Page 117 of The Ballad of a Bard

Her throat burned with the acidity of the hatred she felt for him. Her blood began to boil, acid rising there too. Her fingers curled into fists, her knuckles cracking with the taut skin.

Altivar groaned, his face turning unnaturally white as she stared daggers into him. “What are you doing?”

“Boiling you alive.” Crimson seethed, steam rising from his golden-brown flesh. He reached for the knife at his side, whipping out one of her daggers and moving faster than a bolt of ivory lightning.

Connor’s shirt was in his grasp and he plunged the tip of her smoked blade into his chest. Her father winced but bared his teeth at the Prince instead, refusing to back down.

“Continue and I kill him here and now, rip his heart out before you and eat it. Then you and I can go toe to toe, Crimson.” He warned with a gasp of pain as she tracked him with her gaze.His skin had turned near orange with the amount of pressure she applied with her power.

“Do it,” Connor barked. “Do it, Crimson. If you boil him alive, then he won’t be able to hurt any of you anymore. My life isn’t worth yours.”

For years, Crimson hated the man who sired her.

The one that left her mother on her deathbed before she turned cold, the one that abandoned her and her brother to a life of misery and poverty. That tendril of that life came to spiral through her, digging deep in her core and rooting there as it told her to listen to him. To let Altivar run him through and for it all to be over.

To let Connor pay for his mistakes.

But the young girl inside of her, begged her not to do it. To let him live, to let him have that chance to prove himself and work his way back into her life. For so long, she’d been alone, and that would return if she let Altivar kill him now.

Crimson called her magic back and the Prince let out a breath of relief as she stopped trying to boil his blood. He released his hold on her father, sending Connor flying back. His shoulder hit the wall as he growled in annoyance, brushing the excess dirt off the fabric and standing upright as he glanced towards her.

“You shouldn’t have let him win,” He commented, but she saw the pride that flickered in his aquamarine eyes. And that small dash of dignity turned her heart into a feather-light thing.

“I already lost you once.” She responded without a hint of regret to be found, because she didn’t have any. “I’m not losing you again.”

One way or another, Altivar would die.

She would see to that.

“How utterly beautiful.” The Prince grumbled and fixed hisregal clothes back into place. There were a few holes singed into his emerald tunic from where his skin had become so hot, it tore straight through the chiffon. Smoke wafted from his lean arms, enough that she could make out the snake tattoo that wound around his bicep, the scarab beetle on his opposite side.

A realisation struck her hard.

“You can transform into any animal.” Crimson stated, startled that she hadn’t figured it out sooner. She’d been so angry with herself for leaving her weapons in an easy-to-locate spot, for not finding a more clever way to hide them.

“I can. It’s my lesser Saint power.” He confirmed, confusion spreading over his gorgeous features. Dark green lined his eyes with a shimmering powder that made the ochre colour even more vibrant. Rouge danced along his high cheekbones and even his lips seemed to hold a tint of rose to them.

As if he wanted to steal Muse’s beauty and claim it for his own, to remind them all that he was her son and just as ethereal as she had been. He could never gain a single drop of the loveliness that his mother oozed. No matter how hard he tried.

“You spied on me. On us.” Crimson accused him.

There had been a spider in her room as she’d hidden her weapons in West’s desk drawer, watching her whilst weaving a silken web in the corner. A fly, when Muse entered with the gowns and praised her for being beautiful, helping her become a Saintly icon. A scorpion had scuttled across the limestone bricks as West helped her select a dagger.

His lips curled upwards and to the side. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out, smart thing.” He traced the serpent that curled around his bicep almost tenderly, fervently.

“Longer than it should have.” She admitted. “Considering youliterally have a snake tattooed onto you, I should have suspected that you were one from the start.”

He neared the cage and she didn’t back away.

“What did the ‘C’ stand for, Altivar? On your notes, you never signed it with your true name. Always that one initial. Why?”

Altivar looked as though he might not tell her. As if he relished in the delicious thought of not satiating her curiosity. But then his lips moved. “Creature.My Saint’s name, like all the lesser Saints are allowed to choose.”

She hated herself for not seeing it sooner.

“Was the timid serving wench all an act then?” He asked curiously, perusing over her firm face. “The one that blushed and fumbled and had to have the darling Westley Saint come to her rescue?”

“Does it matter?” Crimson said quietly, but no less fiery. “You have me. You have Heartache, your end goal all along. You have ways to control me, even without my talismans. You’ve won.”

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