Page 125 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne

The room was completely empty.

She returned to the others to report her findings.

“What do you meanempty?” Angelica demanded.

“Imeanno one was there.”

Instead of taking Delilah’s word for it, Angelica stomped toward the courtroom doors. The others trailed after her, keeping an eye out for any guards.

Sure enough, the room was empty.

“Well,” Fitz said, keeping his voice low. “They probably think we’re still in the dungeons. Who else would they need to guard the anchor from?”

Angelica scowled and crossed her arms. She did not appreciate being underestimated. There was supposed to be a fight. A grand finale. Not this … lackluster ending.

Delilah approached the throne slowly. It seemed larger now that it sat empty, more imposing. The sharp branches jutted out at odd angles, ready to skewer anyone who came too close. She remembered how the Lord of Grimnight had looked sitting in it. The branches had enveloped him, welcoming him into their embrace.

“How do we destroy it?” She’d forgotten to whisper, so the simple question echoed through the large, empty room.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Delilah whirled around to see the Lord of Grimnight standing in the doorway behind them, cutting off their exit. He’d forgotten to raise the hood of his cloak, revealing his face for the first time. Silver blond hair curled around his ears and across his furrowed brow. He had a straight nose, a weak chin, and full, pouty lips. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see any resemblance to Trey.

“Guards!” the lord shouted. “Wilde! Get in here!” He pointed an imperious finger at the champions. “Go back to your cellsright now!”

“Or what?” Angelica demanded, raising herrapier.

“Gods, I don’t have time for banter.” The lord raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.

He snapped them several times in a row. “Fuck it.” His hand closed into a fist, and he drew it through the air like drawing a sword from a scabbard. Shadows coalesced into a huge black longsword. The shadow blade swung straight for Angelica’s head.

She raised her rapier to defend against the blow and grunted at the impact.

“I promised not to kill you,” he snarled. “But I’m evil, and promises are meant to be broken.” He pulled his hand back, preparing for another strike.

Delilah pounced at him, but before she connected with her target, a large hand grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and yanked her back.

“You called, Master?” Fyodor asked, his voice a low, calm grumble.

“Kill them,” the lord snarled. He slashed toward Angelica again, cutting a chunk off her skirts when she dodged out of the way. “If they won’t cooperate as hostages, we’ll send their corpses back to their precious kingdoms as a warning of what’s to come.”

Delilah thrashed in the orc’s grasp, trying to claw the arm holding her. All she managed to do was scratch a few thin lines against his tough green skin.

Suddenly, he dropped her to her feet. “No.”

The lord’s head jerked toward him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t pay us enough to kill royalty.”

While the lord gaped at his minion’s refusal, Angelica lunged to strike at his ribs. He gasped in outrage and focused on dodging and defending himself, meeting Angelica’s sword strike for strike. “Wilde!” he shouted again. “The minions aren’t cooperating!”

Delilah wanted to help Angelica, but every time she got close, one of the swords almost cut her.

After almost skewering her, Angelica shouted, “You’re just getting in my way! Worry about the throne!”

“Don’t you touch my throne!” the lord snapped, attacking with renewed vigor.