“So your word is worthless, and you have no honor. Good to know.” I bite my lip to steady its shaking.
“My word is good with people who deserve my esteem.” Prince Havil pokes the knife toward me in a gesture of emphasis. “Consider this a demonstration, my dear. This is what happens to those who challenge me.” He turns back to the Warlord with a flourish of the blade. “Now, where shall we cut next?”
“Stop it, or I’ll make you stop.”
The Prince doesn’t even look at me. “And how will you do that, my dear?”
“I’ll tell my father about this.”
“Your parents are my lap-dogs. They do as I say, because they need what I give them—more troops to fortify the borders, and a voice in my father’s court.” He cuts a long slit through the Warlord’s pectoral, toward his nipple.
The Warlord hasn’t seemed to notice my presence, but as the knife carves through his flesh, his good eye flashes open and he bellows in pain.
“Stop!” I charge at the Prince, tugging his arm back so the knife leaves Cronan’s chest.
“Get off me,” snaps the Prince, and with a savage whip of his arm he flings me backward. My head bounces against the stone wall. The impact rings through my ears, and for a second I can’t right myself, or react.
62
As I collapse to the floor, the Warlord cries out, enraged, and his whole body jerks against his bonds.
His concern for me seems to infuriate Havil. “She’s not yours!” he spits at the Warlord. “She belongs to me!” The Prince lunges in my direction, knife in hand, eyes wild. For a horrible moment I’m certain he means to murder me.
“Then why was she begging for my cock, pleading for me to let her come?” The Warlord’s bruised mouth hitches up at the corner.
Havil whirls around, his face white. Then he lurches forward and sinks his knife into Cronan’s shoulder, twisting it until I can hear blade grating against bone.
The Warlord screams, his head arching back.
“Know what I’m going to cut next?” Havil reaches between the Warlord’s legs. “This. I think I’ll keep it as a trophy. When I kill a man I like to keep a part of him around, to remember my triumph. I have a lot of fingers and ears, but no dicks yet. This one will do nicely.”
I can’t stop Havil. He’s too strong, and I have no weapons. Nothing, except the bottle in my pocket, the magical spray that opens my airways when they’re shriveling up—
The spray that sends healthy lungs into spasms and makes their owners panic and retch.
“Havil.” I stagger to my feet and force myself to speak softly, meekly. “I understand now. I think that blow cleared my head, and I can see what a fool I’ve been. Before you cut off his dick, give me a kiss. I know I don’t deserve it, but—please.” I let my lips tremble.
Havil eyes me. “I’m still cutting it off.”
“Of course. You have every right to your vengeance.”
He takes a step toward me. “What about the things he said? He’s been talking like that all night. Did you let him put his mouth on you? Did you beg him for release?”
“He’s lying to make you angry,” I say, with a hoarse laugh. “You know me, Havil. I’m a proper lady, raised to be pure. I’d never debase myself before a man and beg for such a thing—unless that man was my husband.” I tug my lower lip with my teeth. “I remember the delight of your lips. Show me how a real man can kiss.”
Smirking, Havil sidles nearer, leaning in.
My fingers are in my pocket, flipping back the leather flap that covers the tiny spray bottle, tugging it free, drawing it out—
My forefinger presses down as Havil’s parted lips approach mine. I squirt the bottle once, twice, and a third time as he recoils, shock and confusion flooding his eyes.
He inhales, surprised, sealing his own fate. The reaction is instantaneous—he chokes, eyes going wide, hands clutching his chest as his knife clatters to the floor. He bows over, wheezing and retching, and staggers against the wall.
I seize the knife and dash to the Warlord’s side. There’s a small wooden crate nearby—perhaps the soldiers used it to lift him while they were hanging him from that hook like a side of meat. I stand on the crate so I can reach high enough to saw through the ropes. My body is flush with his bleeding chest, and my face is level with his. He hangs his head, weariness and anguish suffusing his features.
“I told you not to come,” he wheezes between swollen lips.
“You must have a death wish,” I grit out, sawing against the thick rope.