Reina had been right: it was difficult to think of her as a child after watching her turn Drautos into well-charred punching bag with her face empty of anything and her knuckles red.

And, at the same time, there had never been a moment when Cor had wanted to stop her.

He dragged Drautos into an empty room in the deserted dungeon, tossed him in a corner, and locked him in. It would have been a mercy if he choked on his own blood and suffocated. But Reina was right. He didn't deserve even that much.

Cor dropped the key into Reina's hand. "Where next?"

"The Glaive will need a new captain—and some pruning. Make sure they're waiting."

"More traitors?" Cor reached for his radio.

"Most of the Kingsglaive. I want a contingent of Crownsguard, as well."

Shit. How had they noticed nothing? It made his skin crawl just to radio in and have them all summoned back to headquarters immediately for further instructions. How many of those voices he heard in response belonged to traitors?

And was she really going to walk back upstairs with blood dripping down her fingers?

"Your Highness." Cor stopped outside the bathroom. When she turned to look at him, he pushed the door open. "If you don't want hint of this to reach Regis' ears, you should get cleaned up."

She looked at her hands as if she had only just realized they were covered in blood.

"Yes. Thank you."

Cor sent her back when she missed a smudge of blood on her cheek. Once she was presentable they climbed the stairs to the ground floor. Still avoiding the main public space of the Citadel, they made for the Kingsglaive headquarters. Chatter on Cor's radio confirmed that the imperials had arrived—or were arriving—and Reina was still avoiding their eyes.

So they took a roundabout way and arrived to find the Kingsglaive assembled and waiting. Their reaction to Cor walking in ranged from surprised to perplexed in varying shades. Concern rose as more Crownsguards joined them until they were practically one-to-one with the Glaives.

"At attention!" Cor barked. "Line up."

They scrambled to do so. If nothing else, they were disciplined.

Disciplined traitors. It was like sanitized shit.

"Your Highness." Cor stepped aside as Reina entered. Heads turned—then bowed.

She walked down the line of Glaives, looking at each face with steely consideration. When she reached the end she turned sharply and began walking back. This time she stopped along the way.

"This one."

Cor motioned to his Crownsguards and a pair detached to detain the Glaive she indicated.

"What—?" The Glaive, a weasel-faced man with light brown hair and pale eyes, pulled against the Crownsguards, testing their strength.

"Silence in the princess' presence," Cor said. "Take him."

Reina continued to walk. She stopped in front of the next and the next and the next in line, whittling down the Kingsglaive until more than half had been pulled aside by the Crownsguards. The remaining Glaives—scarcely more than a few dozen—moved a little closer together, as if concerned that Reina would hand them over to the Crownsguards as well.

"Where do you want them taken?" Cor asked.

"The same place as the other traitorous filth." She said it coldly—matter-of-factly—without even venom.

"We haven't done anything!" Said the weasel-faced Glaive.

Reina turned cool eyes on him. "You have. You've already betrayed your comrades by killing one of your own. The rest of you I hold under conspiracy to commit treason."

For a moment his face contorted in rage. Then— "You think a few of these fools can hold us? You'll never stop what's coming to Lucis."

He spat on the floor. Then he flashed with blue light and reappeared a few feet away, charging at her with a curved blade in his hand. "For hearth and home!"

"Reina—!"

Cor had only taken a single step—impulse and reflex, in spite of the logic that kicked in much later—before Reina had the Glaive on the ground with her knee in his back.

"Scum," she said. "Did you really think I would let you keep my father's magic so you could stab him in the back?"

What happened next was difficult to explain in any words Cor knew. Something… popped. The room flashed with light. And every traitor-Glaive that had been reaching for their weapons or phasing free of the Crownsguards or calling fire stopped.

The fire died. The trace of blue around them vanished. A Crownsguard ran one of them through with his sword when the Glaive failed to phase out of the way. Their magic was gone.

Reina hauled the weasel-face Glaive to his feet and shoved him toward the line of Crownsguards. "Take them. Lock them up. I'll deal with them later."

Crownsguards filed out of the room, dragging traitors between them.

"I don't know how long I'll be able to keep such a large force of Crownsguards from notice," Cor said. "Clarus has probably already heard."

"It matters little if he knows, now. Father will have felt me cut their bonds to him." She dusted herself off, straightening her dress. "And I can't decide if he will be more shocked that it was possible, or more irked that I tried."

Cor couldn't think of anything to say to that. Instead he said: "Are you alright?"

She looked at him curiously for a moment with her head at an angle. The look on her face was almost a smile. Almost. Then she reached out and grasped his arm briefly. "I'm fine. He was slower than you."

Reina turned around while he was still trying to decide if that was an insult or not.

"Glaives," she said, "Your ranks have been poisoned by an imperial infiltrator. Everyone who still stands in this room is loyal to Lucis; I suggest you remain that way."

She let the silence—and the threat—hang until even Cor was trying not to shift in discomfort.

When she broke it, it was jarring:

"Nyx Ulric."

More than one of them flinched. The Glaive named Nyx stepped forward and dropped to one knee. "Your Highness."

"You've been promoted to Captain. Until this mess is cleaned up, you report directly to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I won't let you down."

A pause. Then: "I know."