Malvoria does not hesitate.
The first rebel barely has time to react before she moves—her sword a deadly blur, cutting through flesh and bone.
The scent of charred fabric and seared flesh fills the air as her blade carves through his torso, the heat of her magic cauterizing the wound even as she rends him apart.
They had dared to attack her kingdom.
Dared to harm her people.
Dared to endanger Elysia.
She won't allow a single one of them to leave alive.
The moment the body hits the floor, another rebel lunges at her, blade flashing in the dim firelight. Malvoria pivots sharply, her grey eyes gleaming as she sidesteps his wild slash and retaliates with surgical precision.
Her sword finds his throat in a single, elegant motion—a diagonal arc of death. The rebel gasps, eyes wide, clawing at his ruined windpipe before crumpling onto the cracked marble floor.
The next wave comes fast.
Four of them. Then five. Then more.
