Page 109 of Bloodgrove

“We have one more surprise for you, honored guests!” Elodie called, and her gaze found Will through the crowd. “William Frank, a last miracle!”

For one moment, he hoped to see the storm in her eyes, but her expression remained polite. She had locked herself deep within her own heart and become entirely the perfect bride Wilkinson desired.

Suddenly, her eyes widened in alarm and moved to something behind Will.

Voices rose, and before he could turn, strong hands seized him. His arms were twisted roughly behind his back, and handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists. Will struggled in panic, but the city guards only tightened their grip. They had the same milky skin as all the other officials, their eyes strangely empty.

“What is happening?” Will demanded, but instead of answering, they dragged him before the Red Hand.

The guests whispered among themselves, their voices unbearable. Will was so tired of them. How eager they were, how easily their excitement for his next performance turned into malicious joy at seeing him arrested.

Panic closed around his throat as he remembered the Capitol. He had escaped arrest there by the narrowest margin only because he agreed to leave the city. But surely no one in Bloodgrove would denounce him for magic.

Desperately, he searched for Elodie, who was fighting her way toward him through the crowd.

A semicircle opened before the Red Hand, the onlookers pressing together so tightly they formed a wall. The guards threw Will to the floor, and for several seconds, he stared at the mosaic beneath his hands. He had loved designing it, loved laying it. No act of creation had ever felt as free as using magic with Elodie’s permission.

But by now, he understood that he had not done it for her. If tonight, his career ended for good, then at least once, he had created something truly his own.

He drew enough strength from that thought to straighten, even as the guards kept him on his knees. The Red Hand sat before the central column, a mix of tree trunk and stone tracery, like the king of some barbaric cult. A dark red cloak with an ermine collar had been spread across his enormous body, as though the white fur allowed him to take part in the wedding. As though he were more a part of this marriage than anyone else in the room.

For the first time that evening, a satisfied smile replaced the irritation in his pale face. But before Will could think about what that meant, his gaze snapped from the Red Hand to someone standing at his right.

Hands clasped behind his back, posture immovable, expression cold, Eric wore the heavy chain of the senators. His colleagues gathered behind him, their hastily donned black robes stark against the crowd.

Will’s heart fell from his chest. A millstone replaced it, making it impossible to breathe.

“William Frank!” the Red Hand began. “You stand accused of high treason!”

He should have turned toward his accuser, but he could not take his eyes off Eric.

This had to be a misunderstanding.

The bandages wrapped around Will’s chest and shoulders now felt like restraints, tightening with every breath. But Eric’s hard expression left no room for doubt.

Then Will saw Duke Wilkinson forcing his way through the crowd with Elodie in tow, hatred blazing as he looked down at him.

“You stole something priceless that was in service to the Crown!” Wilkinson clenched his fists, crushing Elodie’s fingers until they turned red under their lace gloves. Her eyes jumped between Will and Eric, fear being eaten by rage.

Will laughed without humor when he finally understood. Nothing—absolutely nothing he gave—would ever stop those two from continuing their rivalry. And nothing, no intimacy or tenderness, was strong enough to protect him from their game.

“And what exactly would that be?” Will asked, a broken smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. His thoughts raced, but he refused to be intimidated. He threw back his head so that his hair fell across his shoulders and met the Red Hand’s eyes.

There was only one thing Wilkinson could accuse him of—apart from the fact that Will was probably the only man who had ever given his wife an orgasm—and he would hardly admit to that before the entire wedding party.

“A prisoner of the Crown!”

Will looked toward the Red Hand, but the man leaned against his throne with an unreadable expression.

“I believe you will have to be more concrete; I don’t see any evidence,” Will countered, though even as he spoke, he realized his mistake.

Wilkinson smiled with satisfaction. “We have a witness.”

Eric stepped forward and squared his shoulders. He looked good in his black suit, robe, and heavy chain across them. Will was not hardened enough to ignore the night they shared, and he drank in the sight of this man, this traitor, just as greedily as he had the monster.

“I bear witness,” Eric said. “I saw it with my own eyes, but I wasn’t able to stop him. He overpowered me, threw me to the ground, and freed the prisoner.”

Shocked cries rippled through the crowd, and Will hated them even more.