Page 63 of Gilded Curses

He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been more incensed. It seethed inside his body and pounded in his temples as a scream lodged in his throat.

Desmond’s smile widened as Orin glowered at him. His breaths sounded like a bull’s as they went in and out through his nostrils.

“Your choice, Prince.”

When Orin snatched the hatchet from Desmond’s hand, Loth groaned. The image of burying the sharp edge in Desmond’s face burst through Orin’s mind as he adjusted his hold on the weapon.

Before he could swing it, a guard grasped his wrist. Orin jerked his arm away from the man and sent a scathing look in his direction.

He’d prefer not to have the oaf touching him, but it stopped him from doing something that would have gotten them all killed. Taking a calming breath, Orin tried to ease the rage battering him, but it had taken on a life of its own and refused to be caged again.

However, he could control it. When his gaze swung to the demon’s, Zeth gave a small bow of his head.

“It’s okay,” Zeth said. “Just do it quickly.”

His attention returned to Desmond, and when he met the man’s pale eyes, Orin smiled. For the first time, a flicker of apprehension ran through the other man’s eyes before he buried it.

Desmond wasn’t a stupid man. He knew he was staring his death in the face.

Orin kept smiling as he brushed past Desmond. It slipped away while he walked toward Zeth. The demon’s chin remained proudly up, but he couldn’t hide the sorrow in his yellow eyes.

When Orin stopped before the stump, Fath covered his eyes with his hands before lowering them. A steely look of determination came over his face too. Orin sensed the brownie wanted to run away, but he rested a hand on Zeth’s nape as he tried to offer comfort in solidarity.

They would all go through this together, because though Loth said he couldn’t watch, he placed a hand on Orin’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” the brownie assured him.

This was as far from okay as it got, but their choices were limited, and as much as he’d come to respect the demon, he’d grown to love Sahira far more. He knew that now.

The love had been there for a while, trying to break free so he could see the truth, but he’d been too stubborn to acknowledge it and too determined to cling to who he’d always been. However, that was the past, and Sahira was his future.

He’d found his home with her. He belonged with her, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

“I’m getting bored, dark fae,” Sheree called in a pouty voice, “and I’m not very nice when I’m bored.”

The fact she considered herself nice at all showed how delusional the crazy bitch was, but Orin refrained from pointing that out.

“I will see blood, dark fae,” Desmond said.

Zeth’s gaze didn’t waver from his. “The faster you do it, the better.”

When the demon held his wrist further out over the log, Orin seized it. He stared at the thick muscle cording Zeth’s wrist and arm as he prepared himself for what he had to do.

Lifting his head, he looked over the Elites before shifting his gaze to Desmond and the vast number of guards surrounding them. They were all practically drooling as they devoured this scene.

The servants had also frozen as they looked on with dismay. Some of them had turned away to busy themselves with the carriages. They were used to the abuse and having to witness it, but they still didn’t like it.

Maybe there’s hope for them.

“Do you have bets on whether or not I’ll do this?” Orin asked.

Desmond beamed as he rocked back on his heels. “Now you’re getting it, Prince.”

“What did you bet?” Orin asked.

Desmond held up his index finger and wagged it at him. “Uh-ah, I can’t tell. That would be cheating.”

“That’s true.”

“But whatever you choose, I will have a hand,” Desmond said. “I already made a spot on my mantle for it.”