Bertrand gaped. “Tedric? He’s your man, not mine! Don’t blame me for your failings!”
Alexander leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “A dead woman was pulled from Draemir Lake. The symptoms match purple limyerite poisoning—a substanceyoucontrol.” He watched the blood drain from the man’s face. “My cousin tells me its use to subdue Omegas is rampant in Bashkor. How, when the Crown does not sell to Omega traders and bandits. And now,twoOmega princesses—my wife and Princess Adelise—are missing.”
Alexander shoved him back against the nearest column. “You’re working with Tedric. Or, at the very least, shielding him. Do not think I won’t burn your house to the ground to find proof.”
“Do it, then,” Bertrand spat. “What will you find? Evidence that your man Tedric is the one who slipped your leash?Youbrought him into your house. Whatever he’s doing, it’s onyourhead.”
Alexander’s fist curled. He held it there, a promise in the air, before leaning in so close his next words were a whisper against Bertrand’s ear. “Here’s what will happen. My men will tear this manor apart for your ledgers. They will trace every gram of purple crystal from the mine to its final buyer. And if anything looks unusual . . .” Alexander let the sentence hang, a promise of ruin. “The coincidence will become a confession written in your own hand.”
Bertrand’s eyes narrowed. “You have no such authority from the crown to perform a search onme—the king’s trusted agent.”
That grating voice, that smug face, even in the face of such damning accusations, were enough to make Alexander raise his fist again.
Krystoff Reave stepped between them. “Enough,” he said, voice firm. “Focus on retrieving your wife. Don’t throw your victory away by letting emotion cloud your judgment.”
Alexander’s gaze flitted between Bertrand’s red face and Krystoff’s calm one.
“I’ve waited years for this,” he hissed.
“Now the noose is finally around his neck. Do not be the one to pull it in anger. Let the king’s men do it. Let law be the thing that chokes him, not your temper.”
Alexander’s chest heaved. His fists dropped. But Bertrand, never knowing when to shut up, gave a hoarse, defiant laugh.
“Law?” he sneered. “I have enough friends to wriggle free of that trap. Unlike your father.”
Krystoff drove an arm into Bertrand’s chest, slamming him into the column. His head clipped the marble and went limp.
Darion stepped forward and pressed two fingers to the side of his throat. “Fast asleep.”
Krystoff rubbed his knuckles. “Good.”
Alexander stared at the man, but Krystoff only straightened his jacket. “You’re not the only one who’s waited years.”
Alexander looked over his shoulder to his men. “Search this manor. Every ledger, letter, shipment manifest, mining permit—anything that passed through his hands. Take it all back to Niewberg for the king’s magisters. If it’s written down, I want it. And ask the servants what they’ve seen.”
He turned to Darion. “Secure Bertrand. Tie him up and ensure two men are on him at all times.”
Darion gave a short nod. “Understood.” Then, quieter, “And you?”
Alexander’s jaw tensed. “I need to find a map of the mine. I have a sinking feeling the princesses’ disappearance has to do with the limyerite caves. Is the secretary in the house?”
Darion barked at his men to search the house. Minutes later, one of the soldiers brought in a pale, trembling man who looked one hard word away from bolting.
“Please,” the secretary stammered. “I only transcribe what I’m told?—”
Alexander closed the space between them in two strides. “Where does your lord keep the cave maps?”
“I . . . I don’t know?—”
“Don’t lie.” Alexander’s voice was soft, lethal, hand at the ready. “If anything happens to my wife because you kept your mouth shut?—”
“The study,” the man stammered. “Behind the shelves. Second case from the left. There’s a lockbox, but I don’t have the key.”
Darion shot him a look. “You’d better pray it’s still there.”
They moved quickly. Alexander rifled through the shelf, hands sweeping aside ledgers until he found the case. A small knife pried the lock open. He lifted the lid: supply orders, coded schedules, and beneath them all, a folded sheet with mineral veins and markings drawn in red ink.
He spread it open on the desk. A tunnel extension branched off from the mine’s main shaft—snaking southward, mapped out with careful precision.
