Page 126 of The Boxing Baroness

The king shook himself. “No, of course not. My housekeeper has made preparations.” His eyes skipped over the gathering. “Although I’m afraid I do not have rooms for so many.”

“I don’t think we shall need all those rooms,” Dominic said, chuckling. “I think it would be best if we put several of our guests in, er, alternate accommodations.”

* * *

The dungeon, like the rest of the miniature castle, was tiny. In fact, it looked as if it had once been a single cell that had been divided in half.

There was only one window, a square hole in the brick without bars or glass. It didn’t need bars or glass because there was a horrifying drop waiting for anyone foolish enough to climb out of it.

Marianne couldn’t help smiling. It was like something from a gothic novel: imprisoned in an evil lord’s—or king’s, in this case—impregnable castle.

“What are you so happy about?” Guy demanded crossly from the adjacent cell, where he was crammed in beside Barnabas on the single bench.

“I feel like I’m in one of those novels from the Minerva Press,” Marianne said, her gaze flickering to Sin, who sat on the other end of the bench, with Barnabas book-ended between him and Guy.

Sin didn’t smile, but his green eyes glinted with humor.

Cecile snorted and glared at the heavy wooden door that stood between them and their guards. “Minerva Press? Don’t they print those books you like to read, Barnabas?”

Marianne’s erstwhile uncle turned beet red.

“If we are in a book, what is the title?” Guy asked, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Something with the words evil, king, or baron in the title,” Marianne suggested.

Everyone smiled, even though it wasn’t really very funny.

Cecile leaned forward until she was touching the bars that divided her and Marianne from the three men. Sonia had not been locked with them, and was presumably free to roam the castle.

“Where were the guns?” she asked, voicing the question that had been burning a hole through Marianne’s mind for hours.

“I have no idea,” Guy said. He looked at Sin. “Did you plan something with Elliot that I didn’t know about?”

Sin shook his head. “It wasn’t I who removed the guns. And, as far as I know, it wasn’t Elliot, either. He never would have done such a thing without—”

There was a flapping noise outside the window and claws scrabbled on stone as a huge black bird landed on the sill.

“Holy hell,” Guy said. “Is that—”

The bird dropped a tiny knife onto the floor at Marianne’s feet and then launched itself out the window.

“I can’t bloody believe this,” Guy muttered.

Marianne picked up the knife; it was so small it fit in the palm of her hand.

“Is that all she could bother to send?” Guy demanded loudly. “It’s the size of a bloody toothpick, and that damned bird is big enough to carry a saber.”

All four of them shushed him, but it was too late—keys rattled outside the door.

Marianne lifted her hip and slid the knife beneath her.

The guard took several moments to fumble with the lock—she suspected they were the first prisoners the king had kept in some time—and flung open the door with an irritable shove.

He pointed at Marianne. “You, come with us.”

“Me?” she repeated, sliding her bottom close enough to Cecile that their hips touched.

The guard pointed at Sin. “And you, too.”