Rhat cranes his neck around. He motions his head to the right. “He’s talking to some noble or another. I’m sure he’ll be grateful if you rescue him.”
I head in the direction he indicated and find Royce surrounded by a crowd of nobles in their finery. Red jackets imprinted with black. Green jackets patterned with blue wave designs. Dresses in reds and pinks and whites, each with a stitched design, swirl around Royce.
His head whips back and forth as they scramble to get his attention. One clasps his shoulder and asks his opinion on weather conditions for merchant ships. Another lady forces her hand into his, waiting for him to kiss it as she asks if he’ll attend her dinner party next week. As if she didn’t already know he is leaving tomorrow.
I clear my throat.
Royce’s eyes meet mine over the crowd. He visibly relaxes.
There’s grumbling as he excuses himself from the group.
He takes my hand and kisses it, sending a tingling up my arm. “Princess.”
I can’t help but smile.
I tug Royce toward the balcony doors overlooking one of the small courtyards, not caring what the crowd thinks of our abrupt departure.
The balcony is tucked away so no one can see out onto it, and it’s deserted as I suspected it would be. None of the nobles want to risk missing any gossip or not being seen in their finery by the crowds.
Royce loosens his shirt collar and takes off his jacket, tossing it onto the balcony ledge. “It was like fighting off ten Temptresses at once in there. Everyone wanted to get their claws in me.”
“Sick of being a captain already?” I tease.
Royce rolls his eyes and sits on the ledge, next to the jacket. “I’ve been at sea so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like back on land.”
I sit down beside him. “Well, you’ll have three months free of those people.”
A silence falls between us as the reality he’s leaving sets in.
I duck my head.
“It’ll only be three months,” he says quietly. “It’ll pass quickly.” He wraps his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He doesn’t smell like the open ocean anymore. Just like soap and freshly laundered clothes.
“Are you sure?” I don’t risk raising my head to look at him. I’m not asking if it’ll pass quickly. I’m asking if it’ll only be three months. Which he clearly senses.
I’ve seen the way he stiffens around the nobles, the way he walks quickly through the palace, the way he tries to avoid drawing too much attention to himself.
He takes one of my hands in his. “I feel out of place here . . . I’m not used to all the eyes staring at me. It’s not like that at sea.”
My heart sinks. I’ve been dreading hearing those words since I asked my father to reinstate him.
He pulls my cheek up to look at him. “But Kora, if you can face it, then so can I.”
“Are you sure you want to, that you want this to be your life?”
He takes my hands in his. “Kora . . .” He cuts off as a strange screeching noise slices through the air.
I stare out over the balcony railing into the dusty courtyard clogged with carriages and horses from the nobles who’d come to watch the ceremony. Several horses throw their heads back and others stamp their feet as something glints off their bridles.
A red light sparks near the closed gates built into the palace wall. It’s too red and too erratic for a lantern.
I’m just about to ask Royce what it is when the front gates burst apart, a jumbled mess of melted and twisted metal where the lock had been. Hinges squeal as the remaining fragments are ripped from their moorings and tossed into the courtyard. They clatter to the ground, sending horses reeling.
Carriage drivers leap from their seats, but instead of running to calm their animals, they scatter into the shadows.
A burly man waltzes through where the gate once was. Behind him, something moves in the shadows.
The man takes a quick look around, but just as the flame of his body had drawn my eye, the slight glow of early morning sunlight hitting my golden skin draws his.
“There she is.” The man points a finger as red as burning coal at me. “Kill her.”
CHAPTER 2
Behind the man, a group of satyrs rushes in. The hairy half-human, half-goat creatures stand at least a foot taller than any person I’ve ever seen. And it’s hard to see any of their humanity between the thick coating of dark hair that covers their bodies and the twisted horns shooting out of their heads.
Two satyrs separate from the group, leaping over carriages and launching into the palace walls while the man leads the rest against the guards streaming down the palace steps. He melts the sword of the nearest guard with his bare hand while his other hand reaches up and burns through the guard’s armor as if it isn’t even there. The guard’s gurgled cry cuts off as the man scorches through his throat.
I swallow down vomit.
“Get back,” Royce cries, pulling me away from the ledge. The satyrs make quick work of slamming their human-like fingers tipped with pointed claws into the palace walls and climbing toward us. Marble shatters as the claws latch into the balcony railing and the creatures heave themselves over.
Their hooves make a terrifying clack against the floor as they advance, and the stench of dirt and matted hair becomes overwhelming.
Royce pulls his sword, and I skitter behind him, weaponless.
One satyr snarls, revealing jagged black teeth as it clambers toward Royce.
The other one huffs through its wide nostrils and runs toward me, head bent low so I fear I’ll be impaled by its horns. I duck out of the way as the horns rake through the wall at my back instead, sending shards of stone clattering down around me.
I scramble across the debris toward the other side of the balcony.
Over the pounding of my heart, I hear Royce’s sword clang again and again against the satyr’s sharp nails as it blocks his blows.
The second satyr turns quickly and swipes at me. Sharp claws catch on my skirt, ripping the fabric as I lurch to the side. My crown clatters to the floor just before I smash into the balcony. I land on my stomach, and pain radiates through my ribs and arms.
It takes a moment for me to get air back into my lungs, but I’m already crawling. Because there, a few paces in front of me, is Royce’s jacket. The gold tassels on the shoulders gleam encouragingly, but as I scramble toward it, a rough hand closes around my ankle, dragging me backward.
I scream and grope at the balcony floor, hoping to catch on some crack, some hole, anything to give me leverage against the creature’s hold. I find nothing.
The satyr whips me backward, flinging me into the wall, and I land in a heap on my hands and knees. I curl into myself. My lungs ache so much I can barely catch my breath, but something tells me to move.
Move or die.
I throw myself to the side, rolling away just as the satyr pounces where my body had been. It lets out a nasty snort and turns after me.
But I don’t stop. I crawl across the debris, not caring that jagged wreckage punctures straight through the thin fabric of my gloves and digs into the skin inside.
Just as my fingers close around the jacket fabric, the satyr’s hooves land on either side of me, shaking the entire balcony. I roll over, clutching the jacket to my chest like a shield, and I whip off a glove.