“Since I’m so kind, I’ll give you one more chance to respond,” I said.
Rourke’s jaw was so taut I heard his teeth grind. So, this was the game he wanted to play. I supposed I’d gotten what I asked for—a challenge. He was no pedigree alpha ready to roll over and expose his belly. He was just what Father had said. A vicious, wild beast.
I narrowed my eyes. Rourke had made it clear he wasn’t going to speak.
“Fine,” I said simply.
Something flashed over Rourke’s face—hope, maybe—but it vanished as I jerked him along to the door. I threw it open and summoned a servant.
“Yes, highness?” she said.
“Bring me ten—no, twenty knights. Make sure they are all armed.”
“Of course.”
Rourke tensed beside me, but at least he had the sense not to ask me what I was doing. He didn’t deserve an answer.
Twenty armed knights appeared a moment later, all primed and ready to obey my command like proper inferiors should act. Rourke may have been a beast, but even he couldn’t fight his way out of being outnumbered so badly.
A small voice piped up. “Seb, what’s going on?”
Cecil stood in the hall behind the mass of guards, who moved aside for him. Elian was behind him wearing a questioning frown. For once, he seemed to read the mood and didn’t make any smart remarks.
“Stay here, Cecil,” I said firmly. “Both of you are to remain put. Do not follow us.”
“But—” Elian began.
I cut him off, shooting a frigid glare in his direction. He sunk back meekly.
Good. It was about time people respected my authority around here.
The knights escorted us through the halls and out into the garden. Rourke didn’t speak the entire time. If that was his alternative to mouthing off, it was acceptable. But soon he would understand that he was a fool to cross me.
When we reached the kennels, Rourke sucked in a breath and tensed against the leash. I smirked.
“If you fight back,” I told him gently, loud enough for my entourage to hear, “the knights have orders to skewer you where you stand. Is that understood?”
Rourke was silent, but he gave a single stiff, angry nod.
One of the knights opened the gate to the Gracehound kennels, but I said, “No. Not there. He doesn’t deserve to sit among my favorites. Open the guard dog kennels.”
The knight hurried to the opposite gate. As we marched inside, the dogs began barking, making the building throb with obnoxious echoes. The huge dogs jumped up against the kennel fencing, teeth bared and saliva dripping from their jaws. Rourke looked visibly uncomfortable. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow.
There was one kennel open at the end of the hall. A knight opened it. I unclipped Rourke’s leash but left the collar on.
“Get inside,” I ordered. “Now.”
Rourke balked. “I—”
“Knights.”
Acting at once, the knights encouraged Rourke inside with the sharp edge of their spears. With no choice but to get stabbed, Rourke grudgingly stomped into the kennel. I slammed the gate shut, locked it with a heavy-duty padlock and pocketed the key.
Rourke narrowed his eyes.
“Summon the dog keeper,” I said.
He was brought a moment later, a quiet beta ready to heed my command. He glanced at Rourke once, clearly registering that he was a man and not a dog, yet made no comment on it.
