Page 48 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

‘They get used to it. The worm will work itself out soon enough.’ Arrogance oozing from his voice, the prince didn’t even glance in Nadia’s direction. Ransom wondered if he even remembered which one she was. ‘It can be exhausting having to think for yourself all the time.’

A sense of urgency gripped Ransom. Andreas had to die. And fast. But the prince was smarter than he first appeared, and armed with the kind of magic that could bring a village to its knees. And, in time, maybe even a kingdom.

‘I owe your Second a great debt. And I intend to pay it soon enough. In telling me all about my final missing saint, Sister Marianne, she’s saved me weeks of legwork.’

Well, fuck .

Ransom had completely forgotten about the acolyte.

‘All this time, I was wondering what was taking her so long to get here.’ Laughing now, Andreas threw up his hands, like they had just stumbled upon a funny blunder together.

‘How could my Marianne make her way to Marvale when she’s trapped on that godforsaken island with a bunch of simpering acolytes?

’ His face changed in an instant, disgust twisting his features.

‘Imagine dedicating your entire life to praying to the meekest, least interesting of our dead saints. Starving for Saint Alisa! Kneeling at the altar of her memory! And when another one finally comes along after a thousand years of yearning and waiting and simpering, crowned in your very priory , instead of celebrating her, you lock her up and go crying to your king!’ He spat on the floor.

‘Hypocrisy at its worst. The very core of this kingdom is rotten.’

‘Are you done talking?’ Ransom flexed his fingers, sending his shadows skittering across the floor.

‘Not remotely.’ Andreas walked right through them, grinning as they dissolved.

Fine, then. He could bleed the old-fashioned way. Cloaking the action, Ransom withdrew the knife in his waistband.

The prince was ten feet away now. Then eight. Six. Four.

Ransom was just about to lunge when he said, ‘Drop that knife.’

His eyes flared bright gold.

For a fleeting moment, Ransom felt like he was staring straight into the sun.

His thoughts scattered.

The knife clattered to the floor.

He bent down to grab it.

‘Leave it. You are not going to harm me.’

Ransom froze in a crouch.

The prince stood over him, those shining eyes commanding every morsel of his attention. ‘I’ll have your loyalty, even if I have to wrest it from your Shade-mottled mind, Dagger.’

Snared in that all-consuming magic, Ransom could only stare up at him dumbly. He felt its power move through him, like a worm wriggling through his mind.

‘In time, I’ll have the rest of your Order, too,’ Andreas went on.

‘You see, I have plans for the Daggers, Ransom Hale. A rather unique army of soldiers, don’t you think?

And my dull-witted uncle only ever thought to use you one at a time.

To scatter you like marbles across Valterre, hoping to catch me. It’s almost insulting.’

Ransom’s legs began to ache. Reminding himself to stand, he rolled to his feet. ‘What are you doing to me?’

‘I’m commanding you, like the dutiful soldier you are.’ Andreas smiled, the brightness of his teeth echoing the spell-binding sheen in his eyes. There was something maddening about that stare. It disturbed the deep waters of Ransom’s soul, made them roil and thrash inside him.

Run , screamed a voice inside him. Run and don’t look back .

‘It hurts less when you don’t fight it,’ Andreas remarked, with a casualness that belied his complete annihilation of Ransom’s willpower. ‘You can remind your friend of that when she finally comes to.’

It took every ounce of Ransom’s attention to eke out his next words. ‘Fuck you.’

The answering pain in his skull was worth it.

‘I made a grave error in overlooking you last night.’ Tucking his arms behind his back, the prince circled him.

A lion assessing its prey. The fine embroidery of his shirt glinted in the dim lighting, drawing Ransom’s gaze to the roses emblazoned on his shirt sleeves.

‘If I go straight for the rose, I’ll prick my eager fingers on the thorns. ’

He stopped in front of him, tilting his chin to account for their difference in height. ‘Seraphine is my rose. But you, Dagger, are the thorn that will keep me from plucking her for my court. From using her, as Saint Oriel intended.’

Murderous thoughts filled Ransom, his vision narrowing to a keen red mist. His fists hardened, a dangerous heat gathering in his chest.

You are not going to harm me .

That thought alone stayed his hands, his head throbbing as he strained against it.

‘You are the one who guards her.’

Yes .

‘Covets her.’

Yes .

‘You think of her as yours.’ His smile was indulgent. ‘Which means you are going to be a problem for me.’

Ignoring the horrible pain in his skull, Ransom said through his teeth. ‘Bet on it.’

‘I’m afraid you have to go.’ The prince combed his hair back, skewering him with that blinding gaze. That cloying power suffused Ransom, like vines crawling over his mind. ‘But it just so happens, I need a very urgent favour from you, Dagger.’

With mounting horror, Ransom found himself nodding.

His thoughts were becoming a fog, the logical voice inside him quickly fading.

‘You are going to take your fellow Daggers away from Marvale and travel at once to the Isle of Alisa. You will find my missing saint and kill her, just as the king commanded.’

Dimly, Ransom was alarmed by the stiffening of his spine, his shoulders rolling back like a soldier standing to attention. He pushed his next words out. ‘You’re going to kill another saint?’

Andreas shrugged, the cost of betrayal hardly weighing on him. ‘More will arise in due course,’ he said, vaguely. ‘I prefer to work with known quantities. Preferably ones that don’t murder their own.’

‘But Oriel—’

‘Oriel is dead. Her will has no power over me.’

Ransom opened his mouth to argue, the effort of pushing through that fog turning his tongue to lead in his mouth. The prince stepped closer, the magic in his eyes casting a golden sheen across his skin. Blanching the rest of Ransom’s free thought.

‘Find the acolyte. Kill her. Bury her body. And return at once to the catacombs of Fantome. I will find you there when the time is right.’

Ransom felt himself nod.

‘You will tell no one else about this conversation. You will simply disappear from here, as though you had never come to Marvale at all.’

Seraphine , called that distant voice inside him. You have to warn Seraphine .

But the cry soon faded, lost to the dazzling brightness of the prince’s magic as he leaned close – much too close – and said through those pearly white teeth. ‘Now go .’

So Ransom did.