Page 12 of Dare

An entourage of knights formed a crescent behind the prince. The men and women carried crossbows, blades with diversely shaped edges, and baldrics loaded with throwing stars. A female knight stepped from the group, her white tresses bound and her complexion split like a half-moon, one side pale to match her hair and the other gray.

She did the rest of the talking for her sovereign. “His Highness demands to know why you’re disturbing it.”

“We were instructed by His Majesty to harness the prisoner for you,” Pyre sputtered. “The mute bitch wasn’t shackled yet.” But when the prince said nothing, my nemesis gulped. “That’s our duty. The mad are—”

Quicker than whiplash, the prince twisted and backhanded Pyre across the face. The guard’s massive bald head whipped to the side, a crimson geyser spurting from his mouth. The smack vibrated through the hall like a wet sail hitting wood, the noise stinging my ears.

Shocked, I leaped forward as far as the bars would allow, the better to see. The prince had struck so swiftly, so impassively, not a flinch to his features. Whereas I’d put my soul into trouncing Pyre, the numb Royal had dealt with him like an afterthought.

Except he wasn’t finished. With unflappable composure, the prince withdrew his knife and clicked the hilt. Instead of his scalpel, a razor flipped upright. In one smooth movement, his shadow swallowed Pyre whole. Squished against the wall, the guard howled as the prince calmly burrowed the weapon into the man’s knuckles, shearing through flesh until knobs of bone materialized.

Screeches flooded the cell block. My tower mates skittered into the depths of their cages while every soldier and warden witnessed the scene. The Summer guards gnashed their teeth but knew better than to insult a future king. Meanwhile, Winter’s soldiers observed Pyre’s humiliation without blinking.

Horrified, I took notice of the warden’s hand spurting blood. It was the same set of fingers he’d used to fling me against the grille.

Pyre hunched, gripping his shaky knuckles to staunch the flow. As much as I loathed the brute and had endured plenty of beatings courtesy of him, mercy struck my chest. I shook the bars to signal the prince, to stop the torture.

But it ended quickly. The unflappable Royal flicked his razor back into its handle slot. “You need a doctor.”

His implication was clear. The prince might be that doctor, but Pyre should rely on someone else to fix him. Around us, the Winter knights fought to withhold callous mirth.

The dismissive Royal trained his eyes back on me. Earlier, Pyre had said the prince had requested me. As I’d feared, this monster must have heard about my imprisonment.

With an index finger, the prince swept aside a gnarled lock of my hair, his eyes hooking onto the symbols painted around my throat. “And who is responsible for this?”

An offhand yet intentional question. I remembered the first words he’d ever launched my way. Who marked you?

It would be easy to tell him. I would enjoy ratting out the culprit, if that person hadn’t been punished enough. And if I believed they wouldn’t seek vengeance on me later.

The reason Summer tattooed prisoners with neck collars was hardly a secret. All the same, Pyre’s complexion purpled. His frantic eyes swerved to me, but when I kept my mouth shut, he pretended to misunderstand.

“The cunt deserves those markings,” he grumbled around a mouthful of crimson. “Got a feral madness about her. Go for this traveling wench, and she’ll chomp off your fucking thumb.” When the baffled Winter clan squinted at the term traveling wench, Pyre clutched his oozing knuckles and explained, “She’s a sand drifter.”

Seething, I rammed my chains into the bars. I hated hearing those words coming from his mouth. They belonged to my family and my kin, not to this oaf.

I’d never told Poet and Briar about my history, so they couldn’t have let the knowledge slip in front of the prince. Yet he regarded me without a shred of surprise.

“Indeed.” His mouth ticked sideways, for my eyes only. “I am unaware of that as well.”

Blood stewed my veins. Understanding dawned.

This fiend hadn’t simply found out about my capture. He’d plotted it. During this year of searching, the prince must have learned about my roots, because renowned Winter supposedly knew many things. From there, he’d figured out enough details to sniff me out, likely telling Summer where I could be found.

Damn him to hell for being right. Knowing how to conceal myself amid fellow sand drifters, why would I stash myself elsewhere? Blending in with their encampments came as second nature. I’d been sure it was the last place Summer would look, with me hiding in plain sight.

What I hadn’t counted on was the prince’s foresight. Winter’s arrival would have stirred a frenzy throughout Summer, and I’d have seen him coming. But because I wouldn’t have suspected my nomadic kin, Winter must have enlisted the Summer Crown to spread the word.

By now, everyone knew Winter had King Rhys and Queen Giselle in his pocket. At the prince’s bidding, my homeland had evidently incentivized sand drifters across the nation to be on the lookout for me. That fidgety couple in the peninsula had noticed my neck tattoo after all, then reported me.

My community had turned me in.

Although the prince still hadn’t gotten the right answer from Pyre about my tattoo, his attention strayed. Those vicious orbs skated from my neck to my hands gripping the bars. He paused on the sight, idling way too long for my fancy.

Disgust crept across his face. Curtly, he jerked his chin at one of his knights, then at me. From there, the Royal sauntered past my cage and headed toward my tower mates.

Terror curdled my stomach. Did he mean to claim them as well? Now that he had me, why wouldn’t Winter also trade for other born souls?

No. I wouldn’t go. I would not go with this monster. And I wouldn’t let him take them either. They’d done nothing to this man.

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