Her Graceful War Song (Carissa Sinclair) novel Chapter 943

Heather lingered outside the room for a long while before slowly walking away, a deep unease settling in her chest. Ever since Harvey returned home, he seemed like a different person.

There were also several unfamiliar faces in the estate. These strangers didn't seem to regard her at all, despite the fact that she was a princess consort. When they crossed paths, they didn't bow or step aside, walking straight past her as if she were invisible.

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The sound of horses' hooves broke the stillness of the night, their rhythm jarring in the otherwise silent streets. The cobbled roads were deserted, with the capital's nightlife limited to the lively areas in the east and west cities, or along the river. The cheer and laughter there never reached the quiet of the southern district.

As a horse neighed, then came to a sudden halt, the air seemed to hum with an unusual tension. The light from the lanterns on the carriage didn't reach far, and the moon was hidden behind the clouds, leaving the surroundings eerily dark.

Travis held a riding whip and had a long blade strapped to his leg. He closed his eyes, listening intently to the slightest change in the air, his ears twitching as if to catch every subtle sound.

Carissa held her whip, its length coiling at her feet like a red serpent, ready to strike. Violet gripped her sword, her index finger lightly pressing against the hilt's opening. With a mere flick, the blade would slide free from its sheath.

In the darkness, more than ten shadowy figures descended without a sound, their feet barely disturbing the dust beneath them—a clear testament to their mastery of the Lightfoot Skill.

In an instant, Travis unleashed his battle prowess, his power like a thunderclap. He flicked the whip, drawing his blade with lightning speed. His Lightfoot Skill carried him as if he were riding the wind.

With a single leap, his blade was already slicing down toward one of the attackers. The assassin narrowly dodged the fatal blow, but the long blade still drew blood, the scent of it fueling the assassin's bloodlust.

Inside the carriage, the two women burst through the curtains, Carissa's long whip hissing like a striking serpent. The force of it sent two attackers reeling back.

Violet unsheathed her sword in a fluid motion. Without even pausing to twirl the blade, she stepped on Carissa's whip and leaped forward. With her deft hands, she sent her sword dancing in the air, creating a web-like shield of light that blocked the assassins outside.

The suicide soldiers moved like lightning, their swords flashing in every direction, keeping Carissa from escaping. Icarus' long blade descended in powerful strokes, slicing through the air. Mid-swing, he flipped it to hit her neck with the back of the knife. The force of the blow would surely knock her out cold—Icarus was determined to capture her in one swift move.

But in that fleeting moment, Carissa somehow evaded it.

Icarus froze, shock spreading through him.

What the hell? She had no way to escape, with the suicide soldiers' swords surrounding her on both sides and his blade coming down from above. She had nowhere to run except to retreat or burrow underground.

Yet, she hadn't moved at all—she was still standing right where she was.