A wineglass arced through the air, catching the torchlight as it spun—then shattered against the soldier's forehead with a sharp crack. Crimson streaked down his temple as slivers of glass scattered at his feet. He stood rigid, unmoving, not daring to flinch under his king's wrath.
Reuben's voice tore through the chamber, raw and manic. "What did you just say? How could they escape? Were there not guards posted everywhere? I entrusted the transfer to Luki precisely because they were former generals and he is a former bandit leader!" His breath came in ragged bursts as he staggered forward, rage distorting his face.
The wounded soldier answered through gritted teeth, his posture still stiff with discipline. "Your Highness, they were… rescued. We believe it was General Odin's children—with aid from the banished prince, Prince Alaric."