Zac’s lips unscrewed, and he straightened to his full height, releasing the man. “Stay together,” he warned, stepping in the way of the next shift and those impatient in line. He turned slightly, scanning over the crowd too mixed to be discernable as anyone specific. It was only a matter of time before the only travelers left were carrying Marks, and with as much space as the citadel offered, it was foolish to think anyone would truly be barred entry. “Everyone will hear the queen today, whether by Merits or Marks.”

  “Still playing protector of the people, Zacion Thraelon?” A voice cut through the excited chatter. Kellam, a broad-set man with a thick black beard and thin lips, strutted to the post and slapped a hand on the side of the guard shelter. “Some things never change, do they? Even when you’re neck-deep in Merits, you can’t help but champion the Mark-heavy hordes.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Before he could respond, his jaw slack, and words dangling in his mouth, the bells tolled again. The song, longer and louder than before, coupled with trumpets. As the blaring trailed off, the slow, heavy knell filled the air, vibrating the stones themselves. The crowd fell silent, and the air thickened. Zac shifted, leaning around his post with Kellam by his side. In the highest tower window, a shadow moved. A shiver raced through him. The queen was coming. The queen was coming…

  Continue to Chapter 7