The crash of the balcony doors and Alaric's roar had been too loud to ignore. Already, the heavy thud of armored boots echoed from the gallery, and the nobles who were cautiously speculating what was going on outside the balcony door gave way—the Golden Guards were coming.
Julian's chest heaved, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He could see the apex of the trap. If Alaric so much as breathed toward his dagger, Aurelian would have his excuse to blame me for the assassination attempt and Alaric was an 'accomplice' and with no other witness, I would have my head on a spike before the moon reached its peak.
Without giving the Emperor a chance to speak, without allowing that thin, mocking mouth to form the words 'Assassination attempt,' Julian moved.
He didn't look at Alaric. He couldn't. If he looked at the Duke's devastated face for one second longer, his own resolve would shatter.
