The music was still playing when the arrow flew.
It came out of the darkness above the banners - a thin whisper of death, faster than thought.
Elyon saw the shimmer first, the faint silver line slicing through torchlight toward the throne. Her body moved before her mind caught up. "Father!"
King Roland turned just as the arrow streaked toward his chest. With reflexes that had earned him a dozen battle songs, he seized the goblet from his hand and struck the arrow aside. It shattered against the marble column behind him, embedding deep into the stone.
For an instant, the hall froze.
Then chaos erupted.
Guests screamed, overturning tables as guards rushed toward the dais. Nobles stumbled over their gowns, servants dropped platters of wine. The orchestra's final chord hung in the air like a wound.
Elyon clutched the edge of the table, her heart hammering. "Where did it come from?"
"Stay down!" Prince William's voice was sharp, commanding. He was already standing, scanning the balconies. His movements were too quick, too assured for mere court training.
A second arrow hissed through the air - this one aimed straight for the king's throat.
Roland didn't see it in time.
Elyon's scream tore through the hall.
It wasn't just sound.
The air convulsed around her - a pulse of blinding white light burst outward, rattling the chandeliers, shattering every wineglass on the tables. The arrow halted midair, twisted as though seized by invisible hands, and shot backward into the shadows from which it came.
A body fell from the balcony above, crashing into the tables below.
Silence fell - shocked, trembling silence.
Elyon stood trembling, her hand outstretched, the faint shimmer of gold still clinging to her fingertips.
Everyone saw it.
Her father turned toward her, eyes wide - not in gratitude, but in horror. "What... what have you done?"
Elyon stared at him, unable to speak. The hall stank of spilled wine and fear.
Guards rushed to the fallen figure on the floor, pulling away the hood - and froze. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
It was Petrid.
The king's own stepbrother.
His face was pale, lips twisted into a sneer even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "Still quick, brother," he croaked. "But not quick enough to see the truth."
"Seize him!" Roland's voice thundered. "Now!"
But Petrid laughed - a harsh, rasping sound that scraped at the nerves. "Too late for that."
He staggered to his feet, eyes burning with something not entirely human. His right hand rose, tracing strange symbols in the air, each one glowing faintly with blue fire.
Elyon's pulse raced. "He's casting something-!"
The guards hesitated, uncertain, and that was all he needed.
The blue symbols flared - and a wave of invisible force exploded outward.
Every man and woman in the hall dropped like stones. The nobles collapsed mid-scream, guards froze in place, even the king stumbled to his knees before slumping motionless to the ground.
The music, the laughter, the clinking of glass - all died in an instant.
All except two.
Elyon and Prince William remained standing.
Elyon's breath caught in her throat. "Father?" She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder, but he didn't stir. His chest rose and fell, barely.
Petrid looked up at her, eyes gleaming with contempt. "Of course you'd resist. You carry it in your blood."
Elyon backed away, shaking her head. "I don't understand-"
"Oh, but you do." Petrid's voice was almost tender. "You've hidden it so well. I can smell it on you - the same cursed spark your mother had."
Her stomach twisted. "You lie."
"Do I?" He raised his hand again, magic coiling like smoke around his fingers. "Let's see if you burn as brightly as she did."
Before she could move, a blur of motion struck him from behind. Petrid hit the ground hard, snarling.
William stood over him, his boot pressing against Petrid's wrist. His eyes - once silver-grey - now glinted with something wild, feral.
"Don't touch her," he growled, his voice deeper, edged with something inhuman.
Petrid spat blood and smiled. "Ah. The wolf reveals its teeth."
Elyon stared. "What- what is he talking about?"
"Later," William said without looking at her. "Go. Run."
"But-"
"Go!"
She hesitated only a moment longer before turning toward the nearest archway. But as she did, Petrid's voice rose again, chanting words that twisted the air.
William froze - literally. His body locked mid-motion, eyes wide, muscles straining uselessly. The spell shimmered around him like glass.
"William!" Elyon cried.
Petrid stood, blood running down his temple, expression triumphant. "You think you're her protector, beast? You'll die like the rest of them."
He raised his hand toward Elyon.
But something flickered behind him; a dagger - silver, curved - lifted off the ground by an unseen force.
Elyon's heart lurched. She didn't think - she felt.
The dagger shot toward Petrid. He spun just in time to deflect it with a hiss of power, sparks scattering across the marble.
The look he gave her then was pure hatred.
"So. The little sparkling witch wants to fight."
Elyon stumbled backward, her pulse deafening. Around them, the unconscious courtiers looked like fallen statues. Her father lay unmoving. William was trapped in silence.
And Petrid advanced, magic crackling around his hands.
She turned and ran.