“No,” she lied, forcing her mouth to un-pout. “Come here and take your prize.”
He approached her slowly, wary of her prickly temper.
Last time, she kissed him on the cheek. This time, she tilted her chin slightly, offering her lips.
He grabbed her hand and raised it to his mouth, gently brushing a kiss over her knuckles.
Could the man be any more frustrating? She would have stomped off in a huff if she didn’t think limping would ruin the effect. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his arm and demanded, “Take me to the Lord of Grimnight.” She’d give Wilde a piece of her mind about his stupid plot, his stupid minions, and his stupid uneven ground!
Maximus didn’t remember everything, but he remembered the path through the halls that would lead him directly to the throne room. He remembered white hair against a black cloak. And he remembered the sneering, true face of the evil mage they needed to defeat.
Perhaps he should have stayed with Fitz—helped him find the antivenom—but Maximus reasoned with himself that Fitz understood the importance of eliminating the mage. That the same righteous fury fueled them both.
As Maximus turned the corner, he ran into a patrolling minion—literally plowing straight into the guard, sending them both crashing to the ground. The minion hissed in surprise and struggled underneath Maximus, claws scratching his shoulders in the process.
Maximus gritted his teeth against the pain and elbowed the minion in the face.
“Ah, fuck, that hurts!” They released Maximus to grab their scaled muzzle.
Their spear had fallen to the side in the scuffle. As soon as Maximus saw it, he remembered tossing a spear across the room, missing the mark. He gritted his teeth and snatched it up. He was no warrior, but he wanted the weapon, something sharp, something deadly.
He held it close to his side as he ran through the hall. Other minions spotted him and shouted warnings. Some of them leapt out of the way when they saw him coming.
Angelica walked through the front door on the arm of an orc. Her eyes widened when she saw Maximus. “What are you doing? You don’t even know how to use that thing!”
Maximus ignored her and burst into the throne room.
The cloaked figure sat on the throne, one arm supporting their head, like they were too tired to hold it up.
“I know who you are!” Maximus bellowed.
The figure raised their head. Even with the hood covering their face, Maximus felt their steady gaze on him. “Come to issue your mighty challenge?”
Maximus tightened his grip on the spear. “Yes.”
They stood and dropped the cloak from their shoulders. It fluttered over the throne, revealing Wilde’s fae face and lithe figure. He turned his black gaze on the minions. “No one interferes.”
The minions took one large, unified step back.
Wilde looked back at Maximus, a slight quirk on his lips. “Ready, set, go.” And then he disappeared.
Maximus stormed into the room, searching every corner for the coward. A cat meowed somewhere near the throne, and some part of himrealized it might be Delilah, in need of rescue, but the rest of him was focused on finding his quarry.
“Looking for me?”
He whirled around to find Wilde standing in the doorway leading out of the throne room.
Maximus released a battle cry and ran toward him. When he was only a few feet away, Wilde disappeared again. Maximus couldn’t slow his momentum, and he slammed into one of the orcs.
“Get the fuck off!” the orc roared, tossing him aside.
“Careful,” Wilde chided from within the throne room. “He’s more delicate than he looks.”
Maximus huffed like an enraged bull and charged back the way he’d come.
Wilde disappeared again, appearing off to the right.
“Stop running, you coward!”
