Page 84 of The Dragon and the Dove

She batted it away with a saccharine smirk.

Lark chuckled.

Nadia remained stone-faced.

Sera fired the other one.

Andreas caught it, tossing it behind him. ‘So you’d rather be barefoot. Fine by me.’

‘I know what I’d like to do with my foot,’ she snarled. ‘Shove it up your arrogant—’

‘That’ll do, thank you.’ He approached the bed, removing a knife from his waistband. ‘Restrain her.’

Lark pinned her arms, while Nadia held her head straight. Her palms were slick with sweat. A crack in her otherwise cool demeanour.

‘Better that you don’t struggle,’ said Andreas. ‘I’d hate to go too deep on my first attempt.’

First attempt.

She kicked out her heels, shoving herself backwards, but Lark’s chest was an iron wall, the stench of rot filling her nostrils as he brought his cold lips to the shell of her ear.

‘Behave, Maker.’

Andreas sighed, fingering the point of his blade. ‘Wouldn’t it be so much easier if you just co-operated? Shared a little morsel of all that power in your veins? Then I wouldn’t have to bleed it from you under duress.’

‘Bleed me dry,’ she snarled. ‘It’s not going to work.’

‘You’d better pray it does, little dove. Because if it doesn’t, I’ll have no need of you after all.’

His words were sobering, and when he lowered the knife to her neck, she had no choice but to bear the cut. She had suffered worse, but the sting of metal meeting flesh sent a shudder through her soul. Her magic keened, like it knew what the Silver-tongue was trying to take from her.

‘Now,’ he said, as her blood streamed.

Rushing forward, Lisette presented a glass vial. It was cool against Sera’s skin, her blood filling it at once. She stoppered it with deliberate slowness, her grey eyes hungry as she passed it to the prince. He snatched it from her, then shooed her from the bed.

‘Go and fetch Darius.’

Lisette took off, and Andreas went to stand by the doorway, anxiously tapping his foot.

Sera bled while she watched him. The mistbane made the cut slow to heal. Blood trickled down her neck and soaked the collar of her nightgown.

Nadia pressed her sleeve against it. Sera almost said thank you before remembering that dagger in Ransom’s side.

‘Get off me,’ she said, jerking in Lark’s arms.

‘I’m trying to help you,’ said Nadia.

‘Like you helped Ransom?’

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. A man entered, and Sera knew him at once. In the morning light, her Urnican rider was even broader than she remembered. And tall as hell. Like a bronze statue come to life, his skin was warmed by years of flight, his grey flinty eyes rimmed with kohl. Without his helmet, the intricate braiding of his fine black hair was noticeable, the long strands gathered at the back of his head.

‘Darius,’ said Andreas, dipping his head in respect. ‘I trust you slept well.’

‘The mistbane helps.’ His voice was as deep as thunder.

So here was her captor.

Darius Mondragon, Prince of Urnica.