Lord Kilgore, the king's distant cousin three times removed, held power that stretched beyond even King Edmund's reach. He had built his name on war and iron, a man whose reputation was whispered in fear.
He had shaped Immith with those same hands; hands that had taught her to wield a sword before she could walk, hands that had stripped mercy from her before she even knew what it was.
"He will not exile me," Immith continued, her voice grim. "He will destroy me. Piece by piece, until there is nothing left of the girl who loves you."
Runa's hands were shaking now, her breathing sharp and uneven. "Then we have already lost."
"No," Immith grabbed her wrists, her grip tight, desperate. "We haven't. Not yet. But we will if you turn away from me."
Runa's chest ached, her body trembling under the weight of all that loomed over them. "How?" Her voice cracked. "How do we fight them both?"
Immith hesitated. For the first time, she had no answer.
