Chapter 3
GRAESON
Somewhere in the village, a bell rang loud and piercing--a warning for the flames licking at the sky. The people in the streets picked up their pace, bumping into each other as names were shouted in an attempt for friends and family to locate one another.
Panic rang in every voice, in every fearful, wide-eyed gaze as heads swiveled over the crowd. Mothers and fathers ushered children forward, some picking up the children who were too small to keep up as they raced through the streets.
The wedding was said to be the largest gathering of Vaneria since blood poured down the city during the Great War. And for once, Graeson was thankful for the throng filling the road. To navigate the streets more easily while attracting less attention, they split into three groups: Graeson with Terin and Kalisandre, Dani with Emmett and Sylvia, and Ellie with Medenia.
All around them, people ran past, shoving one another as everyone raced to escape the fire and smoke. Usually, Graeson would have despised weaving between the panicked people, their bodies pressing against his, their heat suffocating him and ringing around his neck as the world grew smaller and smaller.
But at that moment, Graeson was thankful for the chaos pressing in on him from all sides. Their clothes, torn and burned from the kiss of the flames, which would have turned heads in any other scenario, blended with the rest of the disheveled crowd.
Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Graeson scanned the endless sea of people, his eyes sweeping over the faces rushing past. Up ahead, the sun hit metal, catching his attention.
Several soldiers walked against the flow of the crowd, their gazes sweeping across the pedestrians with an intense focus that had Graeson clenching his jaw. They tugged every woman that neared them to a stop. With rough hands, they yanked the women's faces up, turning them side-to-side. When they noted the eyes were too brown, the hair too light, the features not quite right, they moved to the next one.
While Kalisandre might have shed the bustling white gown, the change of clothes would only give a guard a momentary pause. If they were familiar with her, she would be recognized quickly. Graeson held back a curse.
Terin inched closer to Graeson as they weaved between the clusters of people and whispered, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Graeson's palms grew slick with sweat.
They cannot have her, the god inside growled.
As if Graeson would let them.
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 let Kalisandre go.
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?"
The man's lips parted, but no response came.
Graeson nodded in understanding, and with a flick of his sword, he sent the man stumbling back into the side of the building. "Thought so. Only a fool would not call for support."
The guard slammed into the wall with a loud oomph . As he pushed himself away from the wall, he rolled his shoulder, causing his shining armor to creak.
"At least now you won't look so fresh," Graeson said, eyeing the new scratches marring the man's armor.
"Come on, Gray. Stop messing with him. We don't have time for this."
Graeson rolled his eyes. They still had two minutes at least by his count, but if Terin wanted him to end this quickly, so be it. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"
Standing, the guard growled in rage, and Graeson struggled to hold back his laughter.
"You're a cocky bastard," the guard seethed.
Graeson deflected the guard's strike and twisted around, pressing his blade against the man's neck. "So I've been told," he taunted with an amused smirk.
Then, the earth shook as a loud boom rocked the capital.
Screams erupted across the city. Dust fell off the rooftops above them, coating Graeson's shoulders and making him cough.
The guard gasped. "What the fuck--"
"About time," Graeson muttered. Then in one fell swoop, Graeson removed the blade and knocked the man out with the butt of his hilt.
"That's our sign," Graeson urged, propping the unconscious guard against the wall. "Let's go."
Then, they were running.