It had been a week. He'd begun eating the foul slop dumped into the trough yesterday, mindless with hunger. Others came and went from the cell, but Kael was ignored.
He whittled away the hours fantasizing about all the ways to kill a prince. Given the brothers' reputation, they probably had wine tasters, so poison was out of the question.
He had no weapons either. His sword likely still rested in the closet of the room he'd rented for a month. Getting close to the prince would be easy enough. Both times they'd met, he seemed to recklessly put himself within striking distance, but his guards would be a problem.
If Darian had his restraints removed again, it wouldn't take much effort for Kael to wrap his fingers around the man's thin neck and choke the life out of him.
He growled at his own thoughts, despising himself.
He'd once loved his city and its royals. Fought for them, believing it was right. His soldiers had fought too. They'd all worn the griffin on their chests with pride.
Where had it all gone wrong?
When the guards came for him next, only he and two others remained in the cell. His wrists were restrained behind his back again, and like before, he was marched through the servants' areas—but this time, they all wore black and spoke in hushed voices.
Had the king finally succumbed to his ailments? Did that make Darian, the eldest, the king now?
That was usually the natural order of these things. But Darian had been absent for almost as long as the war, safely hidden away. His path to the crown could be contested. "Who died?" he asked.
"Keep moving," replied the sandy-haired guard with the kind blue eyes from the pleasure house.
He'd find out soon enough. It wouldn't be Darian; Kael had never been that lucky.
The guard escorted Kael up many staircases into the lighter, cooler parts of the palace where huge windows overlooked the glistening city, then stopped in a chamber adorned with gold-threaded furniture most people never got to see.
It was an entirely different world from the blacksmith's cottage where Kael had been raised.
The doors opposite them rattled open, and a plainly dressed man carrying a messenger bag walked out, scowling at Kael before moving past him.
"Send in the mercenary," Darian's voice chimed.
A shove, and Kael entered another chamber, this one decorated with the same elegance, but larger in every way.
The prince leaned against the wall beside a sunlit window, his mourning clothes dark as a thundercloud. He held a glass of wine in his left hand, while his right rested on his thigh. The sight of the bandage around the prince's right wrist summoned a smile to Kael's cracked lips.
Darian glanced over, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone, and sneered. It seemed to be his preferred expression. "He reeks."
"You said to bring him right to you," the guard said flatly.
Darian waved him off, but did it with his left hand, sloshing some of the wine from the glass. He didn't seem to notice or care how the wine dribbled over his fingers. He walked up to Kael, his keen eye riding over Kael's filthy clothes, making some kind of assessment. "What is your name?"
"Kaellas," Kael croaked. If he was going to die, then at least the prince would know the name of the man he'd sentenced.
"Family name?"
"Torin."
"Trade?" His gaze dropped again, scrutinizing, roaming, reading, assessing. Dissecting. "Before you were a soldier."
"Smith."
He sipped his wine and took a step back. "What kind?"
"Blacksmith."
The prince nodded to himself. "Do you still forge?"
"No." Kael was not about to reveal how he'd been too young to properly learn the trade before the war broke out, and when he'd returned, there had been nothing left of Pah's, Kael's father's forge, just rubble around a chimney stack.
Darian's smile was shallow, cutting a slash across his face. He took a second step back, appraising his catch. "Uncuff him."
The guard fiddled with the restraints until, with a freeing click, their weight was gone. Kael rubbed his sore wrists, working feeling back into them.
"Shall I leave?" the guard asked.
"No." Darian's smile grew sinister. "This one will try and kill me given a chance. Won't you, Kael?" He downed his wine without waiting for a reply and sauntered across the room. His sloppy stride suggested he'd consumed more than one glass that morning. "I offered you coin before; now you don't get a choice." He reached for the bottle with his left hand and refilled his glass, spilling the last few drops. "My brother is dead. You will kill the man who killed him."
Kael continued rubbing his wrists, giving his hands something to do while his thoughts turned over.
"Why?" he asked.
"Why what? Kill a man?"
"Why ask me?"
"You don't know?" Darian snorted. "I heard all about your altercation in the cell. You protected a lunatic. Did it make you feel better, throttling the man who killed your charity case, or did you murder him because you were angry and he was convenient?" The prince grinned again. "Truly, I'd like to know."
Kael gritted his teeth and turned his face away. He should not have laid a hand on anyone in the cell. He wouldn't have, but lately his nerves and fury ignited like a spark. It had been harder and harder to keep himself controlled. Like with the prince in the pleasure house. He'd lashed out, and his mistake had brought him here among these royals, people he despised in a world that wasn't his.
Darian strode closer, his long legs quickly eating up the distance between them. "I asked you… Kaellas." He peered into Kael's eyes and blinked.
"Because I recognize a killer when I see one. And if you speak of this task outside of this room, nobody will believe you."
He could lunge now, wrap his fingers around Darian's neck, and maybe end it, but what good would that do anyone? The elder prince would be dead, but one prince would remain. The king still lived, and there were probably half a dozen other Vexes lined up, eager to wear the crown, and all were a curse upon this land.
Darian wet his lips.
Kael watched the viper's mouth part, watched the tip of his tongue stroke over his bottom lip. "You've thought about killing me," the prince said. "Many have. Many more dangerous than you. Yet here I stand, very much alive." He seemed to gain a twisted sense of glee from that statement, then threw back his second glass of wine in several gulps. His throat undulated, so delicate for someone full of poison.
Suddenly the prince whirled and launched the glass at the wall. It shattered spectacularly, raining jagged fragments across the floor. Darian laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Just madness.
Kael glanced at the guard. The man hadn't flinched, staring across the room completely unfazed. It seemed this was normal behavior for the prince.
Darian flopped into a chair, elegant limbs sprawling. He rested his right wrist gingerly over his waist. "Toss him back in the cell until he agrees."
Kael swallowed, dread filling his empty gut.
The guard grabbed his wrists.
He couldn't go back there. If he went back, he'd get weaker, and then he'd have no choice at all. He yanked an arm free of the guard's fingers.
"Come on, now," the guard grumbled, reaching again. "Back we go."
Kael ducked the guard's arm, plucked the shortsword from the guard's sheath, hearing him shout, and bolted for Darian.
The prince didn't move from the chair, barely even twitched, so when Kael fell over him, the guard's blade drawn back to plunge into the prince's heart, he did not expect to feel the bite of steel at his throat. But there it was, freezing Kael rigid.
"Hm." The prince licked his lips and tilted his head. His eye widened, drinking in Kael's murderous glare. "A free lesson, from me to you. Call it a gift. I'm always one step ahead, Kael." He flicked his wrist, and the blade nicked Kael's skin, drawing his blood for a second time.
The guard barked something. A dull thump stole Kael's vision, filling it in with throbbing blackness, and the last thing he saw as he plunged into unconsciousness was Darian's cruel smile.