“Four,” Jasce says, his voice growing colder.
“Stop!” I step closer to Jasce, needing him to hear me. “Tristan is just a friend.”
Jasce glares at me. “A friend? Is that why you sneaked out of the palace? To spend time with this commoner?”
Red scorches my vision. “You’re not my father. I can go wherever I want and speak to whomever I want.”
“Five.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Six,” he says, ignoring me.
Alarm floods through me as I turn to Tristan. “Run.”
Tristan obeys, dashing toward the door, as if a lion really chases him. Although, a lion might show him more mercy than this furious warrior.
“Seven.”
Anger blazes from me and lashes from my voice like a whip. “You are treating me like a child. I am a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions.”
“Eight.” His hand moves to the hilt of his sword as his eyes lock on the fleeing Tristan.
Tristan shoves open the door and hurries into the night.
“Nine.”
Desperation lurches inside me as I reach for Jasce’s hand.
He pulls away as his mouth tightens into a hard, unflinching line. “Ten.”
Much to my horror and utter dismay, Jasce follows Tristan. But he doesn’t run. He walks in long, purposeful strides.
Naturally, I race after him with my guard on my heels. As soon as I step into the street, the atmosphere shifts. The air turns into a suffocating layer of smoke, heavy and dense with an acrid odor that numbs my throat.
“Jasce,” I cry out, wanting him to be nearby and not responsible for this acrid odor.
The air thickens as someone thrusts a blanket over my body, covering my face like a web. I let out a ragged whimper and fight with everything in me. My elbow connects with a solid mass, and the material tightens around my body.
Asha.
Inwardly, I scream for her, plead for her to appear and stop this person.
She will not rescue you.
No one will.
I struggle against the grip as the person picks me up and carries me like I’m a child. Enraged, I fight harder, kicking my legs and screaming against the muffled barrier of the blanket.
I open my mouth to scream again when the person plops me down on something soft and rips the blanket from my face. Frantically, I glance around, taking in the empty room in an unfamiliar building and Jasce standing there—his gaze locked on me.
Anger sears through my veins as I glare at him. “How dare you?”
“I had no other choice,” he says in a frustratingly calm voice. “The smoke would have killed you.”
His words confirm what I feared. The smoke was magic, and it was used to kill Tristan.
I ask the question anyway. “Did you kill Tristan?”
