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The prince’s strong fingers clamped around her wrist as he dragged her along behind him. “No time to dally.”
Rocketed forward, Jessie stumbled on a cluster of raised roots trying to keep up and nearly face planted, but he yanked her back to her feet.
“Hey, ease up,” she protested.
“Keep up, girl. Do you want Orik to die?”
His impatient, razor-sharp words cut her protests short and gouged a hole of despair through her tattered heart. “If time is of the essence, why aren’t we flying?”
The prince made a sound of pure disgust. “Even if the trees in this part of the forest were no’ comprised of razor-sharp needles that could severely injure even a dragon, I would never lower myself like that, never debase myself in such a plebian way. I who hail from kings.”
She peered at the thin, stiletto-shaped needles of an overhead branch, nearly the size of her forearm with an almost metallic sheen in the moonlight. Millions of deadly little blades were on every limb…like a pine tree from hell. Her brows rose in utter shock. “Not even to save a life?”
She saw it then, though he was faced away from her and his features mostly hidden, it was there in the slight upturn at the corner of his lips…the deception she hadn’t perceived until now. She hadn’t perceived anything beyond her concern for Orik. Now she was positively dogged by that familiar sense of danger. It had been present from the start, but she’d been ignoring it, attributing the cold marching ants up her spine to the terror of possibly losing Orik.
She knew nothing about this so-called prince. Yet she had followed him out into the murky woods without question. She’d allowed herself to be alone with a mysterious stranger on a mysterious planet headed to a mysterious location. Was Orik even hurt? Hadn’t he warned her that his people might transfer their personal grudges against witches onto her? Was that why he was leading her out here? To take out his revenge on her?
Don’t panic. Analyze my situation. Get the lay of the land.
Squinting in the night, she focused her vision. Though blurred, she could see his aura was a kaleidoscope of muted grays twisting in violent eddies. There was something vaguely familiar about it. It was almost as if—
A gust of wind caught the tail of his long cloak and whipped it harshly this way and that…revealing a purple lining underneath.
A black cloak with purple lining.
Her mind flashed back, and her heart sank into a pit filled with dread. She knew who he was. This was the other man from the garden. The second half of that clandestine meeting she had stumbled upon by accident. This man’s co-conspirator was the witch who’d marked her hand.
She remembered from the conversation she’d overheard that, they, too, had been looking for Xanthia. Was that why she’d run into the prince this evening in the dungeon? Or had he been watching her? Waiting for his moment to snatch her up?
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Where’s Orik?”
When he didn’t answer, adrenaline spurred her into action, and she channeled the teachings of her old jujitsu master. Spinning her body out in front of his, she grabbed him by the lapel with her free hand, swept her leg out, and used his momentum to flip him over her hip, headfirst. He hit the rocky soil with a bone-crushing jolt, and his hold on her wrist weakened. She tore her arm away as he bent forward and slurped big gulps of air.
Before he could stand, she retrieved her Ka-Bar from its holster and pressed her knee to his sternum, setting the cool metal against his throat. “I think you should answer my questions,Your Excellency.”
Prince Gideon appeared utterly appalled. “Howdareyou—”
To show him she was not one to be fucked with, she shoved the blade into his skin, drawing a small drip of blood.
“I will burn your flesh from your bones,” he threatened, his gaze blazing with green light.
“Go ahead,” she dared. “Change. I’ll let all these spiny trees do my dirty work.”
He glanced around with a furious sneer. Then his expression shifted into something smug, gloating, and she realized there was some important detail she was missing.
In that same instant, the glyph on her hand began to burn as hot as a fresh brand. With a pain-filled cry, she grabbed her wrist and backed away, dropping her weapon. It landed in a thick layer of leaves with a soft thud.
“Very nice,” a familiar voice droned. “Took him down without even a lick of magic. Gideon, you’re a disgrace.” The scarred witch, who she suspected was in fact Rathmort, stepped into the light. Behind him, several others appeared, half hidden in the shadows.
Gideon shoved off the ground. “Women of my ilk do no’ display such a vile proficiency for violence. I should no’ be expected to anticipate such a thing.”
Rathmort’s expression turned amused. “Poor Gideon here wishes to be king, but is not cunning enough to claim the crown on his own. Nor is he strong enough to challenge the current king outright.” He pursed his lips mockingly.
Gideon scowled, though a little color seeped into his cheeks.
“If you are to keep a kingdom,” Rathmort continued, “you must learn to expectanythingfrom an enemy, anticipate their every move. A beast, for instance, broken and bloody, could still take out your throat if you aren’t careful. Or a beautiful, petite woman could take you to the ground when your focus is elsewhere…unless you know how to muzzle her. That is why you will always need me.”
Her hand still burned. She’d grabbed her wrist as if to cut off the sensation, but it wasn’t working. The pain was emanating from her mark. It wasn’t only a tracker, it was the equivalent of a cattle prod.
