Page 164 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

A commotion of panicked voices, of hurried footsteps and scraping objects, echoed from the depths of the Keep. No one else was in the small hallway wing Maksym and I shared, but, goddess, the noise sent my heart into an irregular stutter.

I hurried to the doors of Maksym’s quarters and didn’t think before I pushed one open and slipped inside. His study was open down the hall, and I ran for it.

“Max?”

Empty.

I cursed under my breath and headed for the gilded doors I assumed led to his bedroom. I knocked three times, calling out his name a little louder with each, before I gave the handle a test.

It opened.

The curtains were thrown wide, the rumpled bed empty, and I shut the door before I could linger on the intimate details of his personal space.

Something bad had happened; I could feel it in the ever-increasing rush of my blood that flooded my ears. I ran back out into our wing and headed straight for the main corridor.

The panicked commotion built to a staggering volume the closer I got to the walkway overlooking the atrium, as did the number of dark fae bodies hustling past me, and my head spun when I finally glimpsed over the railing.

Grimmorian military and other officials packed the atrium.

Some filed in and out of the main doors of the Keep; others huddled in groups, receiving orders or exchanging hushed words. Keep workers hauled carts in and out of hallways, concerned looks painting their faces.

An icy chill pricked up my spine, and it wasn’t just from the cool draft pouring in from the open doors—the few words I could string together from the commotion did it all on their own.

Odessa had attacked Grimmoria’s wards.

I knew little of the true gravity of what that meant, but I nearly took out a half dozen dark fae as I tore back down the corridor.

Spans of dark stone blurred past me, and my chest ached furiously once I’d reached Maksym’s council quarters. None of the dozens of anxious-looking posted guards stopped me as I hurried past them, though a few hurled snide comments in my wake.

They rolled right off me as I blew through the doors at the end of the hall.

“Maksym! What the fuck is⁠—”

Chatter fell silent.

Dozens of sets of attention slid in my direction.

Umbrites. Shifters. Sprites. Other creatures I couldn’t name, with thick horns and cloven feet, that were in the throne room the night Maksym announced our engagement. Most had uniforms of some variety—except for the sprites.

My throat worked.

The war room of Grimm’s Keep was packed to the brim.

Maps of all sizes were strewn over the massive table in the center, mixed with a spread of ledgers and strategy markers. A haze of smoke hung high in the ceiling, and plumes of it trailed from halted pipes and hands poised near mouths.

I suddenly felt very small.

“Max?” came my croak. “What’s…”

He filtered through the crowd from the far end of the room, and his worry-stricken face did not give me an ounce of the relief I hoped I’d find.

Neither did the clearly impeded pace he traveled with. Murmurs picked up as he went, and the suffocating press of all those gazes peeled away from me.

I refused to look anywhere but at the king clutching his side as he approached, Gallan quickly in tow. “We’ve had a bit of a morning, if you can’t tell,” Maksym said before I could get any of my panicked thoughts out. “Agōn Ferr has been suspended, and⁠—”

“Your little brother is a right cunt,” Gallan spat.

Any hopes I’d had of having misheard the rumbles in the atrium died, and my hands trembled at my sides.