Page 79 of The Princess's Chosen

"The man hired by Emory, I suppose. He hasn't spoken, surprisingly, but then again you didn't—" Cresswell cut himself off abruptly.

"I didn't slice him open with a wreath of blades," I suggested.

A warm hand settled on my shoulder. "You did what you had to do. He's being kept in the cells in the city, I can communicate with them."

I nodded and sighed slowly. Even Cresswell's reassuring touch made the Hunger prowl angrily, and I shrugged it off before I lost control of myself. He stiffened, and his hands folded behind his back.

"I want you and Aric to question Emory again, ask him for names, anyone who might've known the connection between Emory and the council," I said.

"Why? If Emory himself admits to it?"

"It needs to be done today," I said.

"Bryony," Cresswell breathed, but we were reaching the steps down to the dungeon now and he stopped me, taking the lead.

I touched my hand against the cool wall as we moved down the stairs. Some of the Winter Palace's cracks and disrepair were still evident down here. It was damp and cold, although the torches were eerily ornate, clawed hands reaching out from blossoming bursts in the stone. That certainly looked like my magic.

We arrived at the cell, and my eyes flicked directly to the crumpled heap of the man in the corner before glancing to the guard Cresswell greeted. He was younger, probably close to my own age, and I knew he was one that Cresswell preferred to assign to me over many of the others in the palace.

"You were right. Walsh came by twice last night, offering to take over," the guard said.

"Thank you, Stanley," Cresswell answered quietly. "Wait in the hall, if you don't mind."

Stanley nodded, bowing to me as he passed.

"There are troubles with a guard?" I asked Cresswell.

"Nothing I haven't been managing. But yes. Walsh is for the council. Some of the others are for the crown but—"

"But of the two, the crown is infinitely preferable," I said, nodding.

"I've made sure you're only ever protected with men I trust implicitly," Cresswell said.

My heart panged, and for a moment, the rage of the Hunger abated. I'd kept my gaze on the form of Emory as he pretended to ignore us, but I glanced to Cresswell briefly, smiling. "Of course you have. Clean house. Get rid of Walsh and any others. I'm sick of pretending we aren't in the middle of a battle."

Cresswell was quiet, and then he nodded deeply. "Gladly, Your Highness."

Emory coughed, or laughed, and he shifted in his corner, lifting his face. His hands were tucked protectively against his chest, and the new feral part of me wondered what exactly Aric and Cresswell had put him through, and how much more he could take.

"Battle, princess? You think you're prepared for battle?" Emory taunted, his words warped by his split lip and a catch in his voice like he couldn't take a full breath. "You couldn't even finish me off. You're not supposed to heal the enemy, you stupid cunt."

Cresswell growled, and I lifted a hand, stilling him before he moved in front of me. "You're not getting a second mercy, Emory," Cresswell warned, and then added to me, "We think he has some internal damage too. He'll be dead soon."

"Can he make it back to Rumsbrooke?" I asked.

"Rumsbrooke?" Cresswell asked.

Emory began that rattling pained laugh again as if I thought I were taking him back there for safekeeping.

"Tonight. I'm calling my court together," I said, and Emory's laugh stopped abruptly. I could barely make out his eyes, they were too swollen, but I held his stare and let him see the truth in mine. "I will make it clear, as King of Thieves, what happens when I am threatened by traitors and men too weak to steal my crown."

"You bitch—"

"You pathetic, rancorous, greedy fool," I snapped back, stepping up to the grate of the cell. "You had every opportunity to be even remotely useful to the world, to your peers, and you chose horribly every time. You are the root of your own destruction. I am the axe."

I sucked a breath as Emory lunged forward, his own strangled yell evidence of how little he could do against me in the condition he was in, let alone the cell. I watched him fall to the floor and groan, back heaving as he tried to right himself.

"I don't know that it would've gone differently, but you've dug your grave by coming here. At the very least, you've done me the favor of not feeling sorry for you," I said.

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