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“We both know that’s not true.” He viciously grinned. “The ring I won in Ruttmore was a fake. You and that Bastard Prince left with the genuine ring. You will not tell me where it is?”

Remy clenched her jaw, staring at him.

“Fine,” he said, reaching out and sliding his hand up the hem of her tunic.

Remy moved to pull away, but Renwick gripped her injured forearm. Biting back a cry, she spat in his face. Renwick gaped at her. He yanked his hand out of her tunic to backhand her across the face. Her face stung, the wound opening again from the blow.

“I guess I’ll need to check more thoroughly,” he snarled, pinning her against the wall with his forearm.

The leering guards at the door chuckled as Remy scrambled to push Renwick back off her. But despite his tall, elegant stature, the Northern Prince was surprisingly strong.

He dipped his free hand down the front of Remy’s top, his hand brushing over her breast as she barked out a cry. And then that hand landed on her hip, on that lump in the fabric of the inner pocket.

They both stilled for a moment, Renwick’s glowing eyes holding Remy’s own as she felt something drop out of his large, belled sleeve. It landed on her belly, inside her tunic. She felt the cool metal against her skin. It was a dagger. Renwick held her eyes for one more fleeting moment and gave her a wink.

Her eyes widened, but she remained unmoving as the Northern Prince stood and straightened his jacket.

He had left a dagger in her clothing for her. Why?

Painting back on that face of disgust, Renwick spat at her feet.

“Stupid bitch,” he said as the guards chuckled again. “We will find that ring one way or another, believe you me.”

Remy watched, blinking at the incredible act. For a split-second Remy wondered if he did not know she had the ring. But he did. He had felt it there in her hidden totem bag and pretended to ignore it.

“Do you know what tomorrow is, Princess Remini?” Remy hated the sound of her name coming out of him. “It will be fourteen years since that night.”

That night. Remy shuddered, the burnt-down ruins of the Castle of Yexshire flashing in her mind. Riv’s broken glasses. She tapped her pockets. They must have fallen out during her capture.

“Why did he do it, your father?” Remy asked, drawing her knees up and cradling the hidden dagger against her cramping stomach. “Why did he hate my family so much?”

“The Dammacus King and Queen thought they were the rulers of this land—the favored children of Okrith with their red witch talismans and their fortress of mountain peaks,” Renwick snarled. “But they learned.” The sentries puffed their chests out as Renwick spoke, but Remy could hear the hollowness in his words. He had probably heard that line spoken most of his life judging by the dull, practiced way it rolled off his tongue. “We took your Immortal Blade, and we dispatched the red witches who could make you another.”

Remy’s chest seized, a lump hardening in her throat. “You did not dispatch them all, Witchslayer.”

She clasped her hands together around her knees, fighting the urge to unsheathe the hidden dagger and ram the smug prince straight through. She eyed the looming knights. It would be her death sentence, but Gods would it feel good to twist her blade into the Witchslayer’s chest.

His white teeth glinted in the dim light as if reading her train of thought. “The North has more wealth, more ancient talismans, and more powerful witches. If anyone should rule Okrith, it should be us.”

“Your father would destroy the world just to claim he was King of the ruins,” Remy murmured, watching those green eyes widen.

Renwick held her gaze one more moment, a silent acknowledgement, before turning to the open doorway.

“Where is Hale?” she called after him, causing Renwick to halt. “Is he all right?”

Renwick looked over his shoulder, his sharp features flickering in the torchlight. “The prince lives . . . for now.”

Tears sprang to Remy’s eyes as she let out a jagged sigh. He was still alive.

The guard grinned at her tear-stained face as he locked the door behind him, Renwick’s footsteps already clicking down the hallway.

Remy waited until she could no longer hear their steps and then removed the dagger from her tunic. It was her dagger, the one gifted to her by Bri. As she unsheathed the blade, a small scrap of parchment fell out of the scabbard.

Remy’s pulse pounded in her ears as she picked it up. A brief note was scrolled on it that brought more pinpricks to her eyes: Wait until you have eyes on me to use this. Don’t die.—B