CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rowland moved to the front of the formation, pretending like he belonged there, pretending like the weight on his chest wasn’t tightening with every passing second. The night air was cold, but his palms were warm, almost sweating. He watched the head guard, Mason, walk ahead with a confidence that irritated him. Mason stood tall, sword drawn, ready to give orders like this whole chaos was under his control.

Rowland studied him with a frisky expression. No matter how long he ...