raced. Was she about to be killed? Unceremoniously. Callously. She trembled, her knees barely holding her upright.
Prince Rharreth gripped her arm. “She is still—”
Farrendel leapt from the ground, stumbling a few steps. With a flash of magic and a crack of stone, his hands were free, his face twisted in a grimace. He swiped a knife from King Charvod’s belt and plunged it toward the troll king’s chest.
At the last moment, a shield of troll magic stopped the knife and flung Farrendel back. Farrendel rolled and came up in a swaying crouch, knife gripped in his hand, a few lightning bolts of magic crackling around him. Blood dripped from both of his wrists.
King Charvod raised the rifle again, aimed, and fired three shots in quick succession at Farrendel.
Farrendel’s magic blasted all three bullets before they touched him. He sent a burst of magic at the two trolls who had survived the fight on the Escarlish shore, blowing them off their feet.
Melantha tried to get her shaky legs to move. She needed to run. To use this distraction to get out of there before King Charvod turned that rifle on her once again.
Ripping her arm from Prince Rharreth’s grip, she turned, hiked up her skirts, and stumbled into a run. She only made it three steps before someone grabbed her arm.
Prince Rharreth dragged her back. Something metallic and sharp poked her back hard enough to pierce her dress but not hard enough to nick her skin. An icy wall of magic sprang around them.
“Let me go.” She struggled, trying to elbow him or stomp his foot. But she might as well have been fighting a rock for all the reaction she received. “This is not what I was promised. I thought you trolls claimed to value honor.”
“You are an elf who betrayed her own brother to torture and death. I’m treating you with all the honor you deserve.” Prince Rharreth’s deep voice raked over her, as if she was the villain there, and he found her actions disgusting, even though they benefited his kingdom.
He turned her so that she faced Farrendel, the knife moving into her line of sight, the tip pointed at her face. The magical shield remained around them, preventing Farrendel’s weakened magic from reaching them.
Prince Rharreth raised his voice. “Cease struggling, Laesornysh. Unless you wish your sister scarred.”
Heart hammering in her chest, Melantha struggled to tear her gaze away from the tip of the knife only inches away from her right eye. Why would Farrendel turn himself in for her? He would probably think it would serve her right if she were scarred—as he was—after what she had done.
There was that inconvenient pang in her chest again. The one she had been working so hard to ignore.
Farrendel met her gaze, his silver-blue eyes pained. He could turn and run. Attempt to escape. Get back to his human princess.
Prince Rharreth touched the tip of his knife to her cheek. She flinched and sucked in a breath, even though he had not drawn blood. Yet.
Farrendel closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. He sank onto his knees, his magic cutting off, as he set the knife on the ground.
“He has far more honor than you do.” Prince Rharreth spoke low enough only Melantha could hear. He eased the knife back so that it was no longer touching her face, though the tip still hovered an inch from her cheek.
Why would Farrendel do this? Willingly sacrifice himself for her?
It stabbed that pang deeper inside her chest.
The two trolls Farrendel had blasted sprawled unmoving on the ground. A third troll lay to one side. He must have gone down while Melantha had been attempting her escape.
King Charvod handed the rifle back to the troll next to him, then stalked over to Farrendel. The troll king touched one of the ropes of stone around Farrendel’s upper arm, and the stone tightened, binding Farrendel’s hands behind his back once again. More stone sprang from the ground, wrapping around Farrendel’s chest and waist.
Farrendel flinched, but he did not resist.
“Laesornysh of the elves, you have been accused of the murder of the late King Vorlec, my father.” The troll king picked up the knife from the ground.
“He killed my father.” Farrendel’s words came between gritted teeth.
“Your father was killed honorably in battle. You murdered my father with a nighttime assassination.” King Charvod grabbed Farrendel’s hair and yanked his head up to face him. “There is no honor in that.”
“Was there honor in torture? Or in shooting my