slam his face against my knee. I yank his head back so he can look at me. You won’t look at me, he said.
Well, here I am, looking at you now.
“Surrender.”
He spits a wad of saliva and blood to the side but doesn’t admit defeat.
“The Whispers taught you to fight well,” he says, with a chuckle. “Did they ruin your life first? Make you think you were going insane?”
“The Whispers saved me from your father.” I yank on his hair, but all he does is grunt. I can’t listen to him. He’s all lies and false smiles. “Where is the weapon?”
And just like that his fist slams into my gut. I let go of him and cradle my stomach. Fall to my knees. Breathe. I can’t breathe.
“If you’d just listen to me, Nati—” he says, blood spilling into his mouth from his nose.
“What did you call me?” I shout.
My body locks. My throat closes. The memory of my father calling me that name renders me useless. I slam my hands against the stone floor, snapping myself into the here and now. How did he know? How could he possibly know?
I suck in tiny bits of air until I can take a single long gulp. When I press my hands to push myself up I fumble into the gas lamp. I stomp out the flame before it can catch on to anything, then close my fingers around a pointed piece of glass. There’s the faintest light coming from the open library. My eyes adjust to the low flame. I breathe through the ache in my body, the dizziness that comes with the rush of adrenaline. I watch the outline of his muscles, the way he staggers for breath.
Castian gives me a wide berth, keeping his back against the wall. His hand rests over his shoulder, where blood seeps through the bandage and shirt.
“We never agreed on weapons,” he says. There’s still that humor in his voice that lights me up with rage. He pulls out a small dagger concealed in his boot and throws it on the floor.
Since he’s discarded his, I should give up mine. That would be the honorable thing to do. If that was in his reach this whole time, why didn’t he use it when he had me pressed against the wall? Why didn’t he end it?
“Fine,” I growl.
I toss the bit of glass aside and charge at him. He blocks each punch, each kick. I go for his injury again, but he anticipates it and traps my arms with his against his torso. I raise my knee and slam it into his groin. It’s a lazy shot, but I’ve always found it to come in handy when I’m out of options. I slap my palm over his ear as hard as I can and he screams. He cups the side of his head, and in this moment of weakness, I strike my hand at his throat. He chokes and stumbles back, coughing through it. He throws a punch that lands on my shoulder.
My body thrums with rage, and even in this low light, I feel it igniting me as if from within. I see the light haloed around me reflected in his eyes. Am I conjuring that?
“You have to listen to me, Nati.” He holds his hands up.
“You can’t call me that! Stop calling me that!” I punch and he blocks. He tries to pin my arms down again, but I throw myself to the ground and crawl between his legs. I slam my elbow into the back of his knee, and he falls forward.
I can kill him.
In this moment, I know I can.
But death would be too good, too gentle. How soon will the justice, the king, come after me? Isn’t that what I wanted to avoid? Does it even matter? Margo would do it. Margo didn’t hesitate and now she’s locked up and I’m here fighting for the pair of us.
“If you won’t tell me where the weapon is,” I say, “I will just rip it out.”
He turns over on his back, and I pin him down, digging into the wound on his chest.
“Ren—Renata, please.” His breath is raspy, blood covering the bottom half of his face. The Bloodied Prince indeed.
I use a piece of glass to rip at the fabric around my top wrist, scraping a bit of skin along the way, but then I can feel air. I tear the rest off with my teeth and free my hand, cold air chilling