The last thing I remembered was the sound of wood splintering, a violent, rhythmic thud against the heavy oak doors of my chambers. I remembered the metallic tang of fear in the back of my throat and the frantic, desperate need to shove my children under the bed. Then, a white-hot pressure had exploded behind my eyes, and the world simply... went out. Like a candle snuffed by a cold wind.
When I finally blinked my eyes open, I wasn't on the floor. I was tucked into the soft, silk-sheeted expanse of my massive bed, the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains in pale, mocking streaks of gold. The room was deathly quiet.
I sat up abruptly, my head spinning with a dull, thumping ache. Standing at the foot of the bed were the usual attendants, but they weren't the invisible, effici
