“You will let himgo,” Jory is saying breathlessly to the king. “Now.I won’t marry you if you hurt him. The alliance will be worthless. You need my father’s magic—”
“And you need mine.” His voice is tired. “I haven’t hurt him, Princess.” He grabs hold of my bindings and jerks me upright, until I’m on my knees, facing him.
If I had that garrote around his throat now, I wouldn’t stop. Not even for Jory. I hate that I talked to him. I hate that I listened to him. I hate that Itrustedhim, even for a second. Rage is building in my chest, and I can barely breathe through it.
“I hope the other Hunters find you,” the princess says to him. The viciousness in her voice is chilling. “I hope theytake their time.”
“My soldiers will find us first,” he says. His voice is cool, practical. “And you will be safe, as promised. But I cannot release a man who killed one of my soldiers and forced us out of the palace.”
“I didn’t kill him!” I snap.
Jory takes a step forward, until they’re nearly toe to toe. In the flickering firelight, she looks every bit as dangerous as he does. “Youwillrelease him. You willlet him go, or I will make sure my father’s armyendsyou.”
The king looks right back at her, and he doesn’t back down. I’m beginning to think he never does. He lifts his right hand, then sketchesa quick sigil. A lick of flame swirls right out of the stove to hover above his palm, inches from her arm.
Jory draws a sharp breath, suddenly frozen in place.
So am I.
As we watch, the flame gathers in a ball on the king’s palm, reflecting off his cheeks and spinning gold in his hair. It’s terrifying and wondrous and in spite of everything, I can’t help but stare.
When Maddox Kyronan speaks, it’shistone that’s chilling. “Do I seem worried?”
Chapter Thirteen
The Warrior
The instant we met, the princess accused me of atrocities against my people. The words were piercing—but they weren’t without merit. I know exactly how much damage my fire can cause, and I saw her reaction when the first burst of flame responded to my magic. I expect that the sight of my power now will remind her just how vulnerable her position is.
The princess, however, does not stand down.
In any other circumstance, I’d be impressed at her bravery. I have soldiers who won’t dare get in my face like this. But for all the ways she looked innocent and lost earlier, she looks like a vengeful queen right now. Maybe it’s good that she wasn’t a part of the negotiations, because she’s certainly more daring than her brother.
I expect her to issue more threats—or perhaps to negotiate.
Instead, she draws back a hand to smack me.
I have a handful of flame, but she doesn’t care. I can’t block without the risk of setting her dress on fire, so I twist and deflect, crushing the flame out of my hand. She clips me in the jaw anyway. Her rage is relentless, because she recovers quickly enough to swing again. This time I catch her wrist before a strike can land.
She’s ready for it, because she’s got a hairpin in her other hand. Without hesitation, she really does aim for my eyes. She’s stronger than I expect, and I’m trying not to hurt her, so the steel pin scrapes across my temple, stinging immediately.
“Allright, Princess,” I snap. This time I catch her wrists and wrestle her still. “That’s enough.”
Her chest is heaving, and she surges forward despite my grip. I twist hard and get her hands trapped behind her back. It leaves her pressed against my chest, my arms holding her there. Tendrils of dark hair havespun loose from the curl she unpinned, and they fall across her face. She’s breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her eyes full of fury.
As if I’m the one who bound and gaggedthemfor a march through the sewers.
“You are aliar,” she grates out. “You tricked him. You trickedus. I cannot believe I trusted you for a second. Dane will have his guardsexecuteyou. And your soldiers. And your—”
I spin her around so quickly that she gives a little yip, and I force myself to soften my grip.I deserve every ounce of her anger. I pull a spare set of bootlaces from my belt and wind them around her wrists.
She tries to kick back, but her feet are bare, and I still have my boots and greaves, so I barely feel it.
“Ihateyou,” she snaps.
I knot off the cord around her wrists and sigh.
I should be relieved. I should beecstatic.I’m free. My attacker is confined. The princess is safe. There should be a thrum of vindication in my chest, and there is, but it’s clouded by something else.
