Page 148 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“No,” I tell her, my tone firm. “Get everyone out first, and then come back for us.”

“But Your Majesties—”

“You heard your High Queen,” Viridian says. Unseen, raw power rolls off him in waves. “Do as she commands.”

Lymseia presses her mouth into a fine line. I can tell she’s not happy about it, but she doesn’t fight back. Instead, she only nods. “Very well.”

A crash echoes off the walls ahead of us. Lymseia quickly bows. Then she takes off down the corridor, toward the sound, where a group of servants stand huddled together. They shiver with panic, the movement nearly as violent as the rioters storming the castle. They ease when Lymseia approaches, moving where she directs.

Once he’s sure they’re cared for, Viridian looks to me. “Where to next, my queen?”

“Upstairs.” I motion my head in the direction of the main staircase.

He nods, and we move ahead as a unit. Slowly, we ascend the staircase, rising to the second floor. When we do, both Viridian and I turn our heads from Vorr’s body, where it still hangs for all to see.

A group of rioters obstruct our path, their faces twisted with the kind of hatred that only grows from despair. They don’t bat an eye at Vorr’s corpse. Perhaps they don’t know that he’s the very king they’ve come to slay.

Only, someone else did the deed before they could.

One of the rioters makes a move for me, but Viridian blocks the blow with his sword. He barely has enough time to react before another strikes. He dodges the first attack but isn’t quick enough to avoid the next one. I thrust out my sword, and the rioter’s axe clangs when metal meets metal. With all my strength, I push Viridian’s attacker back, managing to create some distance between us.

Viridian takes a breath, unscathed.

But it’s only for a moment.

Taking the offensive, Viridian slashes with his sword. Though its edges are blunt, it’s still enough to knock a few of the rioters back, howling in pain. Judging by the way they’re hugging their upper bodies, I can tell Viridian broke a few ribs.

Raising my own blade, I watch my enemy with a keen eye. It’s strange to think of my kind—of humans—as the enemy, but right now, they’re the only thing threatening to take everything from me.

I won’t let them hurt my mate.

I can’t.

So, I step forward, driving my sword forward in the process. I do so with enough force that my sword, though dulled, pierces my adversary’s chest. He staggers back weakly, but then forward again, unrelenting.

It’s then that I notice how gaunt the man’s cheeks are.

Oh gods.

This man has the mining sickness.

Fear constricts my chest and tightens around my throat. This man will fight like hell, doing as much damage as possible before he falls. He has nothing to lose.

Because he’s already dead.

I don’t have time to wonder how many more of the rioters are sick. My logic tells me that most of them, if not all, are. After all, why else would they take such a risk? Why else would they risk death while raiding the castle, or execution for treason after the fact, if they do survive?

Though, that was Vorr’s rule. Not ours.

I don’t know what we’ll do to the rioters that survive this.

But right now, I can’t afford to be distracted.

Beside me, Viridian clashes with two rioters, one on either side. Sweat gleams across his forehead, his loose black hair sticking to his skin. He counters and parries each of their blows, but I can see him tensing his muscles.

He’s restraining himself, I realize.

I reach out to him through the bond. I can’t take the chance that he won’t hear me amidst the chaos surrounding us.

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