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There are still conversations to be had here. Weak punches or not.

“You have to stop flinching,” Castor goes on. “You can’t get in our faces acting like a big man and then whimper whenever Susan here leaves a bruise.”

Susan’s tiny fists clench, clearly not liking his new name.

“Enough chatting,” Sol growls. “Tell me where Camellia is!”

“We don’t know.” Castor spits blood on the carpet.

We’re in some kind of tower bedchamber. A four poster bed takes up most of the floor space while dressers line the circular wall. It’s an odd place to put us, I suppose, but perhaps all the cells in the dungeon were full.

“If you have nothing to do with her disappearance, then why did my guards tell me that a man who looked just like you snatched my daughter from the garden?” he growls at my brother.

“Beats me.” He shrugs.

“And then on the following day, I receive a letter from you,” he glares at me, “explaining that Eden is to be tortured for what I allegedly did to your mother.”

“What you did to my mother,” I correct.

He huffs out a frustrated laugh. “I did nothing to your mother other than give her what she wanted. Hell, what she practically demanded of me! You think I would go out of my way to anger the brother of the Lord of the Faerie Court? I’m no fool. I know how wicked your kind can be.”

“But you got his wife pregnant anyway.”

“As you did to Eden, so now we are even in that regard.”

I snort. “We are far from even, old man.” I still see red every time I think of him. Still picture my mother alone, bleeding on her horse every time I see this ridiculous palace. Her weak and pale face. How cold her skin was when I climbed onto her bed to enjoy our normal breakfast together.

We are far from even.

“How many other women have you caused the death of?” I ask after a few long moments.

He scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about⁠—”

“You have twelve daughters,” I say. “And yet you are unmarried. Where are their mothers?” Stories say he travelled all over the realm in the hopes of finding a woman who could give him a son. After twelve daughters, I suppose he gave up.

“Like I said, I do not keep track of all the women I have bedded.”

“But isn’t it odd that none of them have ever come forward?” I press. “You never hear stories of women claiming to be a mother of one of the Twelve.”

“You would be wise to end this conversation,” Sol says, sounding far more sinister than I’ve ever heard him be.

“Who was Eden’s mother?” Castor pipes up. “Was she another wife of a powerful noble?”

I tilt my head curiously. Eden’s definitely human, even if there is an odd whiff of magic about her.

“That is irrelevant,” Sol grumbles. “What is relevant is where the hell my other daughter is⁠—”

“Did you choose the names of your daughters or did their mothers do it?” I cut him off. “I suppose they’re in alphabetical order to make it easier for you to remember their names.”

“Nonsense,” he replies, but his tone suggests I’m exactly right. Interesting.

It’s time to test a theory. “If I paid you for Camellia, would you let us go?” I ask.

Castor glances at me as Sol’s anger softens. “I’m sure we could come to some arrangement,” the king murmurs.

Bastard. I see now why we’re in a bedchamber and not in a prison cell. The prick thinks we’d still be willing to negotiate our way out of this.

“But I would expect payment upfront and for Eden too! Double now, as you have already sullied her.”