Page 94 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne

What would it take for him to drop the act?Wilde had stopped wearing the cloak when I’d introduced him to the others. Over the course of the quest, he’d mostly abandoned the evil mage act. He’d stopped looming in shadows, appearing and disappearing just to see if he could make me jump. Yet when he’d fought the librarian, he’d scared me more than the old man’s theatrics.

“You have delivered one champion to me already, but three remain out of my reach.”

Our walk never led anywhere. The hallway stretched endlessly ahead. The twisted throne loomed behind. The paintings on the wall repeated every few feet.

“How is Angelica?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “Did she put up a fight?”

The old man’s lips pursed. “She is contained. The orcs are dealing with her now.”

I froze.

The old man continued walking, but my arm looped through his stopped him and he stumbled, losing his footing and kicking the air for a moment before he settled down. Huffing in annoyance, he glared at me and demanded, “What is the matter?”

“You promised not to hurt any of them.” I hadn’t been concerned about Angelica because of his promise, and because everyone would end up in the lair eventually. If he was using this extra time to hurt her…

“She’s fine. A little bruised, particularly her ego, but she will keep her life and all her limbs.” His eyes narrowed in consideration. “Though … perhaps chopping off her hair would knock her down a peg or two.”

My hand tightened reflexively on his arm until he flinched. I forced my fingers to loosen, the anger to seep from my expression. A haircut wouldn’t kill Angelica. Knowing her, she’d find some way to spin it in her favor, bragging about how being bald showed off the perfect shape of her head. As long as the old man kept his torture to petty bullying, everyone would survive to see the end.

We began walking again. “Where is she now?”

“In the dungeons, of course. Where else would I put her?”

“A spare room?” I suggested weakly. “The lair must have dozens of them.”

“Those areguestrooms, notprisonerrooms. I cannot stash my hostages in a room with a queen-sized bed and feathered mattress! They would lose all respect for me! The Council of Evil would question the suitability of my accommodations! My commitment to evil!” He sighed heavily. “Believe me, Treasure, it would all lead to much more trouble than a good old-fashioned dungeon. I even installed mossy stones for a classic aesthetic.” Under his breath he added, “Not that she noticed the renovations.”

I probably couldn’t convince him to move Angelica, which meant everyone else would be imprisoned in the dungeons as well. How long would they be there? A few weeks? Months? Years?

I’d been to my dad’s magic tower. Although it was his private retreat, he’d let me spend afternoons with him, reading the books in his library. The perfect place to spend the lazy hours of an afternoon.

That’s how I’d pictured the royal champions imprisoned—perhaps in a bleaker, darker aesthetic, with no option toleave—but still somewhere comfortable.

Not locked in a dungeon.

My stomach dropped and bile burned my throat. Was my plan really the best way to save everyone? Maybe he wouldn’t torture the champions, but what if they got sick? Would he bring a doctor to see them or leave them to suffer?

I didn’t know how to convince him to treat them better, or if trying would only make him suspect my motives. I needed the ‘Lord of Grimnight’ to conquer the Desolated Lands, but it wouldn’t mean anything if the others withered away in the dungeons.

Once the Kingdom Defense Spell fell, it didn’t matter whether the royal champions stayed here or returned home. Ideally, they’d be within reach, the ‘easy choice’, but I’d help them escape if that was our only option.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus on one step at a time. “I need some information to ensure this plan works.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What information?”

“I need to know what the anchor is for the curse. To hide it from the champions.” Wilde had hinted that it was important for my mission but hadn’t told me where to look.

“Oh, that.” The old man waved his hand dismissively. “It’s safe, don’t worry.”

“But whatisit?”

Bright blue eyes stared at me for a long moment. “I think it’s time you woke up.”

“Wait!” I reached toward him, if I could hold onto him, maybe I could hold onto the dream. As darkness surrounded me, my hand closed on a fistful of fabric.

“Do you always wake up thrashing about?” Wilde mumbled in a sleepy voice.

The lamp beside the bed lit itself, washing the inn’s room in warm orange light. Wilde peered at me with one annoyed eye under a curtain of white hair.