The royal guards had locked around Morgana before the dust finished settling.
Twelve men and women in enchanted plate formed a wall of overlapping shields and layered barriers, their formation closing with the practiced speed of soldiers who had trained for this scenario a thousand times. Inside the wall, two guards knelt beside their queen and cracked healing potions against her lips, tilting the vials until the liquid ran down her throat and into lungs that were barely pulling air.
The healer began her work.
She was a tall woman with close-cropped grey hair and the kind of expression that had seen more dying soldiers than living ones. She dropped to her knees beside Morgana and her staff was already glowing, a chant rolling off her tongue in a low, rapid cadence that pulled the ambient mana in the air toward the queen.
"Hold Her Majesty's head back. I need the airway clear." Her voice was flat and clipped and left no room for argument.
