His iron grip was crushing the bones in her hand and she pulled and twisted with every last drop of will and strength she possessed. She thrashed and screamed, wild with panic, her mind repeating itself with a single-minded focus: Not this. Anything but this. She was on the ground, her white skirts splayed around her as she kicked wildly, the cool touch of silver kissing her finger, threatening its eternal prison.

And then something crashed and hard shards of broken clay rained down around her. The Witch King spun, dazed enough to slacken his grip for her to pull away. She hurled her body away from him and tumbled down the shallow marble steps. Her skirts tangled around her legs and she kicked in a panic, expecting the Witch King to come immediately after her. But he was turned the other direction--facing Caris, who was backing slowly away, the shattered water jug in pieces at her feet. Water ran down the stairs into a pool beside Rhea.

"Idiot girl, you'll pay for this," snarled the Witch King, and without a sound, the fellcat launched itself at the girl's back.

Faster than any regular creature, the fellcat leapt onto Caris, who smashed face-first onto the marble floor. The fellcat's jaws closed around the girl's shoulder and gave a violent shake, but Caris brought her opposite elbow flying backward into the side of the fellcat's head and the jaws released. Caris flipped over to scramble away, but paws the size of her head pinned her where she lay. A bloom of dark blood stained the shoulder of her brown homespun dress, but still she kicked and clawed desperately at the fellcat. Entirely overpowered by the beast's massive frame, her strikes had all the effect of an annoying fly buzzing around the fellcat's ears.

The fellcat moved in for the killing bite, jaws yawning before Caris's neck--then a blur of gold and silver flew through the air, colliding with the fellcat and clanging to the ground.

A sword.

The fellcat let out an ear-splitting shriek and reared into the air. Blood poured from a wound in its hindquarters.

A collective gasp filled the room as a figure stepped out from a side door.

The golden armor had been laboriously polished and seemed to shine with a light brighter than even the torches that lit the room. Slits in the winged helm revealed nothing but eyes glittering with determination.

"Call off your beast," shouted Lord Gareth's voice from behind the helm, no trace of the frightened boy of the chapel in his voice.

The onlookers were murmuring furiously now--Arkin Montroy here, alive, back to defend his Queen? How was it possible?

The fellcat abandoned Caris and now  stalked toward Lord Gareth, circles of blood spattering the floor behind it.

Rhea was on her feet now, and she grabbed the long diamond-and-pearl pin from her hair. The fellcat stalked toward the now unarmed Lord Gareth, the lure of the kill glinting in its feral eyes.

Rhea knew there was only one way to stop it. Brandishing her long pin, she lunged at the Witch King, who still stood at the top of the steps. If she could just reach his left eye--

"Stop her," commanded the Witch King, and someone grabbed her arms from behind, wrenching them behind her. The pin clattered onto the marble.

She knew it was Kain and she hesitated. They had agreed on what she should do if things should come to this. Kain had been clear: she was not to let him get in her way. Even if it involved his injury--or death.

It didn't make it much easier.

She hurled her body backward and they tumbled together down the shallow marble steps. Her head struck something hard on the way down, and the world swayed nauseatingly around her.

The onlookers were roaring now, their shouts and screams piercing the hall. The fellcat must have attacked Lord Gareth--she could only hope the armor would provide him with some protection.

Rolling away from where she and Kain had landed, she lay on the floor frantically trying to reorient her swimming vision. Wetness covered her cheek and seeped into her side, and she realized with horror that she was lying in Caris's blood. The girl's body lay beside her, unmoving.

Things had gone badly. Very badly.

"I've had enough," said the Witch King to Rhea from where he stood in front of the throne. "I've given you chance after chance to join me and retain your life. Extended you every mercy."

Rhea pushed herself to her feet again, hands slicking on her young servant's blood. She spat at the Witch King. "That's what I think of your mercy."

"See?" he replied. "Rude. Unreasonable. You could have ruled at my side--yes, I would have let you, even as a consort--" he added, noticing Rhea's disgust, "had you been more...accommodating."

The way he spoke to her unnerved her deeply, the way the lightness in his voice did not match the darkness in his eyes.

"I am a Queen of Etria," said Rhea. "I rule in my own right."

"And your single-mindedness will be your end." He drew his sword slowly from its scabbard. The blade was black as night and glinted dully in the torchlight. Turning it back and forth, he admired it as one might a particular piece of art. And it was remarkable. What it was made of, Rhea could only guess.

The Witch King turned to Kain, who stood at the bottom of the steps. He tossed the blade and Kain caught it in a smooth motion.

"Dear brother," said the Witch King with a feline smile, "there is no resisting. Your soul is already mine and it's time for your heart to come with it."

Kain blanched.

"Show us to whom you really belong," crooned Azurius, before his mocking expression turned into hard anger, pure wrath pouring from his eyes. "Kill her."