The crowd surged and pulled back around Maxence, roiling like the choppy ocean around the ship. The sea breeze fanned the stench of unwashed men and garbage toward Maxence, fouling the air and chilling his bare back.
Maxence kept his hands up, ready to fight.
Cold lines impressed his palms and the pads of his fingers. Blood trickled down his wrists.
Men prowled through the crowd, moving around him and walking behind each other. To his left, the morning sun was near the horizon, and its white blast glared on the sea and made it hard to keep track of who was moving where.
Shouts rang out for both sides of the fight about whether to kill Max or not, and he couldn’t tally whether the superstitious royalists or the bloodthirsty kidnappers were ahead in the polls.
Michael Rossi seemed to be staying out of it, for the most part, standing back with Maxence and watching, but he leaned forward on his toes, alert.
Irritated anger surrounded Max’s steadily beating heart.Damnthese men for kidnapping him.Damn themfor murdering so many people at the Sea Change Gala, including Nico.
Nico.
And damn Quentin Sault most of all, thattraitor.
Quentin Sault’s colorless eyes narrowed at Max. “Rossi,shoot him.”
Michael Rossi didn’t move, his eyes spreading the folds around his eyes. “This is not part of the plan. We were to eliminate the usurpers who would launch a coup, not kill an heir to the throne.”
Sault screamed at Rossi, his mouth a cavern that blew foul winds.“Shoot him!”
Michael Rossi took a step backward.
One guy, a tall, lanky man with a faded tattoo of a skull and cross bones like a pirate flag across his chest and shoulders said, “We didn’t sign on to kill anybody in cold blood, especially a king.”
Which was the fault line Max had been looking for.
He straightened and flipped one hand in the air dismissively. “Yes, do it.”
The crowd quieted, staring at him and Quentin Sault.
Sault’s lips peeled back from his teeth, and he fumbled for the handgun holstered on his hip.
Max told him, “Go ahead, Quentin. Do it and get it over with. We’ve both known you were going to kill me someday. I always wondered if you’d wait until Pierre gave the order, or whether you would kill me in my sleep when I was on a mission in Africa where you could arrange for no one to be able to find my body.”
Horror hushed the crowd.
Quentin drew his pistol and pressed the cold barrel against Max’s forehead between his eyes.
Maxence stared down the steel decline of the gun and Sault’s arm at the shorter man.“Do it.”
The tattooed guy shoved Quentin, knocking the gun away from Maxence’s forehead.
It clattered to the deck, and Michael Rossi kicked it farther away. Another man picked it up, admiring its high polish.
The tattooed guy said, “You never said this was to murder a king, Dead Eyes.”
Maxence had never heard of a more apt nickname for Quentin Sault. “So,Dead Eyes,what was the plan? Just a little casual kidnapping for ransom? Interesting that you pickeda shipto hold me prisoner on, isn’t it?”
Quentin spat at Maxence, “It doesn’t matter where I stash you or whether you live or die today, or whether anybody ransoms you. All that matters is you’renotat the Crown Council meeting for the election tonight. The money doesn’t matter.”
Rossi looked confused.
The men surrounding Max and Quentin leaned back and looked at each other, scowling.
A tickle of energy formed in Max’s mind.
