Princess George narrowed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Night.” Hildy laughed.
“Then why are you waking me?”
“I weighed the risk and decided you’d probably want this opportunity.”
Pulling apallaaround her shoulders for warmth, George asked, “For?”
“A different approach? Less torture-y?”
Pressing her lips flat, George walked to the kitchen and took a seat at the rickety table. “I hated it.”
“I know you did. You’re soft.”
She gritted her teeth. “I’m not soft.”
“It’s a wonderful trait, considering how we grew up, and you know it. So no, I won’t hear your complaints, and you better not be feeling guilty.”
There was nothing she could do about the guilt, and George wished, for a second, that her friend Wynnie could’ve come along. Wynn’s vision magic would’ve been a huge help, especially in their current predicament.
The prisoner would probably talk for Wynnie too. She had a way with men.
George pictured the man in the cellar, those gentle blue eyes staring up at her, his tan pants pulled tight over muscled thighs—and she decided two things: One, her mind was atrocious; and, two, it was probably for the best that Wynnie wasn’t around. Because if Wynnie was there, well,Wynniewould be there. George wasn’t so sure she wanted this handsome man to meet her gorgeous friend just yet.
She really was going batty.
“Mira?” Hil asked, kicking the leg of her chair with a booted foot.
“He helped the girls without thinking,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Burke played the role of ‘dying girl in the street’ while Dunstan did the dirty work as ‘crying girl in need of help from big strong brute.’”
“And he was a big strong brute?”
“Big, strong, but not a brute.”
“Do you think spies can’t play nice?” Hildy countered.
That was what she needed to hear. With a sigh, George steeled her resolve. She wasnother father; this was questioning with a much greater purpose than to serve her own ego. This was information-seeking, realm-saving, serious business. “Let’s go talk to him again. But I don’t like this.”
“I know you don’t, but you picked him.”
Twosetsoffootstepsdescended the steps behind Isahn. He feigned sleep as one of the guards came around to his front, a curl of roses with just a hint of patchouli wafted past as she neared his restrained body. She’d been here before. This was the one who’d touched his hair and maybe—
Isahn was slapped hard, across the face.
He snapped to attention, eyes boring into the woman before him as he tried to decide whether she’d used her palm or some sort of touch magic. A beautiful, if slightly hardened young woman, with deep brown skin and puffy white hair, stood there, a finger crooked beneath his chin. Her voice was low and melodious as she spoke, “Hello there, pet. Why don’t you be a good boy and tell me who you are.”
He narrowed his eyes at the guard. He hadn’t seen the woman who’d been there when he first arrived, but she’d murmured to herself with a different voice, a raspy one—like Mira’s. This guard smelled identical, which meant one of two things: Either they used the same perfume, or this was Mira and a sound and sight mage were around.Fuck.
That big man, the one Isahn thought was called George, smelled similar too. Though his scent had been muted by the smell of burning flesh, George and Mira must’ve been gettingclosefor him to pick up her perfume like that.
Thank fuck he’d realized their magic or he’d likely have cracked under their confusing game.
“Who do you work for?” she drawled.
