of their loved ones, usually a lover, in their breast pockets while they fight. This one has two children. One golden-haired and the other one dark. I flip the portrait to find two faded initials. C & A.
What is this?
The floorboards creak behind me. I spin around and nearly knock over the gas lamp.
Prince Castian stands at the threshold. “I knew you’d find your way back here.”
Chapter 24
The weak gas lamp strains to burn against the dark of the exposed hidden room. I set it on a table and face my Bloodied Prince. Shadows outline his broad shoulders, his gold curls, the medals over his heart.
I’m injured, but so is he. I can still fight.
I throw my weight into my fist and surprise him with a punch. I graze his cheekbone, but it’s a miss.
He groans but doesn’t step back. He grabs one arm. I swing with my free hand, dragging my nails across his face. It’s dirty, but I hear Dez. It’s your life or theirs. Choose the option that brings you back to me. Except that I won’t be coming back to him this time, will I?
Castian shoves me but doesn’t try to hit me back. I grab the wooden box and swing it sharply into his side. Whatever he was going to say to me dies on his lips as he clutches his ribs.
“Stop this!” His voice is gruff and loud.
“Where is it?” I’ve already gone too far. If I stand down now, I won’t get the weapon, this curse that brought me back to this place, that lured Dez to his death. I have to best him because the other option is to turn Margo into a Hollow, and if I don’t win this fight, there is no doubt I will be sent to the executioner’s block. Would Castian behead me himself the way he did to Dez? Would they let me rot in a cell like Lozar? A terrible thought comes to mind—is his corpse still down there?
Castian recovers from my blow, putting distance between us. He unbuttons his beaded and embroidered jacket, his tunic open to the curve between his chest muscles. He tosses the jacket to the side, where it lands on the molded couch.
I undo the clasp that ties my cape around my neck, and it falls to the ground. Pull the corset strings so I can breathe. I try to remember if I saw any weapons, but the room was full of books and old toys. If I could get my hands free from these gloves, I could rip the answers out of him.
Instead, I size him up the way Margo showed me. Think of what I know of him. He’s quick on his feet, and he carries his power in his broad arms. When he steps to the right, I step to the left, and just like that, we are dancing again. I channel all the rage I’ve had to push back as I was paraded before the king and his court and thrust it into my fists.
Castian blocks my jab to the left of his chest. I don’t want him to know I’m going to go for his weak spot yet. Bright lights dance in front of my eyes as the tonic that dulled my pain begins to wear off. He grabs hold of my wrists and pulls me to his chest. I kick my legs, knees raising so high that he’s forced to use his hands to block, freeing my hands in the process.
I land a punch on his nose, but though he’s bleeding, he shakes it off and grabs hold of my shoulders. He shoves me against the tapestry wall. The air rushes out of my chest as he slams me a second time. His belt presses into my stomach, his breath is sweet with wine and warm in my face.
He wants to best me. I can see it in his eyes as he holds my left arm against the wall and digs a thumb into the wound on my right. Slick, hot blood trickles where my stitches rip beneath the glove.
My vision is white with pain, but I grind my teeth and grunt through it. I breathe fast and hard, preparing myself first, then I bash my head into his and take his moment of disorientation to dig my fingers into his chest wound. I can play his game, too.
Castian cries out and drops down to his hands. I grab a fistful of his hair and