Gwen closed her eyes, her fingers tightening against the wet iron floor. She thought of little Kael's dual-colored eyes, of the small, soft hand that had clutched her hair in the nursery. She waited for the impact of the steel blades.
But the strike never came.
Instead, a sudden, unnatural silence fell over the entire inner sanctum, as if the very concept of sound had been violently ripped from the air.
The toxic purple mist did not drift; it froze in place, turning into fine, dark needles that fell to the ground. The amethyst fluid on the floor stopped bubbling, its surface instantly turning into a sheet of solid, flawless black ice that carried the distinct, unmistakable resonance of a sovereign's arrival. It was a cold that did not belong to Sienna; it was the absolute zero of the northern crown.
Sienna's amethyst lenses clicked violently, her head snapping toward the warped gold blast-door behind her. "What...?"
