Zavier entered first, wearing the same attire he’d been in earlier. No finery or tailored coat. He looked more like one of his rangers than a prince, save for the silver circlet across his brow that glittered in the candlelight. His four warriors trailed behind him, their expressions as solid and unreadable as their leader’s. They seemed even larger than they had in the throne room. Deadlier. “Sending you to Turah is a suicide mission,” Mae murmured. There was genuine worry in her voice. “Better me than you.” I clasped her hand. Even with all her training, it would have been dangerous for Mae.
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