Chapter 93

Elora’s POV

A howl sounded outside, I was sure I was dreaming. The hall exploded, door splintering, kid screaming bloody murder, swords clashing loudly.

I snapped awake, just dropped whatever I was holding. The candle nearly burned my fingers. These halls, the ones I could probably navigate blindfolded, suddenly felt like enemy territory, moonlight twisting everything, shadows darting. People yelling everywhere: “To arms! To arms!” And the palace felt more like a trap than home.

Dante was already up, somehow faster than me. I caught him on the stairs, facing all the hard lines and shadows, and he still had fresh bandages across his side. Didn’t slow him down even half a step. “Elora,” he said, voice flat and sharp. “Children’s wing. East corridor. Guards slowed them, but they’re cutting in through the kitchens, heading for the nurseries.”

My stomach just… dropped. Hot, ugly panic. I could picture it, small kids, asleep and clueless, danger crawling right up to their beds. Couldn’t breathe for a second. I knew exactly what I had to do. Dominic’s words kept looping in my head to always protect the children.

We moved. No talking, just action. Dante led, I was right at his heels, armor banging, sword bouncing at my hip, heart going a million miles an hour. Smelled like smoke and oil, someone had started fires where they had no business starting fires. The raiders, brigands, whatever you want to call them, moved smart and fast. Mira trained them. I recognized her style.... hit fast, hit soft spots, disappear.

We tore around the corner and there it was. Broke my heart a little. My omegas, the little healers, had formed a shaky line outside the nursery. Faces pale as milk, eyes wide and wet with terror. I’d only ever seen that look twice... after raids, counting up the dead, and the night Dominic nearly died on my floor. Some guy in clothes soaked dark with blood was at the nursery door, lock busted, holding up a knife like he was posing for a nightmare. Smiling, too.

Didn’t even think. I just went for him.

There’s this weird spot in a fight where your brain just… checks out and lets your body take over. I crashed into him with everything I had. Steel met steel, loud and ugly. He tried to twist away but I stuck to him. His blade bit my arm, and I felt pain through my bone, but I shoved him off, sending him stumbling past a cradle. The baby inside barely even woke. My lungs burned. I didn’t stop. My sword caught his throat, neat, ugly, final.

He died quietly. No drama, just a thud as he hit the floor. For a second, the world froze. Then chaos came roaring back in, me yelling orders, guards scrambling, scooping up terrified kids like they weighed nothing.

Smoke, blood, kids crying, mothers screaming. For a second I wanted to just collapse, let all this madness bury me. But I wrapped a cloak around a sobbing girl and shoved her at a guard... get her to safety. There were too many kids, not enough arms.

Dante was everywhere. He’d already killed two more attackers, and when another lunged out with a knife for one of the healers, Dante caught him, shoved him back, and stabbed him. Blood stained the walls. He took a hit meant for one of our apprentices, I heard the grunt, felt it in my bones. My hands were filled with blood.

We drove them out, inch by inch. These bastards were skilled, but we had something they would never get... we knew what we were fighting for.

The fight got ugly fast... turned from a scuffle to a full-blown hunt. We expected a bit of pushback, but not that kind of rage. We chased them through kitchens littered with ropes and frying pans, tripping over the mess, ducking under swinging pots. I had to slow down, just for a second, to take a hit, a chunk of iron smacked my thigh. I sucked in air, swore under my breath, but all I could picture was some kid bleeding out alone, so I kept moving forward.

One of those bastards tried to make a break for it, cutting through the courtyard. I went after him, passed the well. He dodged fast and our eyes locked for a second. Nothing there but that dead, hungry look. I slammed him down, hard enough to hear the breath whoosh out of him. Something in me just snapped. He fumbled for a hidden knife and I didn’t hesitate. When it was done, he was dying, quiet and small.

We pushed them out, right from the guts of the keep. The alarms changed from a blaring trumpet to a messy wall of sound... men shouting, kids crying, women muttering prayers, people stomping out little fires. The last of the scum scrambled over the east wall, just as the sky started bleeding pink. They left plenty behind... blood, busted doors, and that cold certainty that Mira knew exactly where to hurt us. She didn’t want bodies, she wanted to hit the softest spots. The kids. The healers. The nerve center.

By the nursery, I just collapsed. Hit my knees, puked up bile and water and whatever scraps of breakfast I’d managed. Hands steady, familiar landed on my shoulders. Dante, standing over me, groaning. I half-expected him to yell, to rage about his wound or the chaos, but all I saw was tenderness. He crouched beside me, threw an arm around my shoulders.

We patched up the wounded. The healer’s wing was a mess, bodies everywhere, too much blood, not enough hands. I found a tiny kid who couldn’t have been more than three wedged under a broken table, dirt streaked down her face. Her mother was sobbing... There weren’t enough bandages or time. I sat with the kid, just mumbling whatever came to mind... flower names, some old lullaby my mom used to him ages ago. She dropped off to sleep against my chest, just like that, and the trust in her hit me so hard I almost laughed.