ログイン"Drop the knife, or I’ll open your throat."The steel of Ethan’s broadsword pressed against my windpipe. The edge was notched, caked with drying blood and white stone dust. He looked like a nightmare birthed from the smoke. His armor was dented, his left pauldron hanging by a single leather strap. He didn't recognize me. Not through the thick mask of Graves’ blood and the grime of the sewers."Ethan, it’s—"He shoved me back against the altar. My head hit the stone. Hard. The room spun. "The priest is dead. The boy is gone. You’re just another Southern rat in the walls.""Look at me." I grabbed the flat of his blade. My palms stung as the metal bit in. "Look at my eyes, you idiot."Ethan froze. His chest heaved, the plates of his cuirass grinding together. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. The smell of gunpowder and stale sweat rolled off him. He wiped a smear of blood from my forehead with a shaking thumb."Noah?""I killed him, Ethan." I didn't let go of the sword. I pulled i
"Where are the keys, you bastard?"I shoved my hand into the guard's blood-soaked pocket. My fingers slipped on the wet wool. He didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was a jagged mess, pumping red onto the floor of the carriage. I didn't care. I needed the keys.My wrists were raw from the silk. The red fabric was stuck to my skin. I gave it a final, violent yank.The lock clicked."Finally."I pushed the carriage door open. The world outside was a furnace. Ash fell like gray snow, sticking to my sweaty face. I scrambled out, my boots hitting the dirt. I didn't look back at the bodies. I didn't look back at the black carriage.I was in the ruins of the lower district. The Southern army was a mile behind me, busy looting the silver-smiths. I had ten minutes. Maybe five.I ducked into an alleyway. A dead horse blocked the path, its belly swollen, flies thick in the heat. I climbed over it. My hand landed in something soft. Something that smelled like a butcher's bin in July. I wiped m
"You’re going to hand me over like a sack of grain?"I backed away from the map table. My heels hit the stone floor with a sharp, hollow click. Lord Halloway didn't look up. He kept his eyes on the tactical markers. His hands were shaking. I could see the sweat staining his silk collar."Matthew Collins has ten thousand men at the gate, Noah." Halloway finally looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot. Desperate. "The walls are crumbling. The West has already taken the lower docks. If we give him what he came for, maybe he doesn't burn the palace.""He didn't come for me out of mercy." I grabbed a heavy glass carafe from the table. My knuckles were white. "He’s my brother. You think he wants a family reunion? He wants a trophy. He wants to show the North that he can take their King’s favorite toy and keep it for himself.""It’s better than dying." Thorne stepped out from the shadows. He was clutching a signed scroll. "The nobility has reached a consensus. You’re a Southern prince. You’re
"Don't move. Not another inch."Ethan’s voice cracked. He sat on the floor, leaning against the heavy iron-bound door of the vault. His crown lay discarded in the dust. His hair, usually slicked back, hung in damp, tangled clumps over his eyes. He held a spool of golden silk cord in his lap, his fingers shaking as he looped it."Ethan, the generals are waiting." I stepped toward him, my palms open. "The West has reached the inner gate. If I don't go back behind that screen, the army will collapse.""They're gone. Everything's gone." He looked up. His eyes weren't the eyes of a King. They were the eyes of a boy watching his world burn. "They're coming for me, Noah. Just like my father did. He's in the hallway. I can hear the belt hitting the stone.""That’s cannon fire, Ethan. Not a belt." I knelt in front of him. I reached for his hand. "Give me the keys. I'll go out there. I'll tell them you're preparing a final strike. I'll buy us time.""No!" He lunged forward. He didn't grab my ha
You will burn the Southern flank or I will have your heads before the sun hits the harbor."My voice didn't shake. I squeezed the heavy wool of Ethan's cloak, the scent of cedar and his musk clogging my throat. The silver clasp dug into my collarbone. I stood behind the translucent silk screen, my silhouette tall and sharp against the flickering torchlight of the War Room."The King’s orders are specific," I said. "General Vance, you move the ballistae to the East Gate. General Kael, you hold the bridge. No one crosses. Not even the wounded.""The King hasn't spoken in three days." Vance’s voice was like gravel. "Why does he hide behind a curtain? The men need to see his face, not a shadow in a dress.""The King is occupied with the defense of the inner sanctum." I leaned closer to the silk. My shadow grew, looming over the map on the table. "Do you question the Wolf’s decree, Vance? Or do you just want to see if his teeth are still sharp?"Kael shifted. His armor clattered. "We don't
"Drink."Ethan pressed the rim of the silver chalice against my lips. The wine was thick, metallic, tasting of crushed berries and something darker. I swallowed. Some of it escaped, staining the front of my white silk tunic. He didn't pull the cup away. He watched the drop roll down my throat."I can't... the noise. Ethan, the bells."I tried to push his hand back. He didn't budge. Outside the heavy oak doors of the Shadow Gallery, the world was screaming. The iron bells of the North were tolling—a rhythmic, frantic clanging that signaled the end. Matthew Collins’ fleet hadn't just arrived. They were breathing down the neck of the capital."The bells aren't for us." Ethan set the cup on the floor. It tipped. Dark liquid bled into the white rug. "They’re for the men who still think there's a world left to save. Look at me, Noah.""They're calling you a demon." I grabbed his forearms. His skin was fever-hot. "The heralds... they're shouting it in the streets. They say I've hexed you. Th
"Step into the circle, Southern rat."Lucas Reed spat on the stone floor of the arena. He didn't look like a man about to fight. He looked like a man about to slaughter a pig. He rolled his shoulders, the heavy steel of his pauldrons clanking. In his right hand, a broadsword caught the grey light f
Who gave you permission to stop?"The captain of the Black Wolf staggered back. He tripped over a coil of wet rope. Ethan didn't move a muscle, but his presence filled the deck like a storm front. The winter-blue in his eyes burned."The—the harbor chains are up, my King," the captain stammered. He
"Don't move, Noah."The assassin’s finger tightened on the trigger. The crossbow bolt hummed, a black needle pointed at my throat. Behind me, the cabin was a roaring furnace, the heat peeling the skin off my back."Step away from him." I didn't recognize my own voice. It was a dry rattle. My hand w
"I smell smoke."Noah froze. He didn't move a muscle. He stood in the center of the cabin, the heavy iron poker still gripped in his hand. The wood under his boots groaned."Smoke?" Ethan’s head tilted. He was sitting on the furs, his back against the wall. His silver eyes were wide, staring at a p







