Lucian’s instincts urged him to the attack. It would be so easy to disarm one of the soldiers and lunge for Hyperia. His eye twitched as he imagined lopping off her sword arm, blood gushing from the stump—

Just as he had done over and over, slicing soldiers through their bellies so that the rope of their intestines slopped onto the ground.

You swore to never lift a finger against another living creature. Do you only keep your vows when they’re easy? he thought.

“Hyperia. Let us go.” He would be calm.

“That is a phenomenally stupid request, considering everything I’ve just said.” The empress strode to meet them. Emilia stepped forward, her hands raised. The thrill of seeing her in action again clashed with Lucian’s horror at what might happen.

“It’s not a request!” Emilia cried.

Though she growled, Hyperia did hesitate.

“Fight me on equal footing, you coward,” the empress snapped.

“Fighting you with a sword wouldn’t be equal, Your Excellency,” Emilia returned. Her voice was low with confidence now; the stammering girl had melted away. Emilia flung her arms forward and the marble floor rolled and pitched like waves on the sea. The soldiers collapsed in a crash of armor, screaming as they were bandied about. Hyperia managed to keep her feet, but cried as the marble sea became more restless, rising in sharp peaks as if whipped up by a tempest. Hyperia was about to be bowled over when—

Blood.

Emilia coughed a spray of blood. Lucian saw it speckle the tile. She collapsed to her knees, fell forward onto her hands. She spat more dark, syrupy blood. No. No. He knelt and took her into his arms, stroked her wild hair. Her eyes, dark circles like bruises beneath them, sought his. A bubble of blood wavered on her lips as he cleaned her chin with his sleeve.

“It hurts,” she moaned, and pressed her face into the crook of his arm. “Like something’s stabbing me.”

“Don’t use it again. We don’t know how much you can take.”

“But if I don’t…”

If Emilia did not fight, they were left with a useless Lucian, an inexperienced Vespir, and Ajax. The boy was quick enough with a dagger, but they faced Hyperia.

Lucian pressed his lips to the crown of her head. Emilia made a small noise at the kiss.

“Stay here,” he whispered into her hair. “Take her, please.” He gave her to Vespir and Ajax. Vespir cradled the girl against her body, and Ajax patted Emilia’s arm. Wide-eyed, the Tiber boy balked as Lucian got to his feet.

“You’re gonna…?”

“No. Just talk,” he said. Emilia gasped, her face as white as chalk. Dried blood flaked at the corner of her mouth. A relentless pressure built behind Lucian’s eyes and in his throat; he would not let them have her. Or Vespir.

Well, he couldn’t let Ajax die, either.

Lucian turned, held out his hands. “Hyperia. Emilia is not your enemy.”

“She tried to kill my soldiers.”

“She tried to stop you from killing us. She could have killed you instantly if she’d wanted.”

“I’ve had enough of your failed attempts at diplomacy, Lucian. Either fight me, or prepare to die.”

Desperation welled in his chest.

“Then kill me, but let the others go!”

“You severely overestimate your worth, don’t you? A common trait of men,” she spat. “Why would you satisfy me, when Emilia would live?” She bared her teeth. “A man who does not fight to defend his principles is no kind of man. You say you’re atoning for your past, but you are running from it!” She grabbed a guard’s sword and flung it to clatter on the floor by Lucian’s feet. “There’s nothing more loathsome than confusing weakness with goodness. Now, take up the sword!”

She was a monster.

She was…

Lucian thought again of that old man curled around his grandson, their charred corpses cooking in the winter air. He recalled hacking men to pieces—men who fought in homemade armor, carrying pitchforks from harvest, battling against Lucian with his silver armor, his longsword, his troops, and his dragon.

He had wanted to forget, but the path to redemption was not to hide from his skill. It was to use it well.

She was right.

He would never take up arms against an innocent again.

But Hyperia was no innocent.

Lucian picked up the soldier’s blade.

“Thank you,” Hyperia whispered.

When Lucian closed his hand around the grip, it felt like coming home after a long day. He swung it through the air a few times, listening to its song. Then, he crouched into a Masarian fighting stance, one best suited for lithe and leaping combat. His prior tussle with Hyperia proved she would not use blunt force. He would have to outwit her as much as outfight her.

With a roar, Hyperia charged.

Their swords clashed. The echo rang through the hall as they began their lethal dance. Up, down, up, up, lunge, parry, thrust—yes, it was a dance, and steel provided the music.

Lucian remembered every step. Hyperia’s skirts whirled in a storm of satin. She nearly managed to get him through the side—she’d used her flowing sleeves as a distraction, drawing his attention with their flutter. Damn, she was good. As Lucian attacked, he realized she might be the first worthy opponent he had ever faced.

“Yes. Good, Lucian. Good!” Hyperia’s fervor bordered ecstasy. He lunged, and his blade ripped through her skirt—damn, a few inches to the right and he’d have had her. He managed to duck just in time to avoid her sword as it whistled overhead. A few shorn strands of hair tickled his neck—he’d been inches from death.

Sweat dotted his temples as he deflected her. She had him on his knees now, attempting to weaken him until she could make her killing blow. When he swept his leg to knock her over, Hyperia vaulted into the air, landing perfectly on her feet. Lucian rolled backward and regained his footing. Both their chests heaved, their eyes bright.

“Enough of this,” she growled. Hyperia feinted left, then came at him with a spinning thrust.

He’d seen it before: the technique she’d used on him after the Hunt.

If this had been his first time witnessing it, she’d have gutted him for sure.

Snarling, Lucian flung himself out of reach. As Hyperia sailed past, he elbowed her in the back. She fell to the floor, all the wind knocked out of her, but even that couldn’t stop her. She wheeled on the ground, sword arcing in a strike from below. Lucian roared as he parried her thrust—and his blade bit flesh. His steel sliced a thin red line across the forearm.

Hyperia’s sword clattered to the ground.

Lucian kicked it away. His boot forced her down, and down she stayed. Hyperia gasped as he laid his sword tip at the hollow of her throat.

“Yield.”

“Kill me,” she snarled. She even gripped the flat of the sword, ready to plunge it into her own throat. “It’s the only way to stop me.”

No begging. No crying. She was prepared to die as she’d lived, without weakness.

“No,” he rasped. “I’ve defeated you. Honor demands you let us pass.”

The eyes of the entire room fixed upon him as Hyperia struggled to her feet. She glared with simmering hate as she retrieved her sword and stepped backward into the throng of her guards.

“What’re you doing?” Ajax shouted. “You won!”

Vespir shushed the boy as Lucian met Hyperia’s eyes. Her jaw tightened. She could fight again, but Lucian would fight as hard, and he would win. He had the taste for it now and saw the realization in her eyes.

She wiped a hand down her face.

“Kill them all,” she growled.

Lucian spun around. Emilia and the others began crawling away from the horde of soldiers at their backs. So. Hyperia had weakness.

“Get behind me!” Lucian yelled to the others.

“Stop!” a voice shouted. Rufus stepped forward. The young man’s dark eyes glowed, even beneath the oppressive shadow of his helmet. “We will not touch them.”

Lucian knelt, cradling Emilia as he looked up in shock. Hyperia faced her captain.

“I command it!” she roared.

“You fought for your crown, and you were defeated. The guard is for Lord Lucian.” Rufus met Lucian’s gaze, and his old friend smirked. The captain held his blade at eye level. “We do not serve false emperors!”

As one, the imperial guard put up their swords as well.

“Lucian! Lucian!” they cried.

Lucian pressed Emilia over his hammering heart.

“Everyone, lie low,” Ajax muttered, clinging to Vespir’s arm. “I have the feeling she’s about to get mad.”

Hyperia turned in a slow circle, violence in her eyes, as she beheld the imperial guard standing against her. She could never get at them now, Lucian realized. He squeezed Emilia tighter, sighed when her own arm wrapped around him.

“You. Bastards!” Hyperia shoved herself through Rufus’s ranks. The soldiers gave way as she sped for the door.

“Let her go!” Lucian called. The great doors opened, then boomed shut. “It’s over.”

“I can’t believe it,” Vespir said. “What do we do now?”

“Take a minute to breathe.” Ajax slumped against Vespir’s shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Lucian tipped Emilia’s chin so that their eyes met. He had never seen such softness in her gaze.

Something moved within him at the sight.

“I need to rest. I feel like…broken glass inside, but—”

“Oh, shit!” Ajax leapt to his feet.

A semicircle of stained-glass window decorated the area above the grand entrance. A large dark shape blocked out the window’s light, speeding closer and closer until—

Lucian hauled Emilia to her feet as Aufidius’s golden head crashed through, raining shards of colored glass to the floor. The Hydra roared and spewed flame as Rufus and the soldiers by the door fell to their stomachs and crawled. One of them did not duck in time and was burned alive. His smoldering corpse lay amid slivers of blue and yellow glass. Aufidius roared again. Lucian felt his bones rattle as he and the others crawled to get out of the blast zone.

Thump. Thump. The doors began to splinter and bend. The Hydra was using its tail to break down the entrance. Once it was cleared, the bull would be able to shoulder his way through and go after the people within. Even if they ran, Aufidius could scorch this building from the inside out; the carnage would be extreme, and the palace itself could crumble. Lucian clenched his teeth. Why? Why had he been stupid enough to assume that would be all?

“I think,” Ajax said, “letting her go was a mistake.”