Then I heard a noise—like the rustle of a cloak. I froze. Maybe I was just imagining it.

I was rolled on my side facing the door, my back turned from the large bay window of my room. However, I didn't want to risk turning over to check in case someone really was there. So I waited, and listened. And reached for my dagger under my pillow.

My heart quickened. Clara... she wouldn't... Send assassins after me? Was she trying to scare me? Or perhaps she really was serious about getting rid of me. I tried to steady my thoughts as my heart pounded wildly. It might be the wind... it could be nothing at all. Yet still, anxiety gripped me. An assassin could slit my throat in a moment.

I remembered Rowan, waiting just outside my door. All I had to do was scream. But could he reach me in time? I thought, fear turning my insides to ice. My arm gripping the dagger under my pillow tensed, as I waited. I had one chance, and if I had any likelihood of surviving at all, I had to take this assassin by surprise.

I waited. Seconds ticked by. Minutes. I was starting to think that maybe I'd overreacted. Maybe I had shut the window but it had come unlatched—and then I started to feel awfully silly. Laying here like a maniac, waiting for an assassin that was not really there. I was just about to get up and shut the window again, when I heard it.

The creak of a floorboard. I knew it, because I'd stepped on it a thousand times. Right next to my bed, where my feet first hit the ground in the morning. There was someone there, looming right behind me. It's hard to describe, but instantly I could feel it—the killing intent of a blade at my back. It rose slowly, as if he was gathering energy to do it in one fell swoop. And then the swing.

I didn't wait for it to fall on my neck. I twisted fast, slashing up with the dagger just as a figure loomed above me, masked and cloaked in black. Steel caught moonlight—his blade was already drawn. I barely managed to deflect it, his sword slicing across my blankets instead of my throat. The icy enchantment of my dagger activated and it flared to life, cold and pulsing.

I was mere milliseconds away from being murdered. My breath caught in my throat, as time seemed to pass in slow motion while I stared the attacker down. I'd managed to take him by surprise, slicing his arm, and ice began to spread across the wound. I could see now what the Blacksmith was talking about.

He hissed something quietly as I rolled off the bed, my surprise attack with my enchanted dagger slowing him down and confusing him for a moment. I hit the floor hard, but scrambled to my feet.

Then, a scream tore loose from my throat. "Rowan!" I yelled, as loud as I could.

And the assassin lunged. But I was ready, bracing myself with my dagger. I slashed wildly at him, cutting across cloth and maybe skin, but I couldn't see. I grappled with him as best as I could, but he was fast—too fast. And I wasn't trained formally in self-defense.

It was only mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity before Rowan burst through the doors and flung the attacker off me, making quick work of him with his blade. He wrenched his blade from the attacker's side, moonlight reflecting off the silver blade as fresh, red blood dripped on my elegant white carpet. He turned to me, "Rosaria, are you—"

And then, I felt it. The white-hot pain of something sharp piercing my flesh. A line of fire bloomed through my nightgown and I stumbled forward, falling on my knees, grasping at my chest, checking if I was still alive. It felt as if I'd been shot. My thoughts were a whirlwind as my sympathetic system took over me, and all I could think was survival. A throwing knife. There was another assassin. My hands flew to my shoulder, where the knife had made the wound.

Rowan was fast. Faster than the assassins, faster than Gareth, or any of the Black Dragons—faster than he was the night of the ambush in the woods. He crossed the room in a second, hurling a knife from his belt straight into the throat of the assassin near the window who'd created my wound.

But that wasn't the end of it—there were more of them. Two more came through the window, and they ganged up on him, the clang of steel ringing through my ears, and I swayed, my vision blurry from the blood loss. Rowan moved like lightning—and I saw a green spark shroud his blade. Aura.

"What the—he's an aura knight!" One of the assassins hissed, then cursed. "They didn't tell us there'd be one here!"

The assassins worked expertly, covering each other's backs to keep Rowan occupied. But no matter how hard they tried, he would never let them make it to me. That's why...I thought slowly, my brain in a muddled fog. I pressed my hand to my shoulder. Blood—too much of it. I finally understand, Gareth.

I tried to lift my head, but the room swayed. My blood painted the floor beneath me in long crimson smears. Still, I watched—because I had to see it. I had to see what he truly was.

The attackers moved like they'd trained together for years, one attacking while the other defended, creating an ever-moving shield wall of strikes and counters. They tried to box Rowan in, to push him toward the corner of the room, where I was slumped against the wall. One attacked high, the other low, never giving him a clear target. Blades flashed, strikes flowed one into the next, as if they shared a single mind.

But he was faster. He used their own rhythm against them—like he was dancing with them, feeling the pattern of their steps. His footwork was impeccable, and each swing of his blade rang out like a drumbeat of war.

Rowan deflected a thrust, barely ducked a sweep meant for his throat, and countered with a sharp upward slash that was parried just in time. His eyes flicked between them, his expression carved from stone. His sword spun once in his hand as he shifted his footing, blade crackling faintly with green light—brighter now. Almost electric. I could feel the energy of it inside my bones as the light illuminated my face.

He continued to parry their attacks, never feeling like they gained the upper hand—it might have looked like it, with their rapid onslaught of blows, but from my position I could see it—they were playing right into his hands.

Then he shifted his stance. Like he'd finally gotten them right where he wanted them. The aura around him surged, bursting from his sword in a crackle of green light that shattered across the room like lightning. With a single movement, he burst forward, slipping between the two assassins like smoke.

One step. One breath. One strike. I watched as if in slow motion.

His blade cut in one smooth, perfect motion that ended with both men frozen for a heartbeat... severing their heads cleanly from their spines. They fell to the ground with matching gurgles of breath, and the blood splashed on my bedpost and across my mirror.

I didn't have the energy to shriek. I was fighting just to stay alive, as I tried to keep pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. I don't think it hit an artery... I thought, with quiet relief, as my breath came in ragged gasps. I had managed to crawl and prop myself against the wall for support.

Instantly after finishing the attackers, Rowan turned. My breath was labored, and I was fighting just to stay awake. Without hesitating, he took his sword and used it to rip a strip of sheets from my bed.

He dropped to my side in an instant, sheathing his blade in one fluid motion. "Rosaria," he said, voice sharp with urgency. "Look at me. Where are you hit?" There was hot, sticky blood all over the right side of my body, staining my nightgown.

"My... shoulder," I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

His hands were steady as he took the makeshift bandage from my sheets, hands steady even as his eyes scanned the blood-soaked fabric at my collarbone. It wasn't the first time he'd given first-aid. "You're going into shock. Stay awake. Don't close your eyes."

"I'm not..." I muttered, struggling to get my voice out. But I wanted badly to give in to the darkness.

"Good." He pressed the cloth hard against the wound, and I nearly screamed, my whole body jerking. "I know, I know. Stay with me, Rosaria. Breathe."

"I'm... bleeding out..." I said slowly, gasping for air. My entire body was shaking..

"It's okay, Rosaria. It's shallow. I'm not going to let that happen," His voice was low, but firm. Steadying. Like a tether I could hold onto through the pain.

With one hand still applying pressure, he reached into his belt, pulled free a length of leather cord, and tied the cloth tightly across my chest and shoulder, creating a makeshift bandage. "This'll hold until we get out of here."

I nodded slowly, barely registering what he said. All I could focus on was keeping my eyes open. He pulled me up with an arm around my waist, practically carrying me out into the hallway. "Where..." was all I could manage.

"Shh. I'm bringing you somewhere safe," He said slowly.

I nodded, still fighting for consciousness. My head briefly rested against his shoulder.

But it was too much. The adrenaline had faded. The pain was loud. The cold was louder.

Eventually, I gave in. And closed my eyes.