Winter's Crown was safe—for now.
Lucien Calder had struck first, sending his assassins and saboteurs into the heart of the capital, but he had underestimated one thing.
The fires in the lower districts were being extinguished, the dead were being counted, and the wounded were tended to. But this was not victory.
It was only the beginning.
Standing atop the palace battlements, Damien gazed down at the city as dawn broke over the rooftops. Smoke still rose from the burned-out buildings, and the streets were filled with soldiers working to restore order.
Carys joined him, her green eyes weary but determined. "The palace is secure. The remaining infiltrators were captured or killed. We lost good men, but it could have been worse."
Damien's steel-gray eyes didn't waver from the horizon. "Lucien wanted to send a message."
Carys nodded grimly. "And he did."
