One by one they shook their heads negatively.

“It kind of looks like an assassin’s mark,” Pip said with a frown.

“Yeah, right,” one of the others laughed. “Given its location, you can tell who’s been biting the pillows when he gets screwed. I’m sure he had it done to look tough for all of his boyfriends. Make them think they were drilling a real man when they were on top of him and not some limp-stick fag.”

Pip joined his laugher. “No kidding, right? The only thing he ever trained was his finger to press a button so that he could order someone else to come wipe his ass for him.” Pip hit him right where he was wounded.

Had Darling been able to move or speak, he would have laughed at their arrogant ignorance. That tattoo was the mark of the Sentella and an assassin’s emblem. A long knife going through the center of a skull with a snake crawling out of its right eye socket. The tail of the snake came out from the mandible and coiled around the bottom part of the blade.

It was a grim promise. Da nullam clementiam—“Give no mercy.” As his father had taught him and as the Resistance had proven to him by their actions—“ Never be afraid to kill or destroy your enemies. They would not hesitate to kill or destroy you.”

And with what they’d done today, they had just made it to the top of his kill list.

All of them.

Pip grabbed his jaw and slammed his head back into the wall as hard as he could.

Unmitigated pain exploded through his skull, blurring his vision. Gah, that hurt.

Pip tightened his hold, making sure his fingers bit deeply into Darling’s cheeks. “You better be glad we need you whole for the ransom, rich boy. If we didn’t…” He held Darling’s severed finger up for him to see. “This would be the least of your injuries.”

Darling tried to spit at him, but all it did was come out as a low burst of breath.

Pip glanced over his shoulder at another rebel. “Grab a quarter muzzle for our guest. Last thing we want is to hear his royal complaints when the stun blast wears off.”

Darling’s stomach shrank at his words. A quarter muzzle was an old Caronese torture device that had once been used for traitors. It had a spiked ball that was put beneath the tongue, then two thin barbed straps that were shoved down the throat. Anytime the wearer swallowed or tried to speak, the spikes sliced into their throat and the underside of their tongue.

Though brutal, it was probably some kind of karmic justice since it’d been invented by one of Darling’s ancestors and coldly used to punish his enemies. It, along with many other such vicious acts, was why his family had been given the Cruel surname by their people centuries ago.

So this is how I die.

Not peacefully in old aged sleep like he’d hoped. Or under his uncle’s fist or a lucky shot taken at him by his enemies as he’d expected.