Page 169 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

But no mortal swiftness can outpace a Fae.

Shadows slide from Anton’s fingertips and wrap around the gleaming sword. The weapon halts. Ironheart’s arms tremble as he resists the force of Anton’s power.

“No!” the general bellows. “This isn’t possible. It’s astlerium!”

Silas chuckles and steps to stand beside Anton. Shadows flow from his hands, joining the ones already wrapping around the sword and slowly creeping their way to the pommel.

“Pity. It seems your knowledge is limited. Or perhaps”—a cruel smile splits his face—“you’ve been betrayed.”

Ironheart roars again, sweat slicking his brow as he fights the inevitable.

But the darkness climbs him like ivy, binding his arms, coiling around his throat. His free hand claws at the tendrils strangling him, but they’re insubstantial, untouchable.

He sputters, face flushing red, then purple. The sword wavers. Another pulse of Silas’s magic pulls the weapon lower.

I stand frozen, nausea burning my throat.

Ironheart has never hidden his dislike for me. His order to see me beaten and caged proved his feelings lean closer to hatred. Who knows what he would have done had Anton not come?

So, I do not move. I do not speak up. I do not interfere even as my ex-lover’s father collapses onto the dirt floor, suffocated by Fae shadow.

Only the faintest flicker of pity stirs in my chest as his eyes roll back, his body going limp.

Juniper tsks. “Well. That took long enough.”

Anton and Silas lower their hands. I force my spine straight as they turn in our direction.

Silas quirks a brow. “Would you rather we’d run him through with his own blade?”

Juniper snorts. “Of course not. But the Fae I once served were far more efficient with their magic. You younglings have much to learn.”

Her words crash through me like a strike of lightning. I stagger back, breath catching. What is she talking about?

Silas and Anton erupt into laughter. Loud. Boisterous. Completely wrong for the situation we’re in.

Juniper chuckles.

I look between the three of them, heart sinking when I realize I’m the only one left in the dark.

“We need to move,” Anton says at last, his amusement fading. “Before someone realizes what happened here.”

“Then let’s go.” My voice is raw, brittle.

I shove off the wall and step past Juniper.

Together, we exit the cell, walk down the dim hall, and climb the stairs to the room above.

The stench hits me first—blood and smoke, sharp and metallic. Bodies lie scattered like discarded dolls across the floor. Dread twists my abdomen until I spot the slow rise and fall of their chests. They’re alive, just not conscious.

“What did you do to them?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Ensured they would stay out of our way until we’re gone,” Anton replies.

“So few,” Silas muses, nudging one body with the toe of a pristine boot.

“I was surprised as well,” Anton admits.

Unease prickles my skin. Verdanthia boasts more soldiers than any town in the region. Ironheart wouldn’t post so few guards, not if he feared a rescue attempt.