traitors get to live. And now, so do you.
Her eyes narrowed. I should come over there and kill you myself.
Another one of those small, humorless smiles flickered across his face. You probably should. At least if you killed me, my death would be quick. Uncle Maximus won’t be nearly so kind, especially after he hears about this.
Leo dropped into a perfect bow, then vanished into the trees. Gems opened her mouth to tell Xenia and Alvis that the Morricone prince was escaping . . . but no words came out. Instead, she just sighed and let him go.
To this day, I still didn’t know why I’d done that.
“Gemma?” Xenia called out. “What are you doing?”
“I was just . . .” The girl cleared her throat. “Making sure no more guards were sneaking up on us.”
Xenia’s eyes narrowed, as if she could hear the lie in Gems’s voice, but she didn’t call the girl out on it. “Well, let’s get out of here before more of them show up.”
Xenia took her knapsack from Alvis. Gems also grabbed her knapsack and hoisted it onto her shoulder. Xenia headed toward the far side of the clearing, with Alvis following along behind her.
Gems glanced back over her shoulder, but once again all she—I—saw were trees. Leonidas Morricone was gone, so the girl hurried into the woods after her friends . . .
A hot, electric presence filled my mind, yanking me back into the here and now and making my fingertips tingle in warning. Someone with magic was nearby—someone very dangerous.
I blinked a few times, but instead of more purple rugs, all I saw was a haze of dull gray under my feet. Flagstones, maybe? My head was spinning so badly that I couldn’t quite tell.
A finger hooked under my chin and forced my head up, making it spin again. Slowly, the world righted itself, and amethyst eyes came into view. My traitorous heart lifted, thinking that Leonidas was here. Then the man leaned down, coming into focus. His golden hair gleamed under the lights, and an ugly sneer twisted his face.
Milo Morricone was looming over me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I jerked back, but there was nowhere for me to go.
Clank-clank-clank.
I glanced up. My arms had been spread out wide and chained to the ceiling, while my feet were anchored to the floor, so that my body formed a five-pointed star. I yanked on the chains, but the thick, solid links didn’t budge, and the shackles clamped around my wrists felt like circles of hard, unbreakable ice stuck to my skin. I reached for my magic, but it seemed weak and far away, like a limb that had gone to sleep and was stubbornly refusing to wake up. I bit back a curse. The shackles were made of coldiron, which was dampening my power.
My gaze darted around. I expected to see dungeon walls, perhaps some bars lining the front of a cell, but tables full of broken weapons, books, and papers surrounded me. My heart sank. This was so much worse than a dungeon.
I was back in Milo’s workshop.
Milo snapped his fingers in front of my face, making me jerk back again. “You’re awake. Finally. I was starting to think Wexel had knocked you senseless for good.”
He drew back. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I looked past him.
Maeven was standing by the open doors, surrounded by three guards. Delmira was there too, although she was staring down at the floor, as if she didn’t want to see what was going to happen next. Wexel hovered in the corner by himself, his back to the wall and his hand gripping his sword, as if he was expecting trouble at any second.
Leonidas wasn’t here, and I cursed myself for looking for him.
“So you’re the great Gemma Glitzma Ripley,” Milo said. “You don’t look like much of a princess. I thought you were supposed to be some storied beauty, always swathed in silks and dripping with diamonds.”
The nickname angered me, and I seized on to the emotion, letting it drown out my dread. No matter what happened, I would not cower in front of my enemies.
“What can I say?” I drawled. “The Mortan coffers aren’t nearly as rich as the Glitnir ones are. Why, I’ve had to make do with rags and paste here.”
Milo casually reached out and slapped me. The solid crack of his hand hitting my cheek rang out like a thunderclap. Pain exploded in my face, reigniting the dull throb from Wexel’s earlier punches, but