EMBER’S POV

I don’t even blink. I don’t look away from her face. I just hold my hand out to the side.

“Daxon,” I say, my voice dead calm. “Phone.”

Daxon doesn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. He slaps his heavy, encrypted comms device straight into my palm.

Marjorie’s breath catches. Her chest heaves, panic finally warring with the fanaticism.

“What are you doing?”

I dial the King.

It rings twice.

“Daxon.” Knox’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble. He assumes it’s an emergency when his personal guard calls him directly.

“It’s me,” I say.

There is a micro-shift in the line. The danger turns into something much...