The heavy door did not slam shut. It didn't need to. The vipers had marched toward the Great Hall to prepare a throne, leaving the room abandoned to the dead and the damned.
As the last echo of Julian’s triumphant footsteps faded into the stone corridors, the limp, gray form on the bed suddenly shifted.
Alistair sat up smoothly, the heavy furs sliding off his broad shoulders. He took a deep, clear breath—not the ragged, wet gasp of a dying man, but the strong, measured breath of a predator who had just watched his prey walk willingly into a cage. He raised his hand, casually wiping away the mixture of thick charcoal ash and dark plum syrup he had used to mimic the foul black blood of the curse.
From the shadows by the wardrobe, Evadne stepped out.
The two guards who had supposedly drag
