Page 111 of Caged Kitten

“We…” Oi, was the whole family this hot? Nothing like having those looks and a title to boot. If he was single, women must have waged wars just to claim him. While Lloyd huffed and shifted about at my feet, I did my damnedest not to let this prince see just how much his handsomeness and control flustered me. “Fintan and I were cellmates in the penitentiary. We’re friends…” Rollo’s dark brow cocked like he didn’t believe me even a little. “We… Okay, more than friends. Anyway. Doesn’t matter.” Gods, how embarrassing. “We need to remove his shackles before he leaves. These bastards charmed collars to stifle all our powers. And this one…” I poked Lloyd in the back of the head again in lieu of kicking him as hard as I could in the kidney. “He’s running the show—and he holds all the keys.”

Probably.

Me and the boys had speculated what powered the collars many times over. Sure, the sigils engraved in the leather were what hindered our abilities, but something else charbroiled inmates when they tried to take them off. Just because the ward was down didn’t mean any of us were truly free.

If those collars stayed, Xargi Penitentiary would haunt the men I loved to the end of their days.

Lloyd had removed mine personally. Disappeared into a little room behind one of the bookshelves in his office, then emerged less than a minute later to peel my collar off like a fucking perv.

Couldn’t be all that complicated a process, then—right?

Before I could share that little tidbit with Rollo, the fae prince swept forward, beyond intimidating in his armor, a massive sword sheathed at his side and a trio of curved blades hanging from his belt, the glint in his eye murderous. His gloved hand found Lloyd’s hair, even as the warlock flailed in protest, and hauled him upright like the man who had tormented the Fox coven for decades weighed nothing. He then shoved Lloyd toward Xargi as inmates sprinted from the side doors, falling to the ground before fae warriors, crawling toward salvation. Midnight Court flags topped the main building, Lloyd’s disgusting experimental prison utterly overrun.

“Walk,” Rollo barked. After another rough shove toward Xargi, the fae pointed a finger at me, not an ounce of warmth in his voice as he added, “You too, witch. And if either of you cast, you die…”

* * *

“So, he’s actually a prince, huh?”

When I woke up this morning, miserable and alone and fighting to stay away from the three men who made my heart sing, I never would have thought this was how the day would have gone. A prison riot. Conceding to Lloyd—then literally and magically kicking his ass. A fae army invasion and meeting Fintan’s big brother.

And now here we were, striding through the fancier corridors of Xargi Penitentiary as the prison came apart all around us.

Rollo had sent men out to find his brother already, but freed inmates raced through the halls, blitzing by us and their muzzled, limping warden, desperate to get outside. Guards ran. Some fought, but they paled in comparison to Rollo’s garrison. The main man himself, meanwhile, strode alongside me, all armored up, his helmet tucked under one arm and Lloyd at the end of the other. He had maintained his grip on Lloyd’s neck all this time, through run-ins with warlock guards and brief interludes with escaped prisoners. At one point, sirens screamed through the halls. Then they stopped—and they hadn’t started since.

Situated at the front of the group, elite fae warriors at my back, the future king of the Midnight Court to my left, and Tully in my arms, I could have sworn this was a dream. A fantasy, even, to see Lloyd bleeding and tethered, trapped in Rollo’s metal grasp, the sigils on each armored finger suggesting they kept the warlock from teleporting.

Not that he had the chance to really hunker down and focus enough to dematerialize from Xargi and reappear somewhere else. Rollo refused him an inch of leeway, shoving him along, kicking him when he faked a fall. Even now, as we climbed the stairs from the prison’s guest foyer, checkered floors and marble columns behind us and Lloyd’s office at the end of the shadowy corridor ahead, he rushed Xargi’s warden along, not caring—barely even noticing—if he stumbled. Instead, he seemed distracted by me for the first time since we had breached the prison as an invading force, glancing down at me with a frown.

Quite a ways down, at that: I’d abandoned those stupid heels, my feet and calves unable to take the strain after months of flat soles, and someone had snatched Lloyd’s wand from me seconds after Rollo threatened to kill us if we cast.

“What do you—”

“I mean, he introduced himself as a prince,” I insisted, readjusting my hold on Tully, arms trembling at his substantial heft. It had been ages since I carried him around like a baby for this long, and from the swish of his tail, the tenseness of his entire body, and the calculating look in his big blues, he wasn’t exactly relishing the special treatment like he used to. “But honestly, we all thought Fintan was full of shit. Because, you know, no offense, but that bird likes to chirp.”

Rollo slowed as we neared the top of the stairs, scrutinizing me for a moment before his wary confusion shattered, replaced by a wry grin and a strange twinkle in his green gaze. “I misjudged you, little witch.”

I lifted my chin ever so slightly. “Katja.”

Prince Rollo offered a nod, his movements regal—almost exaggeratedly so compared to his brother. “Katja.”

We paused at the very top of the staircase, the whole garrison halting, a moment of mutual understanding passing between us as our eyes met. When we started up again, I walked a little taller, my footfalls silent compared to the constant thunder of heavy footwear on tile and armor clinking with every step.

Seriously. How weird was this day?

“That’s his office,” I said, pointing to the closed door at the end of the hall. Once again, Lloyd tried to twist and squirm out of Rollo’s hold, but that only earned him a rough thrashing, the fae prince slamming him up against the wall and trapping him in place.

“Why isn’t he speaking?”

“I took his voice.” I shrugged when Rollo glanced back at me, blooming like a wildflower under the first rays of morning sunshine; after all, I could have sworn he was impressed with me—but maybe I was finally impressed with myself. “It just seemed best for everyone not to hear his poison, you know?”

If looks could kill, I’d have just died ten times over from the glare Lloyd hurled my way. Despite the panic flashing through me, I glared right back, because fuck him. Even Tully hissed, swiping his huge paw in Lloyd’s direction, claws extended and thirsty for warlock blood. Rollo, meanwhile, watched the whole interaction with a smirk, even chuckling softly when things settled, patting Lloyd on his bloody, grimy cheek before hauling him off the wall and thrusting him down the corridor.

While the office door was locked, Rollo had two of his men shoulder through, splintering the wood and ripping the hinges off the wall. For months this place had tormented me, made me sick with just the smell of the books and leather and mahogany. Now, striding into it ahead of Lloyd and Rollo, it wasn’t that scary. Just a room, all the crap righted and back in place after Lloyd’s tantrum. Just a boring, nondescript room. An office designed by the same decorator who did TV sets, it was that pretentious.

“Show him,” I ordered, motioning to the bookshelf Lloyd had vanished behind before he removed my collar an hour ago. “Show him what’s back there.”

Rollo charged across the room, dragging Lloyd along by the neck and shoving him into the shelves next to the hearth behind his desk. Trembling, the rumpled warlock grabbed at the bookshelf’s siding—and just opened it. He hadn’t even bothered to charm it closed, and for some reason, that made me furious.

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