Page 102 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
She stuck her tongue out in an exaggerated gag. “If you’d ever tasted demon blood, you’d know that was a stupid question.”
When would he even have the opportunity?
He grasped the rope and pulled himself up. Despite the racket, no other guards had come after them. Were the imps the only ones on duty in this sector? Or had the other guards been drawn away by bigger prey? He hoped Maximus and Trey were alright.
Once Fitz was within reach, Delilah grabbed his arm and helped him over the edge. Her hair was a wild mane around her head and her fangs glimmered with the promise of violence. “Let’s break some things before the guards find us.”
Fitz nodded and followed her into the hall, his bow ready at his side.
Picking locks was like solving a three-dimensional puzzle. Maximus couldn’t see the pieces, but he couldfeelthem, and it was his job to put them all into place. He eased his pick into the hole and familiarized himself with its internal workings.
Behind him, Trey guarded his back. In every encounter they’d faced, Trey had always plunged straight into the fray. He’d led the minor dryads away from their camp, warded off the giant centipede, and defeated the ink creature in the library. He could easily handle any minion attacks.
Maximus’ faith in Trey allowed him to focus. The lock wasn’t overly complex, but dirt and rust clogged the mechanism, making the pins difficult to lift. Even having the proper key might not have opened the door immediately. Slowly, he worked his way from back to front, until the last pin settled into place.
The doorknob turned, and the door slid open with a gentle creak.
“Good job,” Trey said, patting Maximus’ head.
Maximus’ cheeks flushed from the gentle approval. He remained crouched, hoping that if he didn’t move, Trey would pet him for a little longer.
Trey withdrew his hand and drew his second sword. “Keep an eye out,” he warned. “If there are any guards back here, they might have heard the door.” His shoulders were tense and his gaze alert as he stepped into the lair, ready to face evil head on.
The building had been cleaned recently. Evidence of the curse scarred the walls—plastered over cracks, replaced windows, repaired holes in the floor—but someone had taken a lot of time and effort to renovate the interior. That seemed wrong to Maximus. The evil mage had cursed the whole city into a forest of eternal night, he should have to live with the consequences.
The next hallway hadn’t just been renovated, it’d also been redecorated. Gruesome paintings of beasts covered the walls. A feline woman tearing apart a man, devouring the soft insides. A pack of werewolves howling at the moon.
One of the werewolves tilted its head toward Maximus. Saliva glistened on its fangs as its black lips curled in a snarl. The sound started low, like it was just in Maximus’ imagination, then slowly leaked out of the painting. The frame rattled against the wall as the werewolf lunged forward.
A silver blade slashed across the canvas, cutting it in half. The painting drooped over itself, trapping the creature inside.
Before Maximus could relax, a wet, clawed hand burst forth from the next canvas. He scrambled backwards, eyes widening as he watched one of the monsters crawl out ofthe frame.
Trey met it head on, silver sword plunging straight into the monster’s chest. It popped like a balloon, splattering paint everywhere, filling Maximus’ mouth with the bitter taste.
“Destroy the paintings!” Trey ordered, holding out his other sword.
Maximus clutched the hilt with both hands until they ached, then turned to the next painting.
The feline woman was already prowling toward the edge. When she saw him, she started running, preparing to leap from the frame.
Maximus plunged the sword directly into her painted figure. She stopped, the image suddenly static again. He dragged the blade up the canvas, cutting her in half, and didn’t stop until the sword bit into the frame.
“Down!” A hand accompanied the order, shoving Maximus out of the way. Teeth flashed past his ear with a wet, hot breath that lingered on his skin. He should have ducked his head, made himself as small a target as possible, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the fight.
Trey’s expression was hard as granite as he ruthlessly plunged the sword into the beast’s open mouth. It choked and gagged on the blade, throat bobbing as it tried to swallow. Trey clasped the hilt with his other hand and yanked the blade to the side, ripping it from the creature’s mouth. The painting sagged to the left as brown, gray and red splattered over the walls.
Trey stood panting for a moment, face glowing with exertion, blue eyes alight with a mix of anger and adrenaline. Then he was moving again, slashing at the paintings that hadn’t come alive yet.
When he finished, canvas and wooden frames cluttered the floor around Trey in place of slain monsters. He swept a hand through his red hair, slick with sweat, and gazed down at Maximus. He looked like a warrior—achampion—someone suited for this questing life. “Are you alright?” he asked, holding his hand out to help Maximus stand.
Maximus held Trey’s hand for a moment longer, feeling the callouses along his palm. So different from his own hands, which had rarely held a sword. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That I wasn’t more help.” He sheepishly handed Trey’s sword back to him, knowing it’d been almost useless in his hands.
“I’ll fight the monsters; you focus on finding the anchor.”
Maximus nodded shakily, then continued down the hall until they reached a door. It was unlocked. He tried not to be disappointed that his skills weren’t needed this time.
The door opened onto a modest office. Most of the contents had been cleared away, either by people fleeing or the evil mage himself, but one piece of furniture remained: a desk in the middle of the room.
