On one side of the ring, two kings stood like designer bodyguards for their mate. On the other stood a woman whose real age was unknown, and who'd been one degree away from everyone watching: engaged, mothered, chamber-redecorated, or stalker-mailed.
Emma looked at the three of them. Looked at the ring. Looked at her hands, where the dark magic was rebuilding with the enthusiasm of something that had been starving and just heard a heartbeat. It coiled around her fingers in black and violet, delighted.
"Well," she said, rolling her neck. "Your choice. If one of them dies, this is on you."
Emma's hands shot forward and dark magic poured from her palms in twin streams locked on the two kings standing next to Guinevere, because if you're going to start a fight you might as well start with the expensive ones.
White shields snapped around Maddox and Nicholas simultaneously. Both men had already been glowing. But apparently that wasn't enough.
