Lucien’s head is still spinning from the notion of negotiations. He hadn’t realized how certain he had been of his own death until reprieve glimmered before him. Fuck—is there a chance he’ll survive this?
Imrik glances at his son. “Yes, Kazia?”
“It’s a tiny little favor, Father.” Kazia slips around the table. A golden box dangles in his grasp. “While you wait for the Silaisans to buy their prize pig back from the market, could I keep him?”
Lucien’s spinning thoughts crash to a halt. Absurdly, the first detail he notices is the brief surprise across Imrik’s own face.
“Why?” Imrik asks.
Kazia clasps his wrist behind his back. When he shifts his weight, the golden box gleams. “I’ve been rather stressed lately. I need somewhere to vent.”
Instead of laughing and sending his brat to the table, Imrik appears to listen seriously. “I can’t allow that. The security risk is too great.”
“I understand, Father. But before you decide, may I show you something?” Kazia waves the golden box. “I’m sure everyone will enjoy the show.”
Lucien is sure thateveryonedoesn’t include him. Cold crawls across the back of his neck. He has no idea what to expect from Kazia. He just knows it can’t be good.
“You have my permission,” Imrik says, sitting back.
“Thank you, Father.” Kazia bows, then hops from the dais. His sharp footsteps punctuate the rising murmurs.
Lucien’s drasgard captors straighten at the prince’s approach. Perhaps by accident, the chains tug Lucien’s collar, forcing his chin higher.
Kazia Dire is smaller than Lucien expected. Arrogance wraps around him, far more eye-catching than the tight black clothing. A flask and an ornamental dagger hang from one of his belts. The flask is shinier than the dagger, seeing more frequent use. Kazia doesn’t move like a fighter.
Tiny and under-trained, he could never be a threat—except that Kazia is a prince, and Lucien is in chains.
The poison-sweet smile fades as Kazia stops in front of Lucien, replaced with cold calculation. He’s close enough that Lucien can see the pale lavender of his eyes, and the geometric gold patterns on the lacquer box.
Kazia raises his voice, clearly for the hall’s benefit. “I took this item…as a giftfrom Lord Radovan Ark, before his disappearance.”
He snaps his fingers, and his herald rushes up. She holds the box as Kazia opens it and withdraws its contents with bothhands. Slowly, dramatically. Lucien catches only a glimpse of the dark, matte metal and leather, before Kazia flourishes it with one hand for the crowd.
The flourish is so dramatic that Lucien may be the only one who notices Kazia slip a second, much smaller object into his pocket.
Lucien’s mind races. He hates Imrik, butnegotiationsounds a damn sight better than whatever the fuck this is.
“I’ve got too much jewelry already,” Lucien says. “Why don’t you remove some to make room for the new piece?”
“Sorry, did someone hear a dog barking?” Kazia asks sweetly. “This isn’t a silence collar, but it’s even better.” Kazia glares at the drasgard. “Hold him still.”
Again, the chains tug. Kazia slides the new collar far more gently around Lucien’s throat. Cold metal forces high under his chin. Slim fingers brush his jaw with fleeting, incidental movements. The buckle clicks, and Kazia steps back.
Lucien’s vision doesn’t darken. Unconsciousness doesn’t claw him under. This must not be a sleep collar—but Lucien can’t figure out the effect.
“Remain kneeling,” Kazia says, then tells the drasgard, “Remove the other collar.”
They must be as surprised as Lucien—and they don’t obey until Imrik confirms, “Remove the chains. If the Silaisan moves out of turn, kill him.”
Lucien resists the urge to strike as one drasgard unlocks the collar. His arms are still bound behind his back. The earring still suppresses his magic. He’s surrounded by enemies, and even if he had his magic, his odds wouldn’t be good.
At least his neck is more comfortable with only the second, lighter-weight collar.
Kazia approaches again, standing next to him. A sly glance towards the high table, then an order for Lucien: “Stand up and face me.”
Lucien turns the order over in his head. His throat itches beneath the new collar. There’s a trap somewhere in Kazia’s words, there must be. Kazia is trying to prove something. Is it better if he fails or succeeds? Perhaps Imrik’s custody is the safer option. Wait for negotiations, or a chance to escape. Perhaps Lucien shouldn’t—
He’s already rising to his feet, limbs moving without input from his indecisive mind. Shock-chilled, Lucien turns to face Kazia.
