She attempts to wrestle her wrist out of my grip, aiming the tiara for her head.
“Wait,” I murmur. “Let me.”
For a moment, I think she’ll refuse. But then she nods, a flicker of something—vulnerability? duty?—in her eyes.
I gently place it atop her blue hair, luscious and drying in soft waves down her shoulders. She looks a little ridiculous in my oversized shirt and boots. But she holds her head high and meets my eyes like a queen.
A trickle of blood runs down her temple from a thorn digging into her skin.
“Shit,” I mutter. “I pressed too hard.”
Flori didn’t even flinch. How much pain does she hide from me?
I reach out to wipe away the blood. She flinches from my touch and finishes wiping it. Staring at her red-stained finger, she says, “Even thorns can wound the rose they protect.”
She’s talking about me.
I let my hand drop, turmoil burning in my gut. “Flori, I?—”
“Save it,” she snaps. “Let’s just get this over with.”
She stalks past me toward the Labyrinth walls, her back rigid. “I assume we climb over them if we can’t find an exit.”
I exhale, long and slow, and then follow. As we approach the towering, hedged walls, I notice something off. The leaves are unnaturally still.
“Wait,” I call out, grabbing Flori’s arm. She tries to jerk away, but I hold firm. “Something’s wrong.”
A mocking laugh echoes through the air as the hedge wall comes alive, leaves and vines lashing out like serpents. Theycoil around our limbs, yanking us off our feet and dragging us toward the wall.
“Dray!” Flori cries out, terror in her voice as she struggles against the vines.
I thrash and claw at the leaves, but their grip is unyielding. The hedge swallows us whole, thorns tearing at my skin, as we’re pulled into suffocating darkness.
We tumble out the other side, gasping for air. I scramble to my feet, reaching for Flori, but freeze at the sight before us.
The Baron smirks cruelly in the dim light, a knife pressed to Vesper Demaya’s throat.
“Well, well,” the Baron drawls. “Right on time.”
Demaya’s wide eyes glimmer. Blood stains her white robe, but it’s dried. Not hers. My hand twitches toward my scimitar, but he sees my intentions and presses the blade harder. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“You think I care what happens to her?” I growl, my vision turning red.
Flori’s gasp is audible, but I warned her. I’ve done despicable things. I’m not a good man. I’m the one who put Demaya in the Pen in the first place. She’s but one of many I’ll gladly sacrifice to save Flori’s life.
“I think you care what happens to her.” The Baron nods at Flori.
“Then you’re mistaken.” I slowly reach around my back for my bow, but halt when my gaze drifts to a shadow moving closer down the passage. Movement on the Baron’s left. More figures make themselves known on top of the hedge wall, like soldiers on a castle’s battlement.
“Tell me then,” the Baron laughs. “What should I know, Huntsman?”
My jaw clenches and I count the enemies I have to kill. Too many. No mask.
Fuck.
“They can’t be all on your payroll,” I drawl. “I’m sure a few will switch sides for the right price—for their new queen.”
“A few?” He gives me a scathing look. “You never were that bright, were you, boy?”
