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I hated to admit it, butprincewas too frivolous a title for him. The fucker embodied the termfuture king.
That didn’t stop me and Briar from targeting him as we paced down the cavity. No surprise, we’d been informed of his whereabouts among the incarcerated and suffering. Jeryn’s profile was as tapered as a spire, his gaze unruffled whilst examining the prisoners like booty.
Or like specimens. Another hideous bit of news the princess had imparted to me. Her mother had traded Summer’s mad with Winter, in exchange for Jeryn leaching the poisonous residue from Briar’s blood. I would have verbally ripped into the queen for this, were her actions untenable. The trade had saved Briar.
As he stalked along the corridor and appraised the captives one by one, I sensed the prince’s morbid thoughts.
Which of these people warranted experimentation? Which were expendable?
How loudly would they scream?
My molars ground together. The closer we came, the uglier those intentions got as they radiated from him. And because Jeryn’s expression hadn’t wavered, naturally I began to wonder if he possessed the ability to blink.
But then, he proved me wrong.
Winter’s gaze did a double take. He stalled in his tracks, his eyes landing on one of the occupants languishing in their cell. When I counted the number of cages, a growl skidded up my throat. At the same time, Briar seized my arm, recognizing the figure sequestered in that cubicle.
As usual, the woman hunched over a mound of dirt, scribbling to her heart’s content. Except then her finger halted, sensing an intruder. Or rather, a predator.
Flare’s head whipped up, her flaming irises colliding with a set of chilled ones. Anybody else would have staggered from either of those stares.
One of fire. One of ice.
Yet neither combatant flinched. Although Jeryn’s expression betrayed no outward reaction, a flicker of intense focus gripped his face, captured as if by a snare. Whereas Flare glowered, hurling every emotion in existence his way.
The prince’s concentration dipped to the collar of sunburst tattoos encircling her neck. For an instant, his lips tightened. “Who marked you?”
Not the question I had expected. Nor had Flare.
She hesitated. Then she gave him a defiant look whilst batting her hair to shroud the markings.
Evidently, the man was accustomed to getting prompt answers. When Flare denied him that, Jeryn’s nostrils flared. He opened his mouth, but then something else drew his gaze. Glimpsing the contents sketched into the lump of dirt, the prince tilted his head.
Without looking away, he waved over a guard and jutted his cleft chin toward the pile. “Sweep away this filth.”
Shit. The second he issued that command, a gritty noise rumbled from Flare’s chest. She popped onto her knees, grabbed a handful of dirt, and cranked her arm backward.
“I would not try it, little beast,” the prince cautioned, his voice like a razor’s edge—smooth, polished, and capable of slitting an artery.
The difference between this motherfucker and Rhys was paramount. Unlike Summer, Winter didn’t raise his voice. Because he didn’t need to. The man perfected a cool, calm, and fatal tone that raised the hairs along my forearms.
Shouting wasn’t his power. Quiet was, for it sliced into a person like a deep incision.
The prince and prisoner’s gazes magnetized. No matter that we could simply overrule Jeryn’s order. No matter that we could procure more soil for Flare, which we’d learned she preferred over drawing tools. From her perspective, if she heeded the man’s warning, the dirt in her cell would be swept clean.
This may not seem like a severe consequence to a free person. But to a captive deprived of the only tangible means to express herself and mentally escape this hellhole, the threat amounted to war. Take what mattered to her, and she would take back.
It happened in the span of seconds. Briar and I broke into motion, hustling down the conduit.
Protective of her territory, Flare charged to the grille. She cannoned her arm through the bars and nabbed the only thing potentially valuable to the prince. Swiping Jeryn’s fang-shaped vial necklace, the force of her grasp ripped the cord. Jumping backward, Flare put her entire frame into flinging the necklace against the bars.
Although Winter glass didn’t shatter easily, the impact produced a crack. Fluid dripped from the vial and seeped into the rushes. Thankfully, no toxic scent invaded the dungeon. But whatever the pendant had contained, it was important to the prince. To say nothing of the keepsake itself.
For the first time, Jeryn’s composure snapped. An aggrieved expression twisted his face. Right before he lunged.
With a corrosive hiss, the man moved faster than I would have given him credit for. And because the woman had underestimated how far he could reach, she didn’t see it coming. The prince’s hand vaulted past the rail, snatched the back of her waist, and hauled her flush against the door.
Flare grunted, squirming to break away as his digits burrowed into her scalp. “That was quite the fucking mistake,” he spat into her face.
