Eleana's sword sliced through the air, aiming for the Emperor's shoulder—a disabling strike, not fatal. Her mother had taught her better than to kill in rage.
But the Emperor twisted away, impossibly fast for a man his age, even without magic enhancement.
"You think I'd be unprepared?" he snarled, backing toward the corner where he'd been herded. "Forty years ruling this empire, and you think I wouldn't have contingencies?"
Parmilda moved to flank him from the left, her blade steady. "You're cornered. No magic. No guards willing to die for you anymore. Surrender."
"Surrender?" The Emperor's laugh was bitter, broken. "To you? To the daughter I should have killed at birth? Never."
His hand shot to his finger—a ring Elara had noticed earlier but dismissed as decorative. Plain silver band, nothing remarkable.
Until it started glowing.
"Get back!" Elara shouted from the doorway.
Too late.
