The man behind Henter wrapped both hands around the hilt of the sword lodged through his stomach.
Metheea understood what he meant to do.
"No."
The word barely left her.
The assassin pulled the blade free.
Henter's body jerked. Blood poured over the hand pressed to his stomach and ran down the front of his uniform.
"No!"
Metheea started toward the door.
The illusion on the bed wavered as her concentration broke. Azrayel's face blurred against the pillow before she forced it back into place.
"Henter!"
His head lifted at the sound of his name.
For a moment, the fighting around him disappeared from her sight. She saw only the man kneeling in the corridor, trying to remain upright while blood gathered beneath him.
Henter had made her a promise before he left.
After the blessing, Your Highness.
He had promised to return.
He was looking at her now as though he remembered that promise too.
His lips moved.
