"What have you done?" Aralyn's voice tore through the stunned silence like a blade.
At the sound, Lord Morrathen peered from the doorway, his foxy face paling as he took in the scene… blood on marble, the Emperor's hand trembling, the guards of the door frozen between horror and flight.
Aralyn could not believe her eyes. Who in their right mind would think a son could drive a blade into his mother? The thought was impossible and monstrous and suddenly very, very real.
Without thought, with only instinct, she lunged forward. She threw herself under the Dowager as the woman slumped and shoved the Emperor back with a strength born of panic. The world narrowed to the warmth of collapsing flesh and the metallic scent of blood.
"Isabella!" Aralyn cried, dropping to her knees. She caught the Dowager's head in her lap, fingers slick as she sought the knife's haft. Her hands shook; there was no protocol here, no rank, only a human being, breathing thin and ragged above her palm.
