Alaric returned a short while later.
Walking quietly beside him was Lysa, her head bowed low. A thin veil covered her face, casting a shadow over her eyes, while her hands trembled nervously at her sides.
The king's smile widened the moment he saw her.
"At last," he said, licking his lips. "Take off the veil, let me gaze upon your beautiful face."
Suddenly one of the guards burst into the tent, breathing hard.
"Sire," he said urgently. "We are under attack."
The king frowned and waved a hand. "Then gather the men. Don't interrupt me."
The guard swallowed. His face had gone pale.
"Sire… we are under attack by our own men."
The king froze.
"What?" he demanded, pushing himself to his feet. "Our own men?" he repeated.
His eyes darted around the tent, then landed on the strangers. Suspicion crept into his face.
Before anyone could move, his voice hardened.
"Guards," the king barked suddenly, pointing at Thornak. "Kill them Now."
