Dominic's POV
I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the Great Hall.
Too quiet.
Not the reverent silence of a ruling court.
The sharp, suffocating stillness of something that shouldn't be.
My hand went instinctively to the hilt of my sword.
Beside me, Isabella's skirts whispered across the stone as she moved ahead. Unbothered. Unshaken.
She'd already sensed it too.
We weren't walking into a council meeting.
We were walking into a trap.
The guards posted at the northern door were gone. Not dismissed vanished.
Only one remained, face pale, hand twitching against his spear.
He didn't meet our eyes as we passed.
Marrow stood at the far end of the chamber, by the grand stained glass window depicting the kingdom's first coronation.
He was flanked by four lords. Men who'd once worn oaths like armor and had since traded them for promises made in secret.
"We were expecting the queen alone," Marrow said, his voice polite.
I stepped forward. "And I was expecting loyalty."
Marrow smiled. "That's the thing about loyalty, Commander. It tends to die young."
It happened fast.
One of the lords reached for his blade.
But he wasn't fast enough.
Isabella moved before I could.
No hesitation. No fear.
Her dagger was in her hand slashing upward through fabric, skin, bone.
The man gasped. Dropped.
Blood hit the marble.
The hall erupted.
I fought like I always had ruthlessly, efficiently, no wasted movement.
But I wasn't fighting for a title.
I was fighting for her.
And gods help anyone who laid a hand on her.
When the dust settled, three of the lords lay dead.
The fourth, a young noble I'd once trained in swordsmanship was bleeding, hands lifted.
"Please," he rasped. "We were promised protection."
"By whom?" Isabella asked, her voice like a storm held in glass.
He blinked. "The Black Crest. They said the throne would fall within a fortnight."
My breath caught.
The Black Crest.
Not a name we'd heard in years.
An underground faction of loyalists sworn to the dead king's bloodline.
Rumor had it, they didn't want just the throne…
They wanted Isabella's head on a pike.
After the last traitor was taken away, I turned to her.
Blood on her cheek. Ash on her skin.
She was more than a queen now.
She was war incarnate.
"They're not going to stop," I told her. "This was just the first wave."
"I know," she whispered. "Which is why I'm done waiting."
She turned to the guard still frozen by the doors.
"Ready the ravens," she ordered. "Send word to the Northern Warden."
"And say what?" the guard asked.
She met my eyes before answering.
"That war has come early."