Page 2 of Joined By Magic

“That won’t be a problem, will it, Lord Commander? I won’t mark her any worse than you already have.”

The Lord Commander maintained a smooth mask, but I caught the tightness in his jaw, the tiny flicker of his eyes toward his helpless girl. He’d have to put his foot down. Any real man would. Then the prince would move to strike her anyway, he’d intervene with force, and the prince’s guards would hit him with magical suppression tech. The prince would kill him. Job done.

“Three strikes, Your Highness. I know her limit. She’s almost there, and I need her coherent. I’ve got plans for her shortly.”

Damn, he was smooth. Setting himself up as calm, reasonable, and providing himself with an escape route all at once.

The prince’s body tensed as he accepted defeat. I held my breath as he stepped forward, cane in hand. Three brutal strikes flashed down, and the Lord Commander’s woman cried out, this time in pain and fear.

I winced on her behalf. It wasn’t fair. Why should she be the one to suffer? Caught up like a kataris piece between the two powerful men. She seemed fragile, a soft sort. I’d thought to offer her a spot in the Collection once her man was dead, but seeing her in person, I wasn’t sure anymore. Something about her reminded me of Neeve, and the Collection was no place for gentle women. We had to be tough.

Tension and anger radiated from the Lord Commander as he placed his hand on her shoulder and the two of them vanished. Hopefully he’d be kind. She had much worse to come.

The prince stalked from the stage as the crowd erupted into excited chatter and spread through the room. He caught my eye and nodded. I took the cue, moving toward the entrance.

All attempts at removing the Lord Commander legally had failed. Only one path remained—poison and blackmail. A risky plan with a high potential for failure. And all I could do was wait.

Chapter Two

Talia

Ipacedtheprince’sapartment. Door. Sofa. Clock. Table. Fish tank. Kitchen. Repeat. Pausing in front of the clock, I watched the hands tick round. A delicate creation of glass, cogs, gears, and pulleys, it was entirely mechanical and gave off a loud tick.

Tick.

I twitched, resisting the temptation to knock the ridiculous thing over and smash it. What would the prince do to me for breaking his precious clock? I’d avoided my corner for three weeks now. Something in me rioted, an almost unbearable urge to push my luck. Instead, I stalked to the other side of the room.

Tick.

Fuck.

A drink. Good idea.

I poured myself a large measure of the prince’s finest blended whiskey and perched on the sofa, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. Better. A bit.

My fingers curled around the glass, and I swirled the liquid round and round. I’d learned a lot about whiskey now, along with other random topics the prince decided to teach me about. This blend, his favorite, was bottled before I was born at a distillery that no longer existed. It was ultrarare, but the prince knew what he liked and made sure to get it. He had cases of it stored behind magical shields in the palace’s cellar.

He wasn’t flashy. The men I’d known before him loved to brag and show off anything that set them apart from their competition. Not him. Maybe because he had no competition and he knew it. I’d been drinking his special whiskey for weeks before he bothered to tell me its origins. When I researched the price, I almost threw up. I’d drunk enough of it to buy a decent house.

The numbers didn’t make sense. I’d begun to lose appreciation of the value of things, of what all this luxury that surrounded me was worth. It was so far from the orbit of my previous life there seemed no point trying to keep track of it. Instead, I soaked it in, relishing every moment of life in the palace, of being able to enjoy myself without counting the cost.

And now the prince might be dead. Killed by his much stronger brother.

Another drink.

Two hours passed in hideous inactivity. Like the torment of the corner, only magnified a million times over. It was taking too long. The first real tendrils of fear took root in my stomach. Everything depended on the success of the plan. The prince’s safety. My safety. Even the safety of my sister, who still lived in the palace. Pia had taken a job in the kitchens as a temporary measure while she re-evaluated what to do with her life following her near-death at the hands of the Hounds.

Don’t think about it. The prince will be fine.

With a sigh, I drifted back toward the drinks cabinet and picked out the special whiskey again.

“Talia.”

I spun, almost dropping the priceless bottle. My heart fell as I took in the prince, standing by the door, outwardly unharmed. His hollow eyes and the look on his face set my heart pounding. He must have teleported in.

“What happened?” I crossed the room to him and gripped his arms. “What went wrong?”

A scent like singed metal clung to him. My stomach turned.

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