Page 168 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

“Are you certain?”

Anton stiffens. “Ferria would never⁠—”

“I didn’t say she did,” Silas cuts him off. “At least…not intentionally.”

Anton’s jaw locks, lips pressed thin.

Juniper bristles. “Excuse me? What does my other daughter have to do with any of this?”

“Nothing,” Anton says.

At the same moment, Silas says, “We’ll find out.”

Anton snarls, stepping toward him. “You go too far.”

“I go far enough,” Silas retorts, steel in his gaze. “Now, let’s get out of here before⁠—”

“Do. Not. Move.”

The command slams through the air like a hammer. My head snaps toward the doorway, and my knees nearly buckle.

General Ironheart’s broad shoulders frame the hall’s threshold. A massive sword gleams in his grip, its edge catching the dim light, merciless and cold. His gaze cuts across us—Silas, Anton, Juniper—before landing on me.

His nostrils flare. Then he looks away, settling his icy attention on the two males. “So. You’re one of them.”

I don’t know if he’s talking to Silas or Anton, but it doesn’t matter. He’s right. They’re Fae. The enemy has infiltrated our town. But despite their deceit, they aren’t the ones I’m afraid of.

Neither male answers him.

Anton shifts his head toward his friend and mutters, “His sword… It’s astlerium.”

Silas bares his teeth, sharp fangs protruding from the top. “Bastard.”

My thoughts reel.

Astlerium is the metal Fae covet. Why would Ironheart have a sword made of the prized metal?

The general’s lips curve into a humorless smile.

He twists his wrist, the heavy blade arcing with lethal grace. “And I know how to use it. Now, put those manacles back on or bleed.”

A laugh rumbles out of Silas, dark and mocking. “Foolish human. Do you truly think you’re a match for one of us, let alone two?”

Anton rolls his shoulders back, shedding the easy grin he so often wears. Fierce resolve sharpens his face.

The general sneers. “You will not leave this cell breathing.”

Juniper tugs me tight against her side, pressing us both to the wall, as though the short distance can shield us from what’s about to unfold.

“Are you certain you wish to pick this fight, General?” Shadows pulse in Silas’s palms, writhing like living things.

Ironheart meets the display with a mask of stoicism, though his sword trembles ever so slightly.

“It didn’t end well for your kind last time,” Silas taunts.

“This time will not be like the last,” Ironheart snaps, rage sparking in his eyes. “Not with these weapons.”

He lunges, blade arcing high, then pivots at the last second, slashing low with a soldier’s precision.