Positioning myself between the male and Kiira, I snapped, “Who sent you?”

Because the moment Rokath reached me, this male was dead.

He said nothing, silent as a wraith. I shoved more magic at him, attempting to knock him off balance and remove his cloak. But with a wave of his hand, he cast a shield of onyx at the last moment. Darkness claimed the space between us. My heart thundered against my ribs.

I couldn’t see him, could scarcely see my own hands. What if he flung the blade at me now?

The thought had barely finished before I was moving. And not a moment too soon.

Metal clattered against stone as I crashed to the ground, more pain flaring in my shoulder. Tears pricked my eyes, but I gritted my teeth, muscles tense, and prepared to fight again.

A roar ripped through the night. Our bond flared with fury as I sensed Rokath mere steps from me. The sharp edge of a blade sliced the air. A cry echoed. Firelight returned, casting a harsh glow on the blood-soaked stones.

The male fell to his knees, hands clutching a deep wound in his side.

And my mate stood over him.

My breath caught—this time not from fear, but from awe. Clad in nothing but a pair of pants, his blade dripping the crimson blood of my attacker, tattoos on full display, Rokath was vengeance incarnate. Carved by the Fates themselves to rain divine justice.

“You touched my mate.”

A low, primal growl rumbled from him, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I scooted toward Kiira, ensuring their brawl wouldn’t bring harm to her.

“No one gets to do that but me. Because of your transgression, I will gut you so thoroughly the Fates will weep for what they wove.”

The male drew a dagger hidden at his side and swiped at Rokath. My mate sidestepped it, dipping and catching the assassin by the throat. He threw him against the wall, rattling the keep. Bones crunched as the male crumpled to the ground. Blood flew from his mouth as he spit onto the pavers.

“Symbols rise. Symbols fall, Halálhívó,” he taunted, hurling himself forward for another attack.

Ice shattered through my veins. Those words…

A blade scraped over Rokath’s chest, but my mate drove him into the stones again. Then, he wrapped the back of the male’s head and slammed it against his knee. More ruby spilled from him as he ducked out of Rokath’s grip.

But his movements were slow, sloppy. Rokath caught his fist on the next strike and twisted. Another crack sounded. The male howled in pain.

“Not as quickly as inept assassins,” Rokath ground out. Yanking the silver blade from the male’s hand, he flipped it and plunged it into his throat. His chest. His stomach and dragged.

A cascade of garnet slicked his clothes. With a sickening gurgle, the would-be killer fell to the ground. The hood of his cloak dropped too, revealing glassy maroon eyes.

Rokath raced to my side, noting Kiira lay there too. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Kiira is out,” I said, salt stinging my eyes. Rokath brushed his knuckles over the cut on my cheek, and I hissed. “Except for that. And my shoulder. It’s injured again.”

A string of curses fled his lips. “I’m taking you both to the healing wing.” In one powerful motion, he scooped up his cousin. Then, he helped me to my feet. I swayed for a moment, my entire body trembling as I came down from the fright of the attack.

Once I was certain I wouldn’t collapse, I found Rokath’s sword and grabbed it. What if more were waiting to rise if their comrade failed?

He took two steps before halting. “Where the fuck are the sentries?”

“They weren’t here when we came down,” I told him, my voice weak.

Rage, hotter than a volcano, burned down our bond. “Heads will roll.”

Of that, I had no doubt.

On sore, tired limbs, I followed my mate to the healing wing. Kiira groaned, her head lolling. “Rokath?”

“Sh, rest for now. I’m taking you to the healer.” Rokath adored Kiira, and like me, he’d do anything to protect her. She’d told me as much during our conversation on the terrace at Gyor Palace.

To see it now made me love my mate all the more.

Rokath roused the lead healer in residence to care for Kiira and me. Laid out on an examination table, he tended to a deep gash on the back of Kiira’s head. I sat on the end, cradling my arm.

“Where is she?” Rapp burst into the room, his face contorted.

“For fuck’s sake, we can’t have you ripping stiches again,” Rokath growled, catching his Hadvezér. “Assyria is fine.”

Yet as I studied the wide-eyed terror in Rapp’s expression, I got the sense that the emotion wasn’t entirely for me. He found us a moment later, his frame sagging with relief. “I heard your voices. Had to check that you were alright.”

“We’re fine. Just a bit shaken up.” Kiira offered Rapp a reassuring smile, but it didn’t seem to calm his panic.

“Who attacked them?” he whirled on Rokath.

Anger vibrated through my mate’s muscled frame. “He’s dead now. But he didn’t act alone.”

Rokath quickly relayed what had happened while the lead healer finished his work on Kiira. Approaching me, he gave me a quick once-over. “I can put a salve on your cheek so it doesn’t scar. Your shoulder, I’ll have to set. Do you want something to bite?”

“Please,” I said, bracing myself for the pain to come. He fetched a piece of wood and I opened my mouth so he could place it between my teeth.

Kiira sat upright and held my good hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to.”

I nodded and dragged in a breath through my nostrils.

“Three, two…” The pop echoed through the chamber. A grunt ripped from my throat, and my hand shook from how hard it gripped Kiira’s. Rokath whirled, having felt the harsh adjustment down our bond.

I spit out the wood. “I’m fine,” I told him in a hurry. He was already on edge from the attempted assassination, and I really needed this healer to fix me. He couldn’t do that if he was dead.

“Drink this,” the healer said, proffering me a milky green vial.

“What is it?” I asked. The smell was atrocious, and I attempted to hold back a gag.

“A mixture of pium, poppy, and willow bark. You’ve already hurt this shoulder before, which is why injuring it again was so easy. The combination will settle the tissues around it and help it heal faster. You should be alright the day after tomorrow.”

Rapp made a sound of disbelief. “Why haven’t you been giving me that?”

“Because it won’t work in your case,” the lead healer stated, using a fresh cloth to dab a salve over my cheek. Once he finished, he took a step back and looked at the males. “Ensure they both sleep tonight and rest tomorrow. Especially the High Priestess. Her wound should close by morning, but the interior bruising will take more time.”

Rokath blew out a long breath, his chest deflating. “Thank you.”

The healer merely nodded and packed up his tools. Then, with a sigh, he handed another vial to Rapp. “Since you’re awake, an extra dose wouldn’t hurt.”

I snorted a laugh as Rapp uncorked and tossed the contents back. Kiira shook her head but winced. “Probably best not to move it for a bit.” She pressed her palm into her temple, flashing the edge of her new tattoo.

“Woah, what is this?” Rapp questioned, grabbing her arm and shoving up her sleeve.

Kiira grinned up at him. “A symbol. The devious eye.”

Rokath leaned in and studied it for a moment before directing his attention at me. “Was this your idea?”

“Actually, no,” I quipped, gritting my teeth and shimming out of my jacket to show him the ink gracing my skin just beneath his brand. “The priestesses wanted something to mark who we are and what we are doing.”

Rokath came to stand in front of me and cupped my cheek. His thumb traced over the H on my wrist. “You are a true leader, Assyria.”

His affirmation pricked at my eyes.