“Hurry the fuck up,” a croaky version of a voice I recognize all too well says. A voice that hits me with instant nausea. “Arrest him now before he fucks off.” Belanger stands behind the guards, leaning heavily on a cane, wearing Guardian-issue suedes and a black shirt. I suck in a breath, his stale tobacco scent clogging my nose. He looks like a man in his sixties. Gray hair has replaced the reddish brown I remember. Wrinkled skin sags off sunken cheeks. His pallid color gives the impression of a corpse.

Did I do that to him?

His eyes haven’t changed. Cold malice still gives the metal-gray a sickly tinge.

I back up as the tallest guard—a muscled, balding man with a scar down his right cheek—steps forward. The chains in his fist clink as he raises them. “I don’t want any trouble,” he says with a brook-no-shit tone. “We’ve been sent from Headquarters with orders to arrest the prince’s servant on recovery and transport him to London. If you would just put these chains on for me.”

Like that’s going to happen.

I scowl and straighten my shoulders to full height.

His five colleagues dip into ready stances, hands grasping their sword hilts.

The guard swallows. “I don’t want to use force, but we will make you put the chains on if we have to.”

Yeah, you and whose army?

I don’t say that out loud. I’d sound like a twat. I look him in the eyes and deliver my words with a growl. “I’m not putting those chains on. And I’m not leaving Blackriver with you.”

The guard pales, but he stands his ground.

Laasya joins me, hands on her hips, chin in the air. “On whose orders are you arresting him?”

“We’ve been sent by Commander Belanger, Miss.” The commander at Headquarters. Bastard Belanger’s father. Figures.

Quinton gives my forearm a squeeze of reassurance. “Captain Trenton, Michael is under my care and will not be leaving Blackriver today. I am very sorry you wasted a journey.”

“With respect, Councilor,” Trenton says, eyes bouncing between the three of us, “I don’t take my orders from you, and Commander Belanger warned me you would try to intervene. I have more men outside if I need them, sir. And a Headquarters Mage to transport the prisoner.”

Quinton gives a long-suffering sigh. “Commander Belanger is not above the High Council. He has no authority here.”

“Commander Flanagan makes the rules under this roof,” Laasya adds.

“Commander Flanagan isn’t here, though, is he?” Trenton counters.