Alaric returned a short while later.
Lysa walked beside him, her head lowered. A thin veil covered her face, hiding her eyes. Her hands trembled 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."
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."
The guards simply stood frozen, as if they had not heard him at all.
The king's smile faltered.
