Another door. There had to be another door. Huddled underneath the wall of shields held up by the guards, Faine couldn't look for another way out of the throne room. The guests were clogging up the doorway as arrows rained down on the dais, on the shields, and on the innocent spectators themselves.

The chaos roiled in Faine's bones but she could only keep her head down. Guards cried out in agony when the arrows hit what their shields couldn't protect. Their legs and the bottoms of their abdomens. But they didn't go down. They'd die fighting for the high elf family huddled underneath, pressed around Faine.

Virion's blood blinded her senses, but he shouted at the guards to head towards the back of the dais. Off the focal point of the room and away from the arrows raining down on them. Rising Eternity was stationed above, everywhere, it seemed, and they were doing what they knew best. Faine normally fought on the other side of this; shooting down with them, but after proclaiming herself an enemy of her home, there wasn't any chance to reason with them. Or go back.

She'd strangle Kaspar for this if she made it out alive. His missed shot could've easily killed the leader of Pinedon.

As a group, the guards huddled around and pressed in tighter. In front of Faine, the high elf daughter was sobbing through her teeth and pleading for someone to please get them out. Not towards the doorway to the throne room, but to a hidden passageway. Perfect for times like this, and likely crafted for this reason alone.

Arrows pricked on the metal shields and vibrated. Faine's teeth rattled, but she clutched on tight to her senses. Did Kaspar know she was in the huddle? Did he even care? She wondered if he stopped shooting at the sight of her dashing underneath the shields before someone else from Rising Eternity could attempt to kill her. And there was another, Nalea, a face Faine didn't see, that questioned her belief.

Friends, no longer. They made their decision, Rising Eternity before family, while she had chosen the opposite.

To hell with them all, then.

A guard slammed on the stone wall off to the side. The door was one Faine hadn't recognized before, no one else had, either. It pushed open easily, and she shoved in the people in front of her, starting with the high elf family and then the guards. A minotaur grabbed onto her shoulders and guided her in with force, shutting and locking the hidden passageway behind them.

Immortal eyes didn't have trouble seeing in the dark. Before Faine could digest being in that passageway with a sobbing high elf daughter and injured high elf father, she ran. Not to get away from them, but to ensure Ilian was still alive. He had to be.

Light seeped in from the hallways of the castle and people screaming, running for their lives, thundered through the cracks. Their bodies were a blur in the split-second Faine got to see them. Some fell by arrow; others were lucky enough to stand the test of speed. She needed to find a door that didn't belong to a hallway.

Faine needed a proper exit.

Using the wall as her guide, she surveyed every hidden exit in the dark passageway of cold stone and dirt floors. Each one of them led to a personal chamber or out into the halls of the castle. When the stench of blood seeped from the other side, puddles forming through the cracks, she continued on. Far enough to where she couldn't hear Virion's swearing as he ripped the arrow from his shoulder like a proper leader.

Faine didn't fret about his well-being. High elves were blessed with superior immortal bodies, they healed in a matter of minutes with no setbacks. Precisely why it was so easy for their breed to create more; the poor women had no ailments from pregnancy or the birth of their flawless children.

Finally, Faine came to a wall that didn't smell like blood or terror on the other side. She smelled grass. Pushing open as hard as she could, the hidden exit creaked open far enough for her to slip through the small space. Her boot caught, but she tugged it free and was up and running in a matter of seconds.

Ilian. He was somewhere inside the castle.

At least, she believed that to be the case until she heard the scalding screech of Zebulon's voice. The pounding of his wings beat loudly against the castle and in response, Ilian's voice shouted at Celestia. They were still fighting him. Ilian was still alive.

That scent of leather and pine had never been so beautiful. Faine dashed around the side of the palace, through the hedges and without regard for the luxurious gardens. The fleeing guests trampled everything in their wake. The flowers drooped, petals knocked off and dirt smudged underneath boots. Hedges faced the brunt of it, their branches snapped and their leaves cracked from the brittle fight to stay alive.

Faine saw them there, in the middle of the gardens. Celestia and Ilian back to back, blood streaming down both their faces. They were watching for something, waiting for it to come back around. Ilian's chest rose and fell rapidly from short breaths, but he gripped on tightly to the sword in his hand and waited. Anticipated.

"Ilian!" Faine cried out.

He whirled, finding her in the midst of the flowers and broken bushes, and those bright eyes widened in terror. Nothing would've prepared Faine for Zebulon slamming into her back at the same moment the mortal cried out to caution her. In that moment, he knew he could not reach her, didn't have the breath to shout a warning.

The stone scraped into her skin, but that wasn't the worst of it. Claws dug into her shoulders and Faine screamed out from the pain, paralyzed as Zebulon ripped away the bracers on her forearms, took the weapons in her boots and strapped to her body. Warm blood seeped through her shirt; she was lifted off the ground against the beat of the seennouk's large wings.

Petals and leaves blew across the stone from the force and Zebulon's grip shifted from her shoulders to grasp the leather armor she wore. To keep her alive, she realized. For whatever he planned next.

Faine's body was too weak to fight back, she could hardly lift her arms over her head to claw his legs away. Through her blurred vision, she watched Ilian dashing across the gardens, leaping over the hedges and the flowers—to reach them. Faine extended her burning arm in his direction but he was too far. Zebulon was rising higher and higher with each second and if she dropped now, she'd die.

His lips formed her name. Pain-filled eyes, bloodless lips.

The wind tore at her hair, but the only thing she could focus on was the running mortal. He was screaming at the top of his lungs for her, for someone to do something, but he ran out of room. Ilian braced his hands against the iron fence surrounding the palace and stopped, watching her vanish into the skyline.

His disappearing figure was the last thing Faine saw as Zebulon released one claw and used that to knock her out cold with one swift kick to the head.