It was no man’s land outside the hall. The ground was bare of ice. Not even a trace of the piling snow remained. The scorched ground was darker and wetter in places. Daliya had a hunch what it was.

  Haitham stood in the midst of the destruction, tens of lifeless bodies surrounding him, even more than there were in the hall.

  Daliya suddenly felt glad he was on her side, that he had been sent to assassinate the real princess, and that he had been placed in her path.

  He was the last person she wanted to face. He was even more horrifying than the emperor.

  Almost as horrifying as the man in her dreams, the one with the dark flames surging around him.

  There was a grave expression on his face. His shoulders were hunched over, almost drawing into himself.

  Were any of the men he killed his acquaintances? Or even his friends?

  He must have trained with many of them, shared memories, shared laughs.

  How did things turn this way?

  The problem was, she could see why they dubbed him a traitor. Here he was, on the princess’s side, helping her, protecting her people against the orders’s fiery reach.

  He turned to look at her, schooling his face into a neutral expression. But she could still see a hint of a dark emotion hidden under his smiling eyes.

  She wanted to walk to him, to take his hand and lead him away from the sight of corpses that she was sure would haunt him for a while. But the agitated servants rushed to her, asking her what they should do. He gave her a nod. She nodded back and turned to the gathering crowd.

  They flocked to her like small children surrounding their parents. There was fear etched on their faces, but it wasn’t directed at her. She could see the minute relief easing their frowns at her sight.

  She was glad they were warming up to her. Soon, there won’t be a trace of fear in her presence. They would regard her as per her duty to them, as their guardian.

  The head butler bowed to her, announcing he had taken care of the straddlers he had found roaming the upper rooms of the castle. Daliya nodded, impressed. But as her gaze lowered to his arms—to the stretch of skin noticeable under his sleeve uniform, he quickly straightened his attire, concealing the hint of black webs underneath.

  The sight reminded her of the Seer. She frowned, the question on the tip of her tongue. But another servant asking about where to take the assassin’s corpse diverted her attention.

  After sending them to their appointed temporary duty, she turned to look for her bodyguard. She glimpsed him leaning on one of the pillars, his arms crossed, his eyes following her every movement. He seemed fine, so Daliya weaved around the hall, sidestepping the fallen rubble and ordering the knights to take their injured comrades to the healing halls. She would speak to him later.

  Later came in a couple of hours. The halls were empty except for the dust that twirled and twisted in the breeze that found its way inside the castle through the broken windows and the still gaping holes from the carnage.

  He wasn’t in his room or the training grounds where she thought he would be holed up, venting whatever pent-up energy gathered after every use of his destructive powers. No matter where she looked, she couldn’t find a trace of raven hair or molten chocolate eyes. After minutes of fruitless search, she turned to one of the maids hurrying down the corridor with white linen sheets clutched in her arms, heading to the healing halls.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Have you seen Haitham?”

  The maid blinked at her, confused. She hesitated momentarily before saying, “In the healing halls, your Highness.”

  Daliya felt her heart seize in her chest. Was he hurt? It didn’t appear so. Then again, keeping his grievances hidden was one of the things he excelled at.

  Without waiting for another word from the now flustered maid, she turned and strode towards her destination. It wasn’t before long her hurried steps turned into full running.

  She found him leaning on one of the beds, the closest to the wide window, his eyes gazing at something beyond the glass. His face was stern, something she rarely witnessed. He often sported his goofy smile and an amused smirk, and she forgot he was capable of anything else.

  His head whipped toward her as she took her first steps from the hall’s entrance. He blinked, and then a smile pulled at his lips before he quickly whipped it off, and a frown soon replaced it. He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Was that a pout she was seeing?

  She pulled a chair from the other side of the hall toward his bed. The hall was filled with injured knights and servants. Some were even sitting on the ground, cradling their injured arms.

  That attack was vicious. How could many assassins access the castle grounds without anyone noticing? She would have to address the matter with Tarik. She doubted the castle defenses would be able to withstand another attack.

  “Are you injured?”

  “Oh, now you remember me.” He snorted and looked out the window.

  It was the ice statue—the statue of her mother, the princess’s mother. She didn’t know the healing halls overlooked the inner garden.

  “How bad is it?”

  He turned back to her.

  In Haitham fashion, he lamented. “Life-threatening! I’m inches away from death! And it took you hours, hours, to remember little old me! Am I that insignificant to you?”

  Daliya frowned. She hesitated, unsure of what to say.

  He looked fine. In fact, he looked uninjured. What life-threatening injuries was he talking about?

  One of the healers passed by the bed. Daliya stopped her, deciding to consult a professional about his health.

  “He walked into the healing halls himself,” the healer said. She shot Haitham an unimpressed look before continuing, “Something about a scratch to his arm.”

  Haitham stilled briefly before busying himself with the covers strewn over his legs.

  “It would be much appreciated were you to leave the healing halls now that your wound has been treated. The hall has far surpassed its limits.” She bowed to Daliya, and with a final unimpressed glance at Haitham, she left to tend to the others.

  “Haitham.”

  “What?” he mumbled. “It’s my dominant hand. What if I can no longer use my daggers? What if I can no longer protect you?” He shot her a betrayed look. “Oh, you have your head of the knight’s order now, is it? You no longer need my help.”

  “That’s not it.” Daliya pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel the start of a headache building up. “There are far more injured people that would need more attention. You would be fine in your room.”

  He jerked up to his legs in one fluid motion, startling her.

  “Fine! I’m going!”

  Daliya stood up. “Where–”

  “Somewhere else where I’m needed.” He huffed.

  “To your room?”

  “No. To the training grounds.”

  “I thought you said your injuries were life-threatening.” Daliya raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I’m fine now.”

  “Really? I was thinking you needed more rest. I was even willing to stay with you till you felt better. But if you’re feeling fine…” She trailed off.

  He blinked at her. Then fell back on the bed. “On second thought, I’m not feeling that okay.” He groaned as he clutched his leg. “Help me back to my room?” He shot her a hopeful look.

  “I thought it was your hand that was injured.”

  “I must have forgotten to mention my leg. I think I have a sprained ankle.” He winced, trying to garner her sympathy.

  Daliya rolled her eyes but offered him her hand.