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He looks unhinged, wild. And I wonder if he’s started to crack or if she’s taken him off hismedicine.Either way, orders or not, I know I’m not safe here, either.
I start to think about all of my options for getting around him, wondering how soon I can draw my fan and whether I should end him here and now, or wait to see if he’ll reveal anything first.
“So she’s sending me home, then? We both know she needs me too much to send me to the Southern Continent.” I watch him, dissecting each microexpression.
“Perhaps.” He shrugs, his eyes dancing with dark promise. “Or perhaps she’s realized what a traitor you are.”
It’s all the confirmation I need, and I go cold. He could be bluffing, though, so I roll my eyes.
“I know you’re still bitter about the way she only let you be The Flame when she had literally no other options,” I taunt. “But do you really have to convince yourself that I’m a traitor just to feel a little less…emasculated?”
I enunciate the word, but it doesn’t have the effect I was hoping for.
Instead, his smile widens, and he continues like I never spoke at all. “Perhaps I was so determined to prove that to her that I followed our dear brother-in-law’s carriage when helefton his little trip.”
He has watched my face closely for every syllable of his declaration, but even my pride is not enough to keep the blood flowing in my cheeks. He notices, of course, and lets out a condescending little chuckle.
I want to respond, to deny, but I can’t seem to find my voice.
“Perhaps,” he draws out the word this time, “she’s even going to bring back her favorite form of punishment from Delphine.”
The air seizes in my lungs.
I block out the images of shark-infested waters. Weighted shackles that dragged her enemies down to the ocean floor. The blood-soaked sands of the beaches.
The sadistic sodding prick tilts his head, examining me like a hawk would a wounded mouse.
“I bet that’s a show your precious prince would enjoy immensely.” Damian purrs the last word like it’s something lascivious, and the fear that was creeping in my bones turns rapidly to fury.
Like hell will he force Remy to watch as I’m murdered.
I want to scream. I want to rage and set fire to him and watch the life bleed from his eyes once and for all.
But mostly, I want to get back to the palace to warn them all.
I’ll be damned if I let this bastard take me without a fight. Not now that I have Remy and a family and something worth living for.
In one swift movement, my hand is on the throwing stars hidden through the secret pockets of my gown. I send one hurtling through the air just as Damian dodges to the side, jolting the carriage.
He’s fast, evading my star so it only slices the outside of his arm before clattering uselessly to the floor.
I don’t have time to grab another because he’s hurling his body toward me. I raise my other hand, the one with the fan in it, just in time to stop his massive frame from crashing down on me.
The impact jars my wrist, but the protruding tips of the side blades sink into his ribs. It’s not deep enough to do any damage, and I can’t use it to slice when it’s folded this way. So I twist the fan, trying to maximize the damage.
His face is murderous, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings a fist down onto my side, punching me again and again until my vision begins to blur.
Somehow, I manage to maneuver another star out of my thigh holster. My hands are shaking as I tighten my grip and swipe one of the points across Damian’s face, pulling it down toward his neck. Warm blood sprays from his wound, coating my cheeks and mouth.
He stops punching me long enough to block its trajectory, preventing the star from ripping open his jugular. He lunges for my neck, and I feel a sharp sting at the contact.
I jerk away, connecting the heel of my shoe with his groin and shoving him backward into the seat on the other side of the carriage.
He falls into the bench with a feral growl. I raise the star again, but my movements are slower. My arm feels like it’s made of lead, and my vision blurs at the edges.
Damian laughs then.
It’s a rough, guttural sound that chills me to my core. Blood coats his teeth and lips and pours from the gash on his cheek. He’s not fighting me anymore, and that is not a good sign. Instead, he gently pulls my bladed fan from his flesh, holding a hand over the wound to staunch the flow of crimson.
