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‘Doesn’t mean you can’t rough him up along the way,’ Talemir offered.

‘That will be the least of it,’ Anya said darkly.

Wilder ran his hands through his hair and suppressed a heavy sigh. It was hard to believe that only moments ago they had all been upstairs, swept away by the revelry of music and liquor.

‘You should all go back up,’ he said. ‘Get some food, get some rest. It feels like it’s going to be a long night. I’ll guard the prisoner.’

Torj seated himself on a nearby barrel. ‘As will I.’

Vernich took up a place by the king without a word, making his stance clear.

Wilder’s gaze sought Talemir’s. ‘Well?’

The Shadow Prince nodded and made for the stairs, Drue close behind him.

Thea came to Wilder. ‘I should —’

‘Be with your sisters,’ he finished for her. ‘I know. Go.’

Thea smiled. Rising to her toes, she brushed a kiss against his lips, warm and firm, the promise of more to come, and Wilder couldn’t help but draw her closer and deepen the kiss, claiming her mouth with his —

Vernich made a noise of disgust.

Reluctantly, Wilder broke away from her, and Thea went to the stairs, making an offensive gesture to the Bloodletter on the way.

When everyone but the original trio of Warswords was gone, Wilder faced Artos, who was weeping in the corner.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Vernich shook his head in disgust.

‘For once, I agree,’ Wilder replied.

Torj laughed. ‘It only took a full-scale war for us to all see eye to eye.’

Scanning the room, Wilder went to one of the surrounding shelves and pulled out a bottle. ‘Better late than never.’

‘Don’t go braiding my hair just yet,’ Vernich said.

Figuring Everard wouldn’t mind if they helped themselves, Wilder uncorked the wine and took a swig straight from the bottle. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. He handed it over to Torj, who took it gratefully.

With a jolt, Wilder realised that the last time the three Warswords had been alone together it had been at his own request, when he’d returned to Thezmarr after years of slaying monsters on his own. He said as much to the others now.

‘Did you know back then?’ Torj asked him.

Wilder raised a brow. ‘That the midrealms were going to shit? I suspected. There were more and more wraiths coming through the Veil, no matter how many I killed. Other monsters too… There was something in the air, even then. But did I know that this would happen?’ He flicked his gaze to Artos. ‘Did I know that he was the puppet master behind it all? No.’

Torj passed the wine back and Wilder took another drink, letting the red cherry taste wash over his tongue and down his throat before offering it to Vernich.

The Bloodletter shook his head. ‘That shit’s too fancy for me,’ he said, before eyeing up the cowering former king again. ‘He was always a slimy bastard. Never liked him.’

‘You don’t like anyone,’ Wilder pointed out.

Vernich snorted. ‘Nor did you, until a few years ago.’

‘True.’

The three of them stared at Artos for a moment, Wilder’s mind taking him back to the various encounters he’d had with the King of Harenth. Jokes aside, there had always been something off about the monarch, something that they’d all been blind to over the years, but that nagged at them all the same.

‘Thought we were done for during that battle,’ Vernich said, to Wilder’s surprise.