throat.
Cold dread washed over him as something harder and sharper pressed to the side of his neck. The unmistakable cold kiss of an arrowhead.
"Who's here?"
The voice was low, edged like a blade, cutting straight through the night's silence.
Keiser's breath hitched.
A shiver ran down his spine, cold and paralyzing, because he didn't need to look. He already knew. That voice, that presence, the raw strength that radiated from the grip on his cloak, there was no mistaking it.
The last time he'd seen her, the sixth princess had been sobbing uncontrollably over her. That memory still clawed at him, sharper than the point at his throat.
