Page 104 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
After crunching the numbers, Brutus decided that punishing his minions this close to the finish line would not yield good results. He forced his expression into something he hoped said ‘understanding’ and not ‘I’m contemplating your demise.’ “If the champions are already inside the lair, you do notneedto guard the doors or patrol the grounds. Pull your subordinates inside, tell the orcs to do the same. Search everyinchof this lair until you find those champions!”
The lizard should have nodded and scurried off to follow his orders. So why was he still standing there?
“What?” Brutus snarled.
“What do we do with them once they’re caught? Put them in the dungeons?”
Brutus considered his options. Putting them in the dungeons for a cold, rough night could soften them up. They’d be more malleable in the morning, easier to control and manipulate. But that meant waitinganothernight to give his speech, and he wanted to give itnow. “Herd them into the throne room.”
The lizard’s tail swished agitatedly behind them. “Which room is that?”
Brutus stared at them. “The one with the throne?”
Silence stretched between them for a long time.
“The chair made of abig fucking tree?”
“Oh, that. I didn’t realize that was a throne.” Finally understanding Brutus’ orders, the lizard left to spread the message to the others.
“Minions,” Brutus muttered in disgust. They had no sense of showmanship and no eye for real magic. The first Lord of Grimnight hadn’t sought to rule one city—he had sought to make himself a new kingdom, with Traumstead as the new capital. When he’d cast the curse, the first thing he’d done was make himself a throne in the former courtroom, where the laws of the land were thickest.
Since Brutus would soon secure himselffivekingdoms, the most appropriate way to greet his captives would be while sitting upon that throne.
He swooshed his cloak around himself one final time before teleporting directly to the throne room.
It would have been a grand entrance if anyone had been there to see it.
Not a single guard or champion—not even his apprentice—waited for him.
He should have stayed in his office longer.
Sighing, Brutus plopped down on the throne of twisted branches and roots, then yelped as a stray twig jabbed his ass. He shifted and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position, but everywhere he touched was hard, pointy, and ergonomically disinclined. One branch stretched diagonally across the back, forcing Brutus to lean slightly forward at an awkward angle.
With a despondent sigh, he rested his elbow on the arm of the throne and settled in for what would hopefully be a short wait.
Royal Champions Vs. Evil Minions: Round Two
Angelica prepared to flirt her way out of the dungeon. She finished the second braid Dirk had started and pinched her cheeks to give them a lively flush. Thankfully her dress was still relatively clean, not that she had anything else to change into. She tugged at the bodice and plumped up her breasts until near indecency. If she had to fight, she might spill out, but she was willing to take that risk to get results.
The keyring she’d taken from Fyodor had several keys on it and it took her a few minutes to find the correct one. She slipped it into the lock and turned slowly, listening for any signs of a nearby guard. When no one came to investigate the quiet click, she eased the door open and slipped into the hall.
The wet, stone façade continued for about twenty feet on both sides of her cell, then abruptly stopped, as if the renovator had run out of funds. The wall beneath was practical—dry—white brick.
A freshly installed set of bars blocked off the end of the hall. Beyond the bars, someone had set up a makeshift guard station. The card table looked particularly flimsy next to the large, solid oak chair needed to support an orc.
Right now, the chair was empty, and cards were spread over the table in an interrupted game of solitaire.
There should have been at least one minion guarding the entrance to the dungeon.
Where had the guard gone? And how long until they returned?
As incredible as her ‘feminine wiles’ were, Angelica didn’t think the guard’s absence was Fyodor’s doing. The only other reason they would abandon their post was if the others had entered the lair.
Since none of them had come to her rescue or joined her in a cell, she assumed they were after this ‘anchor’ they’d talked about. Had they planned to leave her in the dungeons while they broke the curse? Just because she’d voluntarily been captured did not mean they could exclude her from the grand finale!
She unlocked the door and stomped out of the dungeon. Maybeshewould find the anchor first. None of the others knew what or where it was, so unless they’d had asecondgrand epiphany while she was gone—and if they had, she would be furious. Who knew using herself as bait would mean she’d miss so many important developments?—she would be as likely to find it as they were.
The stairs leading out of the dungeon had probably followed strict safety regulations once, wide enough for three people to walk across, with handrails on both sides. After the evil curse took hold, the handrails became the ideal perch for twisting vines and ivy to grow up the wall. There were only a few bare spots where someone had removed the foliage.
