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“Death would be too merciful.”

She rubbed her bruised wrist and followed the movement up her arm. “Why?” Her voice a shaking murmur.

“Because it was enjoyable to see them beg within an inch of the afterlife.” He tightened his lips at the sight of her disapproval. “It was deserved for—” He relaxed his fist with a vicious sigh. “I am finished wasting words on Elysian’s shit. You have questions, and I am growing tired. Speak.”

He sat evaluating her, but it felt more like she was under trial. Glowing silver scanned from her dirty, white hair to the scuffed, black boots on her feet. With the damp cloth, Alora washed the dried blood from her wrist, wincing at the sharp pain it created, all too aware of his piercing gaze when he shifted in his chair.

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Alora considered the alley. If he was the High Prince of Elysian, then shouldn’t he have allowed those soldiers to capture her? Instead, he ruthlessly—horrifically—killed them.

And if he was the High King’s son?—

“Why did you kill your soldiers in the alley last night?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek.

“They were not my soldiers.” Shadows covered his forming fist. “If not for the threat of discovery, it would have been much worse for them. Simply killing them was not enough.”

Their gruesome deaths made her bones tremble. But he was right. They did deserve much more than the deaths they received. Her stomach twisted, feeling the ghosts of their touches, at their lips against her skin, at?—

Without thinking, Alora gripped the cloak, adjusting the fabric to cover her.

“That is not all you wish to ask me.”

Of course it wasn’t. But along with her racing heartbeat, she struggled to keep her thoughts straight.

“You say I’m safe here? Hard to believe when you kidnapped me from my city and smuggled me in silence just to imprison mein your camp. How do I trust that you’re not here on orders from your father?”

Something like indignation rippled across his face. “If I were following Magnelis’s orders, you would find yourself in his dungeons as we speak. I would be more grateful if I were you.” He leaned back in his chair, a quick tug at the fabric across his stomach before settling the glass on the armrest and crossing his bloody arms. “I know it is difficult to trust me when I brought you?—”

“Stole.” She gritted her teeth.

“—saved you from Telldaira. The truth is that if you remained there, you would have become imprisoned or worse. That was almost proven to you before I intervened on your behalf, acquiring wounds myself. You can thank me anytime.” He smirked as he raised a brow and glass in her direction.

She twisted her mouth in disgust.Thank him? The nerve.Alora crossed her arms instead.

He breathed in deeply. Drawing the glass of wine to his lips, draining it whole.

“So,oh-so-chivalrous-prince, now that you have me, what do you plan to do with me?”

“I had hoped that you would join me.”

“Join you? On a picnic? To the shores of Horatha? In the swamps of Lirazkendra or a nice lope through a meadow? Perhaps you’d venture to hunt me down in the forest again and do stars-knows-what to me.Out with it. Like you said, you haven’t all day.”

Garrik stood from his chair. Bulging arms crossed as he paced the ground. Stopping, he gripped the back of his chair, the wood flexing underneath.

“I once commanded Elysian’s destruction, seated at the head of the High King’s army. Most believe I still do.” Those silver eyes dulled as his head dropped low. “When once I was forcedto believe this was what Elysian deserved, I now know it to be disillusioned greed.” He peered back up at her, gripping the wood so hard it began to crack.

“Nearly three years ago, I … changed. Where once ruthless, bloodthirsty killers hunted in the name of the High King, now a hidden enemy marches. When you walk through this camp, you will not find loyalty for Magnelis, but instead, a combined hatred.”

The High Prince paced to the table and poured a knuckle length of amber liquid into his glass. He downed it whole before pouring a second, tossing it back just as quickly.

“Elysian regards a mighty army marching, but concealed under my protection is something far worse. Under illusion, my Dragons seek Mystics—Marked Ones—not to thieve their powers, but to offer refuge inside this camp.”

Alora shifted on the cot, closing her grip over the edge. Squinting her eyes and gritting her teeth, she glared at Garrik. “Why should you care about what happens to any of us with magic? You’re the High King’s son. Shouldn’t you be basking in your glorious robes, females flocking to your bed, in your lavished royal comfort? Why care at all?”

Garrik took a measured step closer, pausing for a moment as if deep in thought. The shadows hovering like a fog darkened his eyes when he proceeded to unbutton his tunic.

A silver ring on his finger glistened in the dawning light as he pulled his collar over his shoulder, exposing his muscled left upper arm. Baring himself to her.