“You have no idea.” Lucien scrubs his hand down his face, not even close to touching the collar and earring. “How is… everyone? Did Pranim get back okay?”
“Pranim is fine,” Whisper says. “So are the rest of our dragons—and the riders, too. Everyone else is fine, last I heard.”
“Right. That’s good.” Lucien wants more details, but Whisper won’t have much time here. Did Margot send Whisper after Lucien, or is this Audric and Julien’s doing? With or without the queen’s permission?
Suddenly, Whisper lifts a gloved hand. Head cocked, he lowers his voice. “Someone’s coming. Grab the blanket, and I’ll be under the bed.”
Lucien moves, spurred more by guilt than fear. If someone finds Whisper here, Lucien doesn’t have any power to protecthim. Whisper’s capture could have far worse consequences than Lucien’s.
Prince Julien’s reaction isn’t likely to be sane.
As Lucien bends to grab the blanket, movement blurs on silent steps. A gloved hand slaps across the back of his neck.
Lucien spins around on reflex—then staggers, choking, as gloved fingers hook beneath the collar. “Stop,” Lucien hisses. “I don’t want to—”
Nothing’s happening.
Whisper stands right behind him, hanging onto his collar so tightly Lucien can barely breathe. But Lucien doesn’t have to move. He isn’t compelled to fight Whisper off.
After another motionless moment, Whisper lets go and presses his ear to the door. “I think we’re good.” He nudges the blanket back into place. “You can take the collar off now.”
Lucien gasps for air as quietly as possible. “What did you do?”
Whisper waves his hand, and his glove catches the light. Leather and wyrmskin, with sigils embossed in the palm. “I destroyed the enchantment. We’ve been innovating too.”
Whisper wouldn’t lie—well, Whisper lies plenty, but he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t taunt Lucien about this. But Lucien wants the collar off so much, he’s scared to believe it. Instead of removing the collar, he touches the walls.
Wallpaper curls under his hand. Then he traces the runes scored into the stone wall itself. Lucien isn’t permitted to do this. Kazia ordered him three times today alone. But the grooves are real.
Lucien touches his throat, anticipating the insidious compulsion. Nothing stops him, and with a simple movement, the collar is there, beneath his fingers. Solid, leather and metal warm from weeks at his throat.
The buckle unfastens easily. The collar slips off in a single hinged piece, heavy in his hand. The leather exterior is familiar, but Lucien hasn’t seen the runes etched inside the metal before.
Lucien swallows, and the movement feels strange without the weight on his throat. He wants to fling the collar to the floor, but that would make a sound. Dazed, he drops it on the bed.
“You can take a minute,” Whisper says. When Lucien glances up, he shrugs. “I know what it’s like to be controlled.”
That’s right. When Whisper arrived in Greenhaven, he was controlled by a blood magic phylactery. Lucien never got all the details. “Was it like this? Could Barnaby order you to do anything?”
“There were differences,” Whisper says. “There wasn’t the direct, forced obedience. But he could blind us with a thought, so we did anything he said anyway.” Whisper pulls a small leather satchel from under the bed and begins rifling through it. “Okay, your minute’s up. Let’s go over the plan.”
Lucien rubs his throat. “What plan?”
“Breaking you out,” Whisper says patiently. “What’s the usual morning routine here?”
Which is when it hits Lucien that he’s about to escape.
No more orders. No more humiliation. No more folding laundry. No more coaxing a drunk Draskoran princeling to eat. Lucien will never learn the rest of the rats’ names. He’ll never learn what Kazia meant when he said, “Because something has to change.”
Lucien can go home. Maybe he can even find Tezurit along the way.
“Actually,” Lucien says. “I think I should stay.”
Whisper pauses. “Excuse me?”
Lucien waves at the wallpaper—ornate, expensive, before it was shredded. “I’m in the Draskoran royal palace. Without the collar, if I can get the earring off too… there are opportunities.”
Whisper straightens up, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What opportunities?”
