Page 29 of Blood On His Lips

Weakness.

As if mercy was ever a weakness.

And this. . .this was what he would have me preside over. A court of blood and bitter nobles.

* * *

His sweet, dual-hearted child.

He allowed her to leave with her family and the three prisoners. Their lives were worth nothing beyond their purpose in serving Aerinne a valuable lesson. He hoped, for her sake, that not too many of her people died.

Regret stirred; despite the way his halfling looked at him, cruelty for its own sake offered no advantage and was simply a sign of mental decay. Nor was wanton killing a mark of strength. In that path lay madness he had seen far too many succumb to. Nayya had never allowed her children to stoop to the depravity of blood sport merely to ease boredom. Even Assariel had stayed his hand until there was no other choice.

But she should have killed them.

“That was a mistake,” Baroun said when the throne room was empty. “I will not say I told you so.”

“She’s young, but I am not. I do not suffer from her idealism.”

He had hoped. Hoped, and hope was a foolish thing, that he would not have to play his upcoming hand. But the girl refused to learn even the basics of rule, of self-defense, leaving him no choice.

He could destroy everything she loved and force her to rise from the ashes, or…something that seemed equally as devastating.

“What will you do?” Baroun asked. “She will be no use to us broken.”

They walked through the open-air corridor of the lower level of the palace. “I am her first teacher. So I will teach.”

He felt his cousin’s sidelong glance.

“Will her House survive it?” Baroun asked after a long, pregnant silence.

“That will depend on her.”

“Then I’ll prepare for the burials.”

* * *

We took the warriors to a safe house. There was nowhere else to stash them. Faronne didn't keep dungeons like the palace.

Tereille and Numair secured the hostages in a hastily rigged basement cell which we’d been using as storage. None of the three looked at me, so I was free to stare at them, frowning.

Faronne didn't take hostages. But if I didn't want them to be killed outright, I would have to break that tradition.

I grabbed Édouard's arm after I climbed the stairs to the main level and took him aside.

“Don't torture them,” I warned.

He looked at me, impassive, and jerked his arm out of my hold. “Unfortunately, cousin, you can't be a lunching lady anymore. What do the humans like to say? Shit just got real. . .yeah, that.”

Gods, he always sounded so awkward when he spoke English. Especially American English, with its inherent informality and slang.

“Lunching lady?” I repeated. I got what he was trying to say, but he phrased it weirdly. “I know you need to get information out of them, but maybe use your intellect rather than your fists.”

He gave me a nasty smile. “I wasn't planning on using fists, Princess. I'm not as gentle as the Prince. I was going to start with knives.”

I stiffened, opening my mouth to lay into him, then closed it when Tereille exited the basement.

“I can't leave you two alone for a minute. Thornbeauty, Édouard isn't going to torture our guests.” Tereille stopped and gave us both a somber look. “But you have to accept that we may need to apply advanced techniques if they won't talk.”

---