Page 10 of The Throne's Undoing

Graeson peered at Terin from the corner of his eye. Kalisandre was strewn across Terin's shoulder, and his arms were wrapped around her waist. The back of her head was matted with blood, her skin was covered in soot, and the sleeves of Medenia's dress hung loosely off her shoulders. She was far from the picturesque bride she appeared to be only an hour ago.

Now, to the people in the crowd, the princess would look like any other guest who had suffered an injury during the mayhem, and maybe they could use that to their advantage.

As much as seeing her in such a state sent Graeson's mind spiraling, she was alive, and that was what mattered. Everything else they would figure out later.

Still, Graeson couldn't help but think something was off--that something was incredibly, painfully wrong about the situation.

Domitius had let them go. He had letKalisandrego.

While a gnawing feeling of unease nagged at Graeson, there was no time to decipher the king's motives, not now.

So, instead of driving himself insane, Graeson dragged his gaze away from the princess and focused on the path ahead. "I guess we will find out, won't we?"

The guards inched closer, inch by inch.

Graeson peered up at the clock tower.

They had five minutes for Dani and the others to make their move.

But five minutes could also spell their deaths if the guards spotted them before then.

Only a few people separated the nearest guard from them now. The guard's attention went to the next woman in the crowd, but his attention quickly passed her when he noticed her blonde hair. He began searching the crowd again, and Graeson turned on his heel.

"This way," Graeson ordered, tugging Terin behind him and dipping down the nearest street.

Graeson led them down the alley and into the thick shadows. His hand fell atop the hilt of his sword, his body abuzz with new energy.

"This looks like a dead end," Terin said, confusion and fatigue flooding his voice.

"That's because it is," a stranger remarked behind them.

Terin cursed, his steps faltering and pebbles skittering across the ground.

But Graeson was already spinning around, his sword drawn and at the ready. He stepped forward, putting Terin and Kalisandre protectively behind him.

The guard looked Graeson up and down, his lip twitching. "Where's your helmet, soldier?" he asked.

Graeson feigned looking around for the helmet that he had discarded in the temple before shrugging. "I never really cared for the tacky thing."

The guard's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his eyes darting to Kalisandre. "Where'd you get the armor?"

"One of your buddies, probably." Graeson smiled at the guard. "He's dead, or else I would ask his name."

The guard snarled, taking another step closer. "Give me the princess."

Rage rose in Graeson's chest, but he tamped it down just enough to hiss, "She is not yours to take."

The guard merely laughed, skillfully twirling his sword as he adjusted his stance. Then, he lifted his weapon and charged, his blade slashing through the air.

"This will only take a moment, Ter," Graeson said as he rolled his neck, cracking it.

Metal hit metal as their weapons collided. The man cried out in fury, eliciting a low chuckle from Graeson.

"How long have you been in the guard?" Graeson asked, as his heels dug into the ground, not moving an inch as the guard tried to press forward.

The man blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I would wager only a year or so. Is this your first fight?"

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