Harruq crossed the room and wrapped his hands around her waist while settling his lips on her exposed neck.

  “You’re very good at looking beautiful,” he said, kissing her twice.

  “I know,” she said, and flicked his nose with her forefinger without even pausing the tying of the ribbon. “And don’t get any ideas. It took far, far too much time putting on this human-made dress for me to take it off now.” She winked. “Maybe after, though.”

  Harruq kissed her cheek, then released his grip. “If you insist,” he said, and checked himself in the mirror beside her. His neck was a little red from constantly scratching at it, and he told himself he had to stop and just ignore the ever-present choking feeling in the name of ‘fashion’. At least he wouldn’t be the only one dressing up. Why couldn’t traditional wear for his role as Steward be like Tarlak’s comfy robes?

  He frowned, a thought hitting him.

  “Isn’t Tarlak coming?” he asked.

  “Sorry, Harruq, he’s not joining us, no matter how many fantasies of his that’d fulfill.”

  He poked her side, taking childish pleasure in the way she flinched away from him.

  “I mean for the peace treaty. I haven’t seen him all day.”

  Aurelia sighed, the last of the ribbons seemingly done and all her braiding at an end.

  “Harruq, I’ve spent all morning getting myself and Aubrienna ready. I’ve no time to worry about our wonderful but daft wizard friend. The queen’s been having him chase down rumors over bandits or some such, hasn’t she?”

  “I think so,” he said. The wizard had mentioned something of the sort at one of their recent dinners, but Harruq had been…somewhat inebriated. His way of coping with the dreadfully dull passage of time that did not include the only interesting parts of the day, which was his time spent training Erin Gemcroft.

  “Then he’s likely off chasing rumors,” Aurelia said. “He knows how to open a portal, and this date has been set for months. He’ll show up, I’m sure. Let’s just pray he doesn’t make a scene when he does.”

  Harruq chuckled. “Tarlak, making a scene? He would never.”

  His wife winked at him, then did one last adjustment on the front of her corset.

  “I miss my own dress already. How do I look?”

  He crossed his arms. “Pretty sure you should do a little twirl or something, yeah?”

  Aurelia smirked but did as asked, spinning in place so the lengthy skirt flared out, the top crimson, the underneath a subtle blue. Faint golden curls wound their way down the side of the corset and grew like vines along the skirt fabric. The ribbons in her hair matched the same deep gold color, and made her tightly-wound braids sparkle.

  “Perfect,” Harruq said, clapping his hands once. “Absolutely perfect. Now let’s go get the kids. The little ones have a peace treaty to sign.”

  In the southeastern portion of Angkar, a mile from the royal mansion, a grand wooden stage had been built in the center of a large courtyard whose surface was an impressive expanse of packed dirt. From what Harruq had heard, royal events were often held there, as were feasts, plays, and whatever else groups with coin paid for the privilege of occupying for a day. Today, it would be used for the three-way peace treaty, officially locking in two decades of peace between Ker, Mordan, and the elves of Stonewood.

  Harruq expected a crowd, but was still put off by the sheer size of it. City soldiers formed a walkway, shields up and armor glinting in the sunlight. Just as numerous, though, were mercenaries bearing shared blue tabards. The Connington family, Harruq knew. The mercenaries formed lines along the outer perimeter of the crowd, and it seemed like they were in charge of checking bystanders on their way to crowding about the stage.

  “It’s loud,” Gregory said beside Harruq.

  “Ignore it and smile, little prince,” Harruq said, grinning down at the kid. “Make the people believe you will one day be a fantastic king.”

  Gregory straightened up, his arms stiff at his sides. “I’ll try.”

  “That’ll do,” Harruq, patting him on the back as they continued through the gap, doing his best to ignore the occasional shout or question from those in attendance.

  Together, he and Aurelia escorted Gregory and Aubrienna to the stage, the four of them arriving second. Elydien had come first, alone and bearing the scrutiny of the crowd. The elf stood waiting with his hands crossed at the front of his green and gold robes, a faint smile on his face. He looked regal and respectable, two traits Harruq knew would forever elude him.

  “That robe looks so much comfier than this suit,” Harruq muttered to Aurelia once the four were atop the raised platform. Aurelia subtly jabbed his side with her elbow.

  “At least I let you keep your swords,” she said, not needing to whisper given the constant murmur of the crowd.

  Harruq patted the hilts of Salvation and Condemnation at his hips. The leather of their sheaths was freshly oiled, the weapons sharpened and polished to a shine. After the signing, all leaders of the nations were to draw a weapon to hold while swearing. Given Gregory’s age, Harruq would do so as Steward, and by Ashhur, he would ensure his beloved swords would look their best.

  “I’d feel naked without them,” Harruq said, and then nodded. “There’s the star of the show.”

  Queen Brynn arrived last, looking regal while dressed in a fusion of battle chainmail and a fluttering crimson skirt. A mixture of war and beauty, and she wore it well. Six soldiers marched in formation alongside her, their tabards flying the crimson hawk of Ker, the new symbol given to the nation upon Queen Brynn’s crowning. The crowd bowed their heads at her passage to the platform, and Harruq noted how easily the queen commanded their respect. She had not ruled long, but it seemed she had won the people over far more than Queen Loreina ever had.

  A little table waited in the center of the enormous raised platform. On it was a lengthy scroll, half of it curled up. An inkwell and quill rested beside it, awaiting usage. Harruq stared at it nervously. He’d learned to read and write, Qurrah made sure of that, but he had never considered his handwriting anything more than blocky and childish, often joking that Aubrienna had already surpassed him in penmanship. The past years of being a Steward had helped out a bit, though he still often defaulted to a single ‘H’ when he thought he could get away with it.

  Not here. His full name, on a document meant to secure two decades of peace, was required.

  “Are you sure we can’t have Gregory sign it instead?” he asked Aurelia.

  “For the last time, stop worrying about your signature,” she snapped, her pleasant, dignified smile never cracking in the slightest.

  Queen Brynn took center stage and addressed the crowd. “I thank you all for coming to witness this celebration of peace,” she said. “And so let us not linger on the act, so we may rejoice in the future. Elydien Marosi, come forth, and sign as representative of both the Dezren and Quellan elves of Stonewood.”

  Elydien did so, and when finished, he gave the crowd a polite bow. Scattered applause followed.

  “Harruq Tun, Godslayer of Mordan,” Brynn said next, causing Harruq’s heart to jump. “Come sign as Steward for Gregory Copernus.”

  It took all of Harruq’s concentration, and a bit of courage, but he dipped the quill in the inkwell and signed his name without too much shaking or splattering of ink. When finished, he accepted the applause silently while retreating back to Aurelia’s side.

  “Gregory needs to grow up faster,” he muttered. Aurelia winked, took his hand, and then together they watched the queen sign the last of the three lines. When finished, she lifted the treaty, holding it aloft as if it were a trophy, and pivoted so all in attendance may witness the signatures. Cheers and applause followed in waves. Harruq watched, breathing out a sigh of relief. It had taken years of letters, diplomats, and careful concessions to both Ker and the elves to reach this moment. As much as he hated it, his own daughter had become a playing piece in the game, all to achieve a lasting peace. Yet, to finally arrive at its culmination, he had to admit the hard work was worth the reward.

  He heard a slight whooshing sound, and Aurelia jerked beside him. His head whipped toward her, his mild confusion turning to dawning horror. Aurelia stared down at her chest, eyes wide, mouth agape. A slender arrow protruded from just below her collarbone. Blood trickled down the corset of her dress. Their eyes met. Harruq’s mind fought for words, his bafflement freezing the entire world.

  “Aurry?” he asked as Elydien collapsed on the other side of him. Harruq spared a glance that way, and saw a far thicker arrow lodged directly into the old elf’s throat. His wrinkled fingers clutched at the shaft, shaking as he bled out, struggling for air.

  Screams followed, and the crowd erupted into absolute chaos. The Queen’s soldiers rushed to form a line before the platform, struggling against men and women fleeing from the sudden attack. Aurelia’s legs gave out and Harruq caught her as she fell, gently lowering her to the platform.

  “I’m sorry, Aurry,” he said, grabbing the arrow and then yanking it out. Not deep, he saw, and not striking anything major. The knowledge granted no relief. There, on the arrow, he saw little flecks of white.

  Poison.

  More screams stole his attention, and he dared look away from his wife. The rooftops of every single home surrounding the clearing were suddenly occupied. Harruq’s stomach sank at the sight. Elves. Dozens of elves, all armed with bows and quivers.

  Quivers that would not stay full for long. The first barrage went out, striking with the fearful precision granted by decades of mastery. Soldiers dropped, clutching arrows embedded into their necks, faces, and abdomens. The queen’s soldiers, Harruq realized with growing horror. The elves were ignoring the Connington mercenaries.

  Ignoring them, as the mercenaries pushed through the crowd with weapons drawn to battle the queen’s soldiers.

  Ignoring them, for a good many mercenaries had thrown off their helmets to reveal the sharply pointed ears of elven blood.

  “Tori betrayed us,” he said, and looked to the queen. Brynn’s dress was torn and her hair a tangled mess of half-ripped braids. One of her guards lay dead at her feet, the other fighting back-to-back with her as the ambushers surrounded them. From what Harruq could tell she was holding her own, impressive given the skill of their attackers, but it was only a matter of time. Elves and mercenaries swarmed through the crowd, and the rooftop archers were relentless in picking off any soldiers attempting to make their way to the stage to aid their queen.

  That no arrows flew toward said queen worried Harruq deeply. Either they wanted her alive…or they wanted her death to be more dramatic than that.

  “Harruq…” Aurelia said, stealing his attention back. Her skin was ashen white. The image was so starkly similar to when she’d been poisoned by an arrow over a decade ago by the Spider Guild’s assassins that he felt himself momentarily lost in time. Wishing somehow to save her, he picked her up and carried her toward the rear of the platform, if only to gain that little bit of privacy.

  “Get… Aubby… out,” Aurelia insisted as she rocked in his arms, her eyelids drooping. Her breath, already shallow, slowed further.

  Harruq kissed her forehead, his mind aflame as he set her back down. He could not fight his way out while carrying Aurelia. But if he stayed here and fought, and lost, his life may be forfeit, his daughter captured. The impossibility of it ripped at his mind. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t decide.

  The battle raged in front of him, growing more frantic as both elves and mercenaries reached the dais. Brynn’s final bodyguard was slain, and two elves in leather armor leaped upon the platform. The queen’s sword weaved back and forth, holding back the combined assault, but her eyes were wide with fear and her movements grew more frantic as her situation turned dire. She managed to beat back one elf, but the second tricked her with a subtle feint, preying on her panicked state. Her sword weaved wrong, and then the elf was on her, his elbow striking her forehead. When she staggered, his fist followed, a brutal hit to the stomach that robbed her of breath and sent her reeling. His sword struck her hand, slicing open her fingers and causing her to drop her weapon.

  “We were promised better,” the elf said as two more joined him on the platform.

  “Brynn!”

  A pale woman burst out from the crowd, vaulting onto the raised platform with a single lunge. The queen’s handmaiden, Harruq realized. She landed on the back of the nearest elf, a glistening dagger held in her hands. The edge jammed straight down into the elf’s neck, immediately releasing a rupture of blood. The shocked elf’s knees buckled, and her weight sent him tumbling as she stabbed again and again, all while screaming.

  “Run, Brynn! Run!”

  The queen’s injured hand pressed to her stomach, smearing blood across her fine dress. Instead of listening, she dove with her other hand for her discarded weapon. A boot stomped on her fingers, and she screamed as even more ambushers piled onto the platform, grabbing her arms and pinning them behind her back.

  Meanwhile, the first elf grabbed the handmaiden by the arm and yanked her away from the bleeding mess that had been his comrade. She stumbled, spun on her knees, and immediately shot back to her feet. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in a feral scream, as her dagger stabbed straight for her attacker’s throat.

  The elf’s sword, though, was longer. She gasped as she impaled herself on the blade, which sank all the way up to the hilt in her stomach. The blood-soaked dagger shook in her hands, then dropped.

  “Lumi!” Brynn screamed while pulling against the elf restraining her.

  The bloodshed finally broke Harruq’s paralysis. If he must choose between his daughter and his wife, he would not choose at all. He would let Aurelia decide, and her desire was clear.

  “I love you, Aurry,” he whispered. He clutched Salvation and Condemnation tightly between his fists. Little Aubrienna stood stiff beside her mother, quietly sobbing as the battle raged around them. Gregory was with her, eyes wide, shocked silent.

  “When I run, you run after me, you understand?” Harruq told them, kneeling so he was at their height. The two children nodded. Harruq swallowed down a stone in his throat and refused the urge to look at his unconscious wife. His voice felt rough and broken.

  “We go.”

  Harruq lunged off the back of the platform, toward the smallest of the exits out of the square. The Connington mercenaries were there, as they were everywhere, but fewer in number. Harruq landed amidst them, all his fear and rage adding strength to his swings. Salvation broke the wrist of a man trying to block with one hand. Condemnation shattered the bones of an arm wielding a shield. He pulled both his weapons back, then thrust, finding killing blows as they buried deep into flesh.

  Two down, a terrifying many to go. Harruq spun while stretching his arms to their limit. Another soldier fell, his head cleaved off his shoulders. The remainder retreated several steps, trying to form a corralling circle. Harruq saw the fear in their eyes, the intimidation at facing off against a foe so steeped in rumor and legend. He fed it with a bellowing roar, then bore down on the nearest mercenary. His sister swords hammered the man’s raised shield, breaking the metal, breaking bones, breaking the man underneath.

  The other two scattered, and Harruq risked a glance over his shoulder. Aubrienna and Gregory lingered just behind, holding each other’s hands as they watched with wide-eyed shock.

  “Do not fall behind!” he shouted to them before continuing to clear a way. Another Connington mercenary, who had just chopped down one of the queen’s few remaining loyal soldiers. The fool had no idea who he faced when he swung his sword toward Harruq’s abdomen. He learned the hard way when Harruq smacked the weapon aside with such strength it flew from the man’s too-loose grip. Salvation shoved deep into his chest, ending his panicked shrieks for aid.

  Aid did come, though. Two elves leaped down from rooftops with sharpened blades held in eager hands. Harruq shoved aside terrified bystanders, trying to clear a space. More mercenaries formed a wall blocking off the exit, and he needed to get there before the chaos subsided and those fighting near the front realized where Aubby and Gregory had gone.

  The elves arrived, and Harruq took joy in watching their cocky expressions shift to fear when he tore into them. Their swords flashed and danced, wielded with undeniable skill…but Harruq simply did not care. His world was red. His blood burned like fire. He was, simply, better.

  He charged directly into them, blasting aside their attempts to block. Elven steel creaked and groaned attempting to hold back the ancient magic within his sister swords. He pounded both blades into a raised block, smashing into it as if trying to tear down a wall. The steel shattered, the elf shouted as shards flew across his face and eyes. Condemnation ended his life with a single slash. His comrade swore in elvish while thrusting for Harruq’s side, hoping to gut him while he was preoccupied. Salvation intercepted in a blur of red. He sidestepped a second thrust, batted aside a swipe as if it were swung by a child, and then kicked his leg out wide. The elf nimbly leaped over it, but the momentary pause in the air was what Harruq truly desired. Salvation cut him across the chest, tearing through armor and exposing ribs.

  Too much time, Harruq thought as the body crumpled. He glanced back, ensuring the children followed. They did, their faces pale and eyes wide from the horror erupting around them.

  “Godslayer!” an angry, feminine voice shouted, stealing his attention. An elven woman approached through the crowd, her twin swords twirling. The eagerness on her face worried him in a way the cockiness of the prior elves did not.

  Harruq rushed her. No time for finesse. He thought to overwhelm her as he had his other foes, but when his swords crashed down, she did not try to match his strength. Instead the elf parried them aside, but not quite as he expected. She pulled his swords inward, toward her body, and instead rotated out of position in a blur of silver armor. Her blades lashed out as she exited the spin, a nasty slash that’d have opened his throat if Salvation had not caught it in time.