‘s POV
For a moment, I stood frozen, heart pounding while I stared at where Kaelen disappeared into.
No one was alerted about what’s happening, at least, none of the guests. The music continued and so did those who were dancing on the floor and the cheerfulness on their faces remained.
But with the cold dread polling in my guts, the laughter around me sounded shrill and the clicking of glasses sounded like warning bells.
South gate and lost contact… Kaelen’s words echoed in my head.
I scanned the room, my heart hammering against the ribs of my corset. Deacon was still across the floor, surrounded by three Council members. He threw his head back and laughed at something one of them said, looking radiant and relaxed. He didn’t
know yet.
I had to get to him.
I gathered the heavy silk of my skirt in one hand and began to move. I didn’t run though, because running would only cause unnecessary panic, but I still walked with a lethal purpose, weaving through the couples on the dance floor.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, sidestepping a spinning Duchess. “Pardon me.”
I was ten feet away from Deacon when our eyes met. His smile faltered instantly. He saw the tension in my jaw, the wideness of my eyes. His instincts, sharpened by years of war, snapped into place before I even opened my mouth. He set his glass down on a passing tray without looking at it and started moving toward me.
And then, the world ended.
There was no flicker or any warning hum. One second, the ballroom was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a thousand fairy lights and crystal chandeliers. The next, it was plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.
The music died with a discordant screech as the electric instruments lost power.
For a singular, terrifying second, there was total silence. The kind of silence that happens when hundreds of people hold their
breath at the same time.
Then, chaos erupted.
Screams pierced the air. Confused shouts echoed off the ceilings. And then… the darkness became so heavy and disorienting.
“Deacon!” I screamed, reaching out into space.
“Elena! Stay where you are!” His voice boomed through the blackness, a command that vibrated in my bones, cutting through the rising panic of the crowd.
A red glow bathed the room as the emergency lights flickered on, and a dim, blood–colored beam that cast long, monstrous shadows against the walls. They were barely enough to see by, turning the elegant guests into terrified silhouettes.
And then a loud sound echoed.
The sound of shattering glass was deafening. It didn’t come from a dropped glass. Rather, it came from the massive floor–to- ceiling windows lining the east wall.
“We are under attack!” Kaelen’s voice roared over the comms, though I could hear him shouting from the perimeter. “Secure the exits! Protect the King, and the Royal Family!”
Through the broken windows, shapes poured in. They weren’t dressed in the finery of the wedding guests. They were ragged, dirty, and moved with the desperation of starving animals. Rogues. Dozens of them. They scrambled over the window ledges,
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their eyes glowing yellow and red in the dim light, snarling as they landed on the polished marble floor.
“Defend!” Deacon roared.
The sound of shifting bones filled the room. The Royal Guards, who had been disguised as waiters and guests, tore through their formal wear, shifting into their massive wolf forms within seconds.
The ballroom turned into a battlefield.
I was shoved hard from behind by a fleeing guest. I stumbled, my heavy dress tangling around my legs, and fell to my knees. A table overturned next to me, sending a cascade of silverware and crystal crashing down.
“Get up, Elena!”
I scrambled to my feet, my hand closing around the handle of a heavy silver steak knife that had fallen from the table. It wasn’t a sword, but it was sharp.
“Rafael,” I gasped, my blood running cold. “Where is Rafael?”
I looked toward the front of the room where I had last seen him with the flower girls. The area was a swarm of fighting bodies. A massive grey rogue had tackled a guard, their jaws snapping inches from a group of terrified nobles huddled in the corner.
“Elena!”
A hand grabbed my arm. I spun around, raising the knife, but it was Deacon. He was still in human form, his eyes glowing a furious, molten gold. His suit jacket was gone, his shirt ripped at the shoulder.
“I have you,” he growled, pulling me into his chest. “Are you hurt?”
“Rafael,” I choked out. “Deacon, where is he?”
“Kaelen has him,” Deacon promised, though his eyes darted around the room, assessing threats with terrifying speed. “He’s in the safe room. I saw Kaelen grab him the moment the lights went.”
Relief washed over me, nearly buckling my knees, but I forced myself to stand tall. “Glenda,” I hissed. “This is her.”
“Yes,” Deacon agreed, his voice vibrating with a lethal rage. “These are mercenaries. Low–level rogues paid to cause chaos.”
As if on cue, a fresh wave of attackers breached the main double doors. They weren’t just chaotic rogues this time; these were armed. Men and women in tactical gear, carrying stun batons and wolfsbane–laced blades. They moved with coordination.
And behind them, striding through the ruined doors like a conqueror claiming a fallen city, was a figure cloaked in a tattered,
dark hood.
She stopped at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the screaming guests, the fighting wolves, the ruined wedding feast. She pulled back her hood.
It was Glenda.
But she looked nothing like the woman who had crashed the wedding in a muddy dress. She looked gaunt, her cheekbones sharp enough to cut, her eyes wild with a drug–fueled mania. She held a modified tranquilizer gun in one hand, and she was smiling. A wide, unhinged smile that made her look demonic in the red emergency lighting.
“Happy Wedding Day!” she shrieked, her voice shrill and echoing over the sounds of battle.
Deacon pushed me behind him, his body shielding mine completely. A low, thunderous growl built in his chest.
”
“Glenda!” Deacon roared, the sound shaking the remaining glass in the window frames. “Call them off, and I might let you live!
Glenda laughed. It was a broken, jagged sound. “Live?” she cackled, leveling the gun at us. “I don’t want to live, Deacon! I just
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want to make sure you don’t either! If I can’t be Luna, no one will be!”
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She signaled to the mercenaries flanking her. “Kill the Princess! Fifty thousand credits to the one who brings me her head!”
The mercenaries surged forward.
“Guards! On me!” Deacon bellowed.
He didn’t shift. He didn’t have time. He moved with human speed that rivaled a wolf’s, intercepting the first mercenary who lunged for us. Deacon caught the man’s wrist, snapping the bone with a sickening crunch, and threw him into the path of another attacker.
“Elena, get back!” Deacon ordered, kicking a rogue in the chest hard enough to send him flying across a table.
“I’m not leaving you!” I shouted, gripping my silver knife as I sliced through my wedding dress to make it comfortable to fight and went on my fighting stance.
“I didn’t say leave,” Deacon snarled, grabbing a wolfsbane–laced baton from a fallen mercenary and spinning it in his hand. “I said get back. Watch my six.”
I smirked. This is why we’re the best partners. We knew none of us were weak.
I pressed my back against his, the two of us standing in the center of the ruined ballroom, surrounded by enemies. My wedding dress was heavy, my heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and the smell of blood was beginning to fill the air.
But as I looked at the approaching shadows, I didn’t feel helpless. I felt a cold, hard anger crystallize in my chest.
Glenda wanted a war? She had just crashed the wrong wedding.
“Come and get it,” I whispered, tightening my grip on the silver blade.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
