Fyodor glanced at her, a sly smile on his lips. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I lost.”
“I’d like to know.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Who am I to deny royalty? I’d have asked for what any man would when meeting a headstrong damsel holding a blade to his throat.” He stepped toward her, and she held her ground, daring him to renege on their deal and attack. Instead, he only lowered his head to speak in her ear, “Your hand in marriage.”
She gawked at him, shocked by the outrageous request. They’d only just met! Yes, it was technically the second meeting for her, butmarriagewas a step too far.
“Perhaps you would offer a consolation prize?” he murmured.
Her heart raced as she gazed into his dark eyes. “What would that be?”
“The next best thing: a kiss, of course.”
“You can’t compare a kiss to marriage! There are so many other steps in between!”
“I’ll take that as a no.” He started to straighten, but she touched his arm, and he paused.
“Wait.” She ignored their audience as she leaned up on tiptoe and gently pressed her lips to his cheek. A featherlight kiss that ended almost before it began. She settled back on her feet and crossed her arms, focusing on the front doors straight ahead. “Now it’s time for you to take me to your master.”
Deep creases formed in Fyodor’s brow as he scanned her face. “You seem familiar, little princess. Have we met before?”
She pursed her lips, irritated that he’d forgotten, but secretly pleased to have left an impression, no matter how small. “No.”
Tired of waiting, she swept past him toward the lair. She stared the guards there down until they opened the doors for her, then walked in with her head held high and her shoulders back.
Fyodor followed a step behind her, his heavy gaze locked on her back.
Maximus wanted to finish this quest more than anything. Ever since it began, his head felt heavy, his memories fuzzy, confusing things. Sometimes he looked at a person or place and saw multiple images overlapping each other.
He’d seen the shadow of Delilah’s cat ears or a glimpse of a flicking tail before she’d ever put on her collar. He’d seen the ghost of words carved into Fitz’s skin that shimmered in the shadows. When Angelica had presented her purchases on the carriage ride home, Maximus could list them all off in his head seconds before she pulled them out of her bag.
When he looked at Trey, he sometimes saw the ghost of a smile. A sparkle in his bright blue eyes. A branch protruding from his back.
It was the worst with Wilde. Everyone else saw the man Wilde presented—pale hair, black eyes, a trim figure in neat clothing. Maximus also saw those things when he looked straight at the mage, but whenever he turned his head—noticed him from the corner of his eye—he saw a black cloak, a triumphant, malicious smile. The way Wilde looked at Trey was the worst—a strange mix of longing and possession no one else noticed. Then he’d slip up, call Trey ‘Treasure’, like something to be owned.
Maximus couldn’t understand how no one else saw it. How they could speak so easily to Wilde, like he wasn’t hiding a thousand secrets behind his black, emotionless eyes. Wilde rarely joined their conversations, and he never laughed or smiled, onlyobservedthem, like some fae creature who had stumbled across humans for the first time.
Once his true colors were revealed, Maximus wanted to shout from the rooftops: “I was right! I knew it all along!” Yet Delilah and Trey continued to argue with him, defend Wilde, and now they were both missing, lost somewhere in the lair.
It was up to Maximus to save them.
The imps’ crying attracted a guard eventually, who went into the empty room to investigate. Once their back was to Maximus, he smackeda large book over the minion’s head. The minion stumbled forward, clutching their spear more tightly in their clawed fists. It took two more hits for the fiend to go down.
The imps watched in horror, then cried out, “Murderer! Murderer!”
“We didn’t murder them,” Fitz assured in quiet, urgent whispers. “See? They’re breathing!”
The imps ignored him, shouting louder.
Heavy footsteps rushed toward the distressed calls. Maximus picked up the minion’s spear, testing its weight in his hand. He’d never carried a weapon before, not even to train. The only fighting he’d participated in was wrestling his older brothers. If Maximus could do it over again, he would learn how to wield every kind of weapon to prepare for the day he needed to defeat Wilde and his evil master.
Two minions burst into the room, a burly orc and a narrow, reptilian figure. The second opened a mouth full of fangs in a long, low hiss.
Maximus charged them, holding the spear before him.
The minions swore and dodged to either side, clearing a path for Maximus to run straight through the door. Panting, he turned to face them again, but Fitz stood in his path.
“What are you doing?” Fitz demanded as he raced after Maximus and dragged the door shut behind him. Two heavy thumps followed as the minions threw themselves against the door, rattling it on its hinges. “We’re trying to incapacitate them, not kill them!”
