ELARA'S POV
Captain Theron's body hit the ground three feet from where I stood.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. One second he was pushing me toward the palace doors, shouting orders. The next, an arrow sprouted from his chest and he crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
"MOVE!" Someone grabbed my arm—Lieutenant Dara, blood streaming down her face. "Your Majesty, MOVE!"
She dragged me through the palace entrance as another volley of arrows whistled past. Behind us, my people screamed. The beautiful courtyard where we'd danced minutes ago was now a battlefield.
This couldn't be real. This had to be a nightmare.
The palace doors slammed shut. Four guards threw the massive iron bar across them, but I could already hear the enemy pounding against the wood.
"The throne room," Dara panted. "We need to get you to—"
An explosion rocked the building. The windows above us shattered, raining glass like deadly snow. I threw my arms over my head as Guards formed a shield around me with their bodies.
When I looked up, smoke poured through the broken windows. Fire licked up the curtains. My home—my beautiful, peaceful home—was burning.
"How?" I gasped. "How did they get through our defenses so fast?"
No one answered. Because the truth was obvious and terrible: our defenses hadn't just failed. They'd never even activated.
Someone had betrayed us.
"THIS WAY!" Dara pulled me down the eastern corridor. Two guards ran ahead, two behind. That was all that remained of my personal guard. Five of us against an army.
We ran past paintings of my ancestors, past tapestries showing Luminveil's three centuries of peace. Everything I'd sworn to protect. Everything that was burning around me.
A door ahead of us burst open. Enemy soldiers poured through.
"BACK!" The guard in front—young Marcus, barely twenty—turned to face them. His sword flashed once, twice. He took down three soldiers before a blade found his ribs.
"NO!" I screamed, but Dara yanked me down a side passage.
"Keep moving! We have to keep moving!"
My magic hummed under my skin, desperate to help. I'd trained for years in diplomatic magic—healing, protection, peace-making. Pretty magic, they called it. Safe magic.
Useless magic against men with swords and murder in their eyes.
We burst into the grand hallway. Councilor Vex stumbled out of his chambers, his official robes askew.
"Your Majesty! Thank the stars!" He reached for me. "We must evacuate immediately. I have a carriage waiting at the—"
"Where were you?" I demanded. "Where's the rest of the council? Why didn't our warning bells ring? Why didn't our magic shields activate?"
His face went pale. "I... there wasn't time to—"
Another explosion shook the building. Part of the ceiling collapsed behind us, blocking the hallway we'd just left.
"The throne room," Dara insisted. "It's the most fortified place in the palace."
"Are you insane?" Vex sputtered. "That's exactly where they'll look for her! We need to get her out through the servants' passages—"
"So she can run?" Dara's voice turned cold. "So our queen can abandon her people while they die?"
I straightened my spine, feeling my grandmother's starlight crown dig into my scalp. "Lieutenant Dara is right. I won't hide like a coward. If I'm going to fall, I'll fall in my throne room."
Vex's expression shifted—just for a heartbeat, something ugly flickered across his face. Then his mask of concern returned. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
But he didn't follow us. He turned and ran the opposite direction.
Traitor, my mind whispered. But I couldn't think about that now.
We reached the throne room doors. The remaining three guards—Dara, old Sir Greaves, and silent Petra—took positions around me as I pushed through.
The throne room was untouched. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating my silver throne. For one stupid second, I let myself hope we'd be safe here.
Then I heard the footsteps. Dozens of them. Marching in perfect rhythm, getting closer.
"Barricade the doors!" Dara ordered.
They shoved furniture against the entrance—chairs, tables, anything. Sir Greaves was breathing hard, his face gray. Petra's hands shook as she gripped her sword.
"Your Majesty," Greaves said quietly. "There's a hidden passage behind the throne. It leads to the catacombs. You could escape."
"No." I moved to stand before my throne. "I'm done running."
"They'll kill you!"
"Maybe." I tried to smile. "Or maybe I can negotiate. Maybe if I surrender, they'll spare the city."
"Elara—" Dara started.
The doors exploded inward.
The barricade scattered like toys. Enemy soldiers flooded in, forming two lines along the walls. They moved with terrifying discipline, their black armor swallowing the light.
My three guards raised their weapons.
"Stand down," I commanded. "All of you. That's an order."
"Your Majesty, no!" Dara protested.
"I said stand down!" My voice cracked. "No more of my people die tonight. Not for me."
Slowly, painfully, they lowered their swords.
The soldiers parted. And he walked through.
The man from the courtyard. The conquering king. Up close, he was younger than I'd thought—maybe thirty. Handsome in a brutal way, with sharp features and those cold gray eyes. Blood splattered his armor. My people's blood.
He stopped ten feet from my throne and studied me like I was a puzzle to solve.
"Queen Elara of Luminveil." His voice was deep and rough. "I am Cassian Thorne, King of Ashencourt."
I lifted my chin, refusing to show fear. "I know who you are. What do you want?"
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "What every conqueror wants. Surrender."
"And if I refuse?"
He gestured to the burning city visible through the windows. "Then your capital becomes ash, and your people become ghosts."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Behind me, I felt Dara tense.
"And if I surrender?" I forced out.
"Then you and your people live." He took a step closer. "You'll come with me as my... honored guest. Your kingdom will be absorbed into mine. Your city will be occupied but not destroyed."
"You mean I become your prisoner and my kingdom becomes your trophy."
"Yes." At least he was honest. "Those are your options, Your Majesty. Choose quickly. My soldiers grow impatient."
I looked at my three remaining guards. At the moonlight on my throne. At everything I was about to lose.
Then I looked at the burning city beyond the windows and thought of all the people still out there. Still alive. Still hoping their queen would save them.
"I choose—"
"NO!" Dara lunged forward, her sword flashing toward Cassian's throat.
She moved fast. He moved faster.
His blade met hers with a sound like thunder. They fought—three strikes, four, five—then his sword found her heart.
"NO!" I screamed, magic exploding from my hands without thought.
Golden light burst outward. Cassian raised his arm, and something impossible happened: my magic splashed against an invisible barrier around him and disappeared like water on hot stone.
He looked at me with something almost like pity. "Diplomatic magic won't save you here, little queen."
Dara collapsed. Sir Greaves roared and attacked. Cassian cut him down without breaking eye contact with me.
"STOP!" I shrieked. "Please, stop! I surrender! I surrender!"
Cassian lowered his blade. Petra stood frozen, tears streaming down her face.
"Say it properly," Cassian commanded. "So there's no confusion."
I wanted to spit at him. To curse him. To fight until they killed me too.
But my people needed me alive. Even as a prisoner. Even as a symbol.
I removed my starlight crown with shaking hands and held it out. "I, Queen Elara of Luminveil, surrender to King Cassian Thorne of Ashencourt. My kingdom is yours."
He took the crown, and something flickered in his eyes—regret? Satisfaction? I couldn't tell.
"Good." He turned to his soldiers. "Take her to the wagon. Gently. Anyone who harms her answers to me personally."
Two soldiers moved toward me. I didn't resist as they bound my wrists with silk rope.
As they led me past Cassian, I looked up at him one last time. "I hope my crown chokes you."
His expression didn't change. "Your crown will never touch my head, Elara. That's not why I wanted it."
"Then why?" I demanded.
He glanced at the throne, at the dead guards, at the burning city beyond.
"Because five years ago, three members of your council murdered my brother. And tonight, justice finally came home."
My world tilted. "What? No, that's not—you're lying—"
But the soldiers were already dragging me away, and Cassian Thorne turned his back on me like I'd already ceased to matter.
Behind me, in my throne room, my crown glinted in his bloody hand.