But then Taillefer kicked into motion, turning to the large worktable and its cluttered contents. When he returned, the thick gloves were back on his hands and something new was hiding behind him. Gone were his playful smirk and laughing eyes. Rather than a fox, he suddenly looked every part a mountain lion.
Disfigurement, yes. That’s what his brother had requested.
Luca’s heartbeat sped, his lips parting. He kept his eyes as neutral as possible, though they nearly flicked to where the pirates hid again in the shadows.
“You heard my brother—as long as you and your dimples can smile at Amarande, she will marry Renard. That may stillhappen, but if it does, I may not be able to wait for the result that I desire.”
The prince’s voice was cold and calm. No audible madness in it, just abrupt determination.
“I’ve sworn to keep you safe—to keep you alive—but that no longer serves me.”
THEprince rang a bell. and a guard visited. Taillefer barked orders. and the boy left in a rush. It was then that Luca drew in a breath, all hope he’d had five minutes ago gone. “You’d kill me so that my princess fulfills her promise. He will be dead at the altar and you will have his crown—you meant every word you said in the meadow, except that you’d let Amarande and me be.”
“I did. But my mother’s wishes mean we must speed up the timeline.” Either Renard’s convoluted theory was actually true or he’d convinced Taillefer it was—which meant both sons thought they were in danger of missing out on a rightful throne. Taillefer smiled. “And there’s only one certain way to do that.”
Luca began to struggle on the table. He didn’t beg, preferring to fight.
“Don’t worry, boy; I won’t kill you. I’ll simplymostlykill you. I can only murder you once, and I may need you again.”
Then Taillefer revealed his newly procured items of torture. Yet another bottle of serum and a plant. This one very much like the giant hogweed, yet now Luca knew the difference.
Hemlock. This time there was no doubt.
Luca’s eyes fell back to the prince, the pieces falling together in his mind. “Did you kill King Sendoa with that?”
The prince cocked a brow. “Didyou? This very hemlock was culled from the stream beyond your stable at the Itspi. Did your king tell you to keep your dirty hands off his daughter? Did hepuncture that soft heart of yours? Did you decide you were bigger than him and your ambitions were, too, and take it upon yourself to ready his horse with something deadly in his waterskin?”
Luca struggled against the restraints again now, anger mingling with the fear. This was another truth that could be twisted. They could kill Amarande and blame him—and then blame him for Sendoa’s death as well. One tidy package. “I would never have hurt my king. We were as good as blood. As family.”
Taillefer inspected the contents of the vial. “My mother would like both of her sons dead, and weareher blood. Blood and family mean nothing in the Sand and Sky.”
“Please, don’t. Don’t. There must be another way. Take me to the chapel. I will talk to Amarande. I will tell her she must kill Renard. She can kill your mother, too.”
“Your princess has yet to kill anyone. She needs the proper motivation. And you are it.” Luca struggled harder against the restraints. Again, his eyes combed the shadows for Ula’s face. She wouldn’t just watch, would she? Taillefer opened the vial. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The line between mostly dead and actually dead is a thin one. One drop and you live—two drops and you die.”
Luca stiffened then, bracing, eyes open, watching the prince as he coated the stopper with a single drop of the liquid. A liquid that easily could’ve been slipped into King Sendoa’s water, clear and innocent as it was.
Taillefer smiled. “Let us both get what we want when you wake.”
The tincture made contact with the wound.
It didn’t burn. Didn’t sting. Didn’t feel like anything much at all.
Taillefer returned the stopper. Removed his gloves. Pulled out his journal.
And then he simply watched.
Luca shut his eyes then, thinking of Amarande. Her smiling face. Her quick wit. Bumps and bruises and lemon cake in the meadow.
Then Luca’s breathing slowed, chest rising every ten seconds, then once in a half minute. Then a minute. Then… not at all.
His eyes flew open, wide with panic. Taillefer watched, stoic and erudite, scribbling notes. No alarm, no worry, no empathy.
“Interesting,” was all he said, and not even to Luca, but under his breath, as his pencil moved across the parchment.
Distantly, there was a clatter.
“Prince Taillefer, sir, you sent for assistance?” It was Ula’s voice, projected over the shuffling of some feet. Taillefer, though, did not address her, every mad inch of him cataloging Luca’s face and still chest.
