The man glances at Wren but snaps his gaze back to Quinn, who is the more significant threat here. “On his order, you’re to be killed.”
Quinn grunts out a laugh.
“He can’t be that stupid,” Wren remarks.
“He’s not,” Quinn snaps and slams the soldier against the tree again.
“I’m just following orders,” the soldier grunts.
Smirking, I fling the dagger straight up, spinning it. I catch it by the hilt. A trick I perfected while a member of the royal garrison long before this fool joined the ranks. Back when serving our king had honor attached to it. “As sheep do.”
“You obeyed the orders of a fucking imbecile,” Quinn growls. “And for that, you’re going to die.” With a flick of his head, he motions to an area to his left. “Don’t put away your bow, Wren. There’s one more hiding in the trees. I can smell him. He pissed himself. Do you want me to handle this piece of shit, or do you want me to go kill the other one?”
“This one is ours.” I tap the blade against my palm, eager to get a kill in. “Go do your primal hunt and torture thing with the other one.”
Quinn’s grin sends a goddamn chill right down my spine. For a moment, I almost pity his prey. Almost, but not quite. Fuck these soldiers. And fuck this one’s sudden weeping.
Apparently, he is plenty afraid.
Look at him, a grown man crying. A royal soldier sobbing with snot running from his nose.
He certainly was brave moments ago when he spits at Quinn’s feet.
Where’s his bravado now?
“Come on now.” With one hand, I grab him by the collar of his tunic. “At least die like a man.”
He locks his limbs. “I have a family.”
Did this lice-infested pig testicle mention family tome? The audacity.
I shake him with such force, I’m shocked I don’t snap his fucking neck. “As do I, and yet you had no problem walking into The Cup and Crown intending to kill my mother, you piece of shit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“They always are,” Wren says with a nasty laugh. “After the fact.”
Up comes the dagger still gripped in my hand as the not-so-distant screams of a man being slaughtered cuts across the night. “We’re going to enjoy hurting you for taking the wrong side in this war between King John and the people of Rygard.”
As a second scream reaches us, Wren drops his bow to switch to his sword—and while we don’t waste too much time on him, we do make damn sure he learns the meaning of the fucking word ‘sorry’ by the time we’re finished with him.
ChapterFifteen
Iam not an easily flustered man, but I am awestruck as I watch the woman enter my hall.
My God, Rapunzel is Anne reborn.
Of course, I must look past her hair—that glorious, golden hair—to see the resemblance, but it’s there. With each step she takes toward me, the hand of grief tightens its hold around my heart. It’s a reminder of the day when my Anne told me she was with child. That day, I was a man elated. But it was a joy that ended the day this woman took Anne from me.
This woman, Rapunzel, owes me a debt.
A life for a life.
I sit proudly on the throne, crowned head high and jaw set. I want her to see me. Behold the king who burned his kingdom to find her. That is the power I wield. Yet, this slip of a woman—my daughter—refuses to lift her eyes. She stares at the ground as she marches through the crowd of curious courtiers. Her false display of docility does not trick me. Any dolt can see the strained majesty in her graceful movements. The room crackles with the force of her courage. No, I am not fooled by her façade of timidity.
Not at all.
Nothing can break a noble spirit, not even a lifetime in a tower.
