I try to steel myself against the words, but I can’t. I’m so tired of listening to people beg me for mercy and never being able to grantit. My brother is the king. There should be another way. There should be abetterway.
I hear Tessa’s voice in my head.
You could have been kind, and you could have been gentle, and you could’ve explained.
She was talking about the night she snuck into the palace, when she woke up and discovered I was the terrifying Prince Corrick, not the warm outlaw Weston Lark she’d grown to love and trust.
And she was right.
“Stop,” I grind out. “Lochlan, wait.”
“It’s her da,” he says, his tone resigned. “She doesn’t need to see this.”
I look down at the man I’m pinning to the floor. “Are you Ford Cheeke?” I say, because I want to be absolutely sure.
He swallows hard against the dowel. The burn scars against his throat have an unusual pattern—not like someone who’s been caught in a fire. Like someone who’s been exposed to fire over and over again.
“Yes,” he chokes out.
“Are you passing secret messages about Oren Crane to the king?” I say. “You have the means to get word to Galen Redstone?”
“What are you doing?” Lochlan hisses.
Ford looks back at me, and his expression shifts as he studies me. But that only lasts for a second before his eyes flick back to Penny. “My daughter—you have to let her go—”
“I’ll let her go if you answer honestly.”
“Don’t tell them anything,” Penny is saying behind Lochlan’s hand. “It’s a trap.”
Then she must bite him because he yelps and jerks his hand away.
And then she starts screaming.
It’s only for a second before Lochlan clamps his hand over her mouth again, then braces his back against the wall as she redoubles her struggles. He’s practically panting from the effort to keep her still. “Either get it done, or we’re going to have to run. The guards probably heardthat.” Now he sounds aggrieved.
I press the blade against Ford’s neck. “I don’t work for Crane,” I say. “But I need to know if I’m speaking to someone who truly has the means to get word to Redstone. Tell me now.”
He studies me again. “Your accent. You’re from Kandala.” Realization dawns. “Penny—Penny,stop!”
His daughter goes still.
I don’t look away from Ford. “Yes. We are. Your turn.”
He nods, then winces as his chin touches the cold steel of the blade. “Yes. I can get word to the king. Who are you?”
I take a deep breath and hope I’m not making a mistake here. I withdraw the blade, then the dowel. I sit back and let him go.
“I’m Prince Corrick,” I say. “Younger brother to King Harristan of Kandala. We were separated from theDawn Chaseron our journey to Ostriary and captured by Oren Crane.”
Ford pushes himself to sitting, but at that, he goes still. His voice is very quiet. “I received word that the prince was killed.”
“I’m very much alive.” I glance at Lochlan, who’s let Penny go. She’s staring at me, too. I look back at her father. “Master Cheeke, forgive the violent intrusion, but we need your help.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Corrick
We end up in Ford Cheeke’s office, standing around a long table. I think we’re all still too tense to sit. The room is warm and smells faintly of tobacco smoke. Ford is clearly an organized man, because the room is neat as a pin, not a paper or book out of place. The bookcases that line the back wall of the room are so perfectly ordered that I’d be hesitant to remove a book. Even the ledgers and papers on his desk seem arranged with precision.
