“The coronation is days away. Your men are grasping. No one in Rothen could possibly best me in a fight. Your safety is all but secured.” Then why does my throat constrict? Why can’t I breathe? Elma wondered desperately. She stepped back, putting much-needed distance between herself and the assassin. He was becoming a sickly drug, a strong one, and the sooner he was gone, the better.
