“You won’t touch a hair on his head,” I hiss. “I won’t let you.”
Casually, he slides his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Who is there to stop me?”
I glance around in desperation. Amir struggles to stand, but the prince kicks him hard in the abdomen, and he falls, a guttural scream muffled against the fabric stuffing his mouth. Tuleen sits quietly, expression blank. I haven’t the slightest idea where Notus is or what state he’s in. I have no means of defending myself, or my family. But I have faced adversity before. Who am I? A survivor through and through.
I whirl, snatching a candlestick from a nearby table, and fling it as hard as I can at Prince Balior’s face. Shadow explodes from his palm, knocking both me and the candlestick aside simultaneously.
Slowly, he advances on me, his features frozen with inhuman rage. I scramble backward until my spine hits the wall.
His ebon power grasps hold of my body and slams me once, twice, thrice against the stone. Pain ruptures at the back of my skull, and I see stars. A muted scream cuts through the ringing in my ears. Tuleen, or Amir?
I slump in the shadow’s grip. The agony is so great my stomach lurches. My head feels as though it has burst. A trickle of wetness dampens my hair—blood.
When I manage to open my eyes, I am met by Prince Balior’s handsome features less than a hand’s width away. “Please believe me when I say I do not wish to harm you,” he whispers, cool breath skimming across my mouth, “but should you continue your refusal to cooperate, I will have no choice.”
He releases me. My limbs fold, and I slump against the wall, whimpering at the pain pressing into the backs of my eyes, digging down into my neck. With effort, I manage to shift my attention toward Amir and Tuleen’s huddled forms. My brother’s gag is tied so tightly it cuts white lines at the corners of his mouth.
“Or perhaps I should punish your family instead?” the prince continues, veering toward Ammara’s monarchs. “Will that make you reconsider?” He lashes toward my brother. Blackness swarms Amir’sface. He lurches wildly from side to side, arms and legs bound, unable to claw free.
“Stop, please!” I fall forward, crawling toward Prince Balior. My arms tremble beneath my weight, my surroundings fading in and out. “I’ll cooperate, I will, just… please, don’t hurt them.”
The prince considers my plea, perhaps weighing its desperation. He shapes a fist with his hand, and the shadow vanishes. Amir collapses on the ground, gasping for air, his eyes wild. My chest tightens. If I had not been so consumed by my resentment toward Notus, would I have identified the prince’s insidious intentions? If I cannot kill him, what am I to do?
“I’m glad to hear of your change of heart, Princess Sarai.” He peers down at me pityingly. “All I need is an audience with the South Wind. I can’t risk him killing the beast I’ve unleashed and ruining my plans. You understand, I’m sure.”
“And what are these plans?” Aside from spreading darkness across the mortal realms.
“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you.”
Arrogant fool. “You’ve been deceived,” I say, voice unwavering. “You are a tool to this beast, nothing more. You’ve granted it what it desires—freedom—and now it has no use for you.”
I watch the words hit with satisfaction. There is a subtle twisting of his features. “The beast requires my protection until it is of sound mind, its transformation complete. Without my protection, it is vulnerable.”
“And when it has regained full use of its faculties?” I press, watching those shallowest cracks run deep. “Who is to say it will not call back the power it has gifted you?”
He raises a hand, a dark look in his eyes, but the door blasts open, hurled clear across the room to slam into the bookshelves with an explosive crunch of wood. Heavy tomes collapse onto the desk, toppling the piece of furniture. Tuleen gasps through her gag as Prince Balior yanks me against his chest, a shadowy tendril banded across my waist.
The South Wind ducks into the smoke-heavy room. An immense wind shrieks and howls, tightening into a swirling vortex of smoke,ash, and debris. A moment later, the wind dies. In silence, Notus takes everything in at a glance. Ammara’s monarchs, bound and gagged. Me, restrained against Prince Balior’s chest. Notus’ robe hangs off his frame, naught but scraps. Blood and ash powder his skin, his hair. They are empty, his eyes. Completely devoid of emotion.
“I will make this simple,” Notus growls in a voice so riddled with rage I hardly recognize it. “Release Sarai and her family, and I will make your death a swift one.”
But the prince only grins. “Welcome, Notus. So glad you could make it.” He gestures toward the study, now a mess of broken wood and parchment, soot coating every available surface. “Though I’d hoped our meeting would take place under more, shall we say, agreeable circumstances.”
Notus steps closer. “Release Sarai, now.”
The prince tilts his head in contemplation. He glances between Notus, Amir, Tuleen, and myself. Then he sighs gustily. “Well, you do drive a hard bargain.” The prince is all smiles. “Very well.” He gestures toward the South Wind’s waist. “In exchange for your betrothed’s freedom, I will take your sword. And your life.”
Notus’ hand drifts toward the hilt. The weapon hangs protectively in its leather sheath. “You’re mad if you think I would hand this over to you,” he growls. “Last time. Step away from Sarai, if you value your life.”
Prince Balior laughs and laughs and laughs. “You want me to step away? The solution is simple: your sword.”
“I’ve already given you my answer,” Notus grits out.
“I don’t think you understand just how truly dire the situation is,” Prince Balior replies. The shadow encasing my body migrates up my chest, higher, to wrap lovingly around my neck. Deliberately, the substance tightens. I grasp hold of its slithering shape, yank at it to no avail as the noose draws taut. Dark spots overwhelm the sickly light. I wheeze, my strength waning.
There is a roar, a crash of sound. The noose vanishes, and I drop, a throb of pain shooting through my skull as I hit the floor. Scimitar raised, the South Wind hacks at Prince Balior, who tosses up a shield.The blade skitters off its wisped surface. Notus regroups, hurtling a thin shard of air at the prince, who dives toward the floor.
He hits the ground and rolls. A heartbeat later, he’s on his feet, drawing forth a protective dome. Wind makes impact with a sharp crack. Shadow bursts from Prince Balior, a many-armed creature of darkness, lashing its multiple tentacles toward Notus. It grips his wrists, legs, waist, chest. He snarls, attempting to free himself. Wind daggers its way through two of the arms. They dissolve and immediately reform.
