Page 36 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘He can’t help himself,’ said Caruso, with a chuckle.
‘What are you talking about?’ rasped Sera.
It was Caruso who answered, dragging a finger along the front of his neck. She thought it was a threat but then Theo said in a quiet, furious voice, ‘There are fingerprints all over your neck.’
Ah. That’d be the attempted strangulation. It’s not like Sera wasn’t already keenly aware of the bruises. Ransom must have seen them when she’d twisted to untie Theo’s gag.
He rounded the dining table, like a beast on the hunt. On instinct, Sera huddled closer to Theo, but for once, the Dagger wasn’t glaring at her. All that rippling hatred was fixed on the soldiers that had carted them up here only moments ago.
They drew their swords. ‘At ease, Dagger.’
‘I’m surprised you’re familiar with that term,’ he spat.
The first soldier raised his sword, and Sera was pleased to see that it trembled a little.
‘Word to the unwise,’ Caruso called out. ‘I’d stow that ceremonial toothpick, before he shoves it up your ass.’
Ransom lunged, swiping the sword without so much as a tussle. In the next instant, it was pressed against the soldier’s neck. Sera was just starting to enjoy herself when Nadia moved, sliding across the table like a cat on the prowl.
She grabbed her bloodstained collar, yanking her up from her seat. ‘Where did you take him?’ she hissed. ‘Tell me or I swear I’ll gut you right here on this table.’
Sera headbutted her, knocking her back. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Nadia rose to her knees on the table, but Theo was on his feet then, swinging his bound hands like a club. Nadia dodged theblow, but it seemed to activate Caruso, who prowled around to the other side of the table. ‘Let the ladies work this out, Versini, or I’ll add an inch to that nasty gash on your forehead.’
Sera registered a faint cracking sound as Ransom smashed his fist into the face of the soldier behind her. Her eyes remained on Nadia who was coming at her again. This time, Sera hinged backwards, nearly toppling from her chair as she dodged the seething Dagger. Theo surrendered his fight with Caruso to grab a butter knife from the table.
Nadia, meanwhile, palmed a fork and placed it under Sera’s chin. ‘Start talking, graverobber.’
Sera stiffened as the prongs bit into her skin, pressing her back against the chair. Behind her, an all-out brawl had broken out. Caruso jumped into the fray as the other three soldiers swarmed Ransom, trying to wrangle him into submission.
Chaos descended in a fury. Sera couldn’t hear Nadia’s threats over the sudden chorus of shouts, but the fork was slowly biting into her skin. Theo, who had worked his hands free with the knife now, knocked the makeshift weapon from Nadia’s hands, just as the door to the dining room swung open.
In walked the King of Valterre.
Chapter 9Seraphine
King Betrand IV of Valterre took one look at the chaos before him and barked a furious command. His personal guards drew their swords, rushing forward.
The tussle fell apart with remarkable speed. Ransom and Caruso backed away, moving around the table with their hands raised. Ransom looked a little worse for wear now, which made Sera feel somewhat better. Strands of his thick black hair dipped into his eyes, and there were smudges of blood on his left cheek and on the collar of his shirt.
It was not his own.
Caruso was bright-eyed and panting, like a wolf who had just taken down a deer. Or indeed a Dagger who had just beaten the shit out of a pair of the king’s soldiers in his owndamn palace. Not a hint of remorse on his face. Nadia slid back into her own chair with leonine grace, absently smoothing the flyaway strands of her sleek ponytail as though she hadn’t just forked Sera in the jugular.
‘What in the name of Valterre is going on in here?’ demanded the king. ‘If you insist on scrapping like a pack of stray dogs, you can take it to the streets.’
His thick black moustache twitched in anger. It matched the fullness of his beard and considerable sideburns, the rich hair there running into a mass of tumbling curls that crowned the rest of his large round head. The wig did nothing for him.
The king was portlier than his official portrait suggested, with puffed-up ruddy cheeks, deep-set grey eyes and a bulbous nose. He was dressed formally in a black-and-gold frock coat lined in thick ermine, striped with a crimson sash that ran from his right shoulder to his left hip. A line of seven ribbons – his ceremonial war medals – occupied the left side of his upper chest and swayed as he approached the dining table.
Four sombre-faced figures dressed in courtly attire entered behind the king, and stood behind his chair, their keen eyes assessing everything. Sera guessed by their age and finery that they were the king’s royal council of advisers.The silent quartet, as they were known in the penny papers.
‘Apologies, Your Majesty,’ said Ransom, who had the good grace to look ashamed. Or at least, fake it. ‘There was a misunderstanding in your absence.’
The king quirked a brow. ‘Of what sort?’
‘Your soldiers ran into my fist. Several times.’
