Page 65 of Reaper's Ruin
I crouched beside her, gripping her arm. “What are you doing?” I growled under my breath. “This is the opposite of blending in.”
She met my eyes, her determination unwavering. “I’m a nursing student, Rhyker. I can’t just let him die.”
“You’re drawing attention to us—”
“Unless a healer can get here in a minute, he’s not going to make it,” she interrupted, already looking around frantically. Her eyes landed on a noblewoman’s elaborate hairpin, studded with gemstones. “That. I need that.”
Before I could stop her, she stood and plucked the pin from the startled woman’s hair. In her other hand, she grabbed a hollow reed straw from an abandoned drink on a nearby table.
“Hold him still,” she commanded me.
Realizing she wouldn’t be deterred, I moved to the man’s shoulders, pressing him firmly against the floor. The crowd around us had grown, horrified fascination on every visible face.
With steady hands, Soraya positioned the hairpin between the man’s ribs, then, after a deep breath, plunged it into his chest with practiced precision.
“Oh my God! She stabbed him!” someone shrieked.
Gasps echoed through the ballroom. A woman fainted nearby.
The man on the floor jerked beneath my hands, a small spray of blood appearing where the pin entered his flesh.
Holy. Fuck.
Soraya just murdered a Storm Court noble in front of hundreds of witnesses.
“Seize her!” a man shouted, and more screams and shouts of horror flooded the room.
My entire body tightened with coiled precision as I prepared to defend her. My mind raced through escape scenarios—which exits were least guarded, how many I could fight through before they overwhelmed us, cursing that as a human I couldn’t manifest my wings to get us out. The Storm Warriors would make quick work of us in these fragile human forms.
I eyed an approaching guard’s sword, about to reach out and take it as my own as they descended on her, but before they reached her, she pushed the hollow reed straw through the makeshift incision, and a hissing sound emerged. The man’s eyes flew open, and he drew a desperate, rattling breath that gradually smoothed into normal breathing.
The world around us fell silent as the guards froze in their tracks.
“He’s... he’s alive!” a woman cried out. “She saved him!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Soraya sat back on her heels, relief evident on her face. “Holy shit it worked. I’ve never done one of those before. Only seen doctors do them.”
“What did you do?” I asked, bewildered by both her actions and the crowd’s response.
“Needle decompression,” she whispered. “The pressure in his chest was preventing his lung from expanding. This releases the air that was trapped and lets him breathe.”
Before I could respond, the crowd parted. A tall, imposing figure approached, a dark-haired young man no more than twenty-five, flanked by guards in formal attire. Even with his mask, I recognized the royal insignia on his jacket—this was the heir to the Storm Court throne, Crown Prince Alaric himself.
“Make way for the prince!” a guard commanded.
He knelt beside the recovering man, genuine concern on his face. “Theron,” he said, gripping the man’s hand. “Brother, can you hear me?”
The injured man nodded weakly, attempting a smile.
Prince Alaric turned to Soraya, his eyes—a striking electric blue—filled with gratitude. “You saved my little brother’s life.”
She lowered her gaze respectfully, and I was grateful she’d remembered those small details of how to behave in front of royaltyI’d given her on our cart ride here. “Anyone with my training would have done the same, Your Highness.”
“And what is your name, my lady?” he asked, his attention fully on her now. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at court before.”
I tensed, prepared for disaster. We had planned our cover stories, but nothing that would hold up under direct royal scrutiny.
“Lady Soraya of the Eastern Reaches,” she replied smoothly, surprising me with her composure. “And this is Lord Rhyker, my escort and protector.”
