Page 52 of Ravenrose

I have to kill her. Right here. Right now.

It’s an important lesson for the men. Fae will always act like fae. No matter how dainty they might look.

And all fae are monsters. Not an ounce of compassion in the lot of them.

I’m almost within reaching distance when I hear it: her voice, low and deliberate, just loud enough to where she thinks only Serik will hear.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

It’s a warning; quiet, controlled, and utterly deadly.

I hesitate for a second, my eyes narrowing as I look between the two of them again.

The princess is already lowering the knife when I reach in, hooking an arm around her middle and hauling her off of Serik with ease.

She doesn’t bother fighting me, though I feel the way her body goes rigid at my touch.

I release her as soon as she’s clear of Serik, glaring at her before turning my attention to the sputtering lieutenant still on the ground, tearing the rope from his neck. His face is a bright shade of red, either anger or embarrassment flaming his cheeks.

The princess scowls up at me when I snatch the knife clean out of her hands. Noting that they remain bound, I realize she didn’t even bother trying to cut herself free. Her green eyes are ablaze, defiance dancing in them.

“Swords scorn, Theo,” I mutter, resenting the prince and his godsdamn idiotic plan to keep her breathing.

“I thought you weren’t going to be any trouble?” I growl through my teeth at the defiant little menace, holding her wrists up and taking care to check the ropes binding them thoroughly, tightening them despite her hissed protests.

This is on me.

Already, I underestimated her. What did I say to my men? Just this morning. Princess or not, even I seemed to forget fae are fae. And she’d just gone and proven just how dangerous even a vapid, delicate, little princess can be.

I release her hands.

“I don’t recall making any promises,” she sneers, looking far too pleased with herself. I can’t mistake the challenge gleaming in her eyes. We’re going to have to be careful—so bloody careful—in the Wyldewood with this one in tow. It’s not too late to drug her and throw her body on the back of my horse like luggage.

My fingers tighten around the hilt of the knife I just took from her, resisting the overwhelming urge to bring it to her throat. Instead, I turn my back on the princess, fixing my attention on my lieutenant.

The seasoned soldier remains on the ground, carrying on with his dark promises—everything he wishes to do to the little faerie—at my back.

I take a step forward, clamping down hard on my temper, but that doesn’t stop me from releasing the knife. It twists through the air like a loosed arrow, burying itself in the dirt right between Serik’s legs—inches from his goods. The lieutenant’s face drains of color.

“Oi! Ayer! What gives?” Serik shouts while tugging at the hilt of his blade, attempting to wrench his knife free from the dirt.

“I thought,” I drawl, closing the distance between us, my eyes flickering briefly to the enraptured crowd of onlookers who all have the good sense to stay quiet—smart, “you might want your knife back.” There’s a dark edge to my voice, and the man pales even further.

I stalk closer until I’m crouching down beside him. Taking my time, I wrap my fingers around the hilt of the blade, easily yanking it free from the earth. His eyes track the blade in my hand, wariness in his gaze. He swallows hard when my eyes find his, but wisely, his mouth snaps shut.

Good. He’s learning.

I stare down at the blade in my hand before flipping it. Trying not to enjoy the way Serik flinches at the movement.

I’m well aware of the darkness he sees gleaming in my eyes when I hold it out to him, gripping it by its blade.

Serik hesitates, eyeing me nervously—as if suspecting a trap. Slowly, he reaches out and retrieves his knife without another word.

I rise back up to my feet, while he lets out a ragged breath of relief.

“Oh, and Serik?”

He chokes out, “Yes, sir?”