THE TRAITOR’S END The walk to the throne room felt longer than the walk to the balcony. The palace was louder now. I could hear glass breaking in the lower levels and the heavy thud of boots on stone. The air was thick with the smell of old dust and fresh smoke.

Demetrius was breathing hard. Each step made him flinch, but he wouldn't stop. He didn't look like a king anymore; he looked like a man who had walked through a fire and was surprised to still be alive.

"He’s in there," I whispered ...