“I believe you might well keep your word, Princess Seraphel. Calanfer’s lot are political. However. I do not care to take risks. Moreover…we could use [Knights]. Their bodies, that is. And a [Princess] would be a suitable vessel for experimentation.”

He smiled and looked at her. No—through her. Not at her living form, but at her body. Seraphel shuddered.

“Very well. Ten—forty thousand gold pieces.”

The staff wavered. Someone gasped. It sounded like one of the [Necromancers]. The one with white hair hesitated.

“…What was that?”

“My ransom. I can guarantee it. Forty thousand gold pieces for my return, safely, with my entire escort, of course. I do not doubt it will be paid within the day. Send a [Message] to Calanfer and I will provide you with key phrases to prove I am your captive.”

“Forty thousand. That’s a lot. If we took that instead of the contract—”

“Silence.”

The white-haired leader was thinking hard. Seraphel licked her lips. Was that not an insane amount?

She’d thought it would turn even a [Mage]’s head—but his eyes were flicking to the road again.

“Forty thousand gold pieces, Sir Necromancer. If I die, the Thronebearers of Calanfer would be forced to swear an oath to avenge my death. You would be hunted.”

Murmurs among the cabal. Seraphel went on, emboldened.

“Perhaps even a larger sum! Sixty thousand? Calanfer cannot beggar itself for a single [Princess], much less one as removed from the crown as I, but what are we worth to you dead? A handful of corpses?

Gold of that amount could buy you artifacts, tomes of magic, even bodies, I daresay.”

“Feren, there’s a lot of sense—”

“Silence!”

Feren. Seraphel would remember that name, even without Skill. Her eyes locked on the [Necromancer]’s face. She would make sure he was hunted. But she’d play the damsel right now. She lifted her hands delicately, as if entreating him. And made her first mistake.

“It is a dangerous thing to become an enemy of a Kingdom of Terandria, Sir Necromancer. You are a

[Mage], a spellcaster, and thus a man of learning. Let sense be your guide.”

Well-reasoned words. But the wrong ones. Seraphel saw the white-haired man’s head jerk. He looked down at her and suddenly his face was twisted in fury.

“Enemy of a Kingdom of Terandria? We are already hunted. Your get has already taken—”

He closed his eyes a moment. And Seraphel saw a flash of—what, grief?—then a stare as deathly as the magic he commanded. The [Necromancer] pointed his staff at her chest and spoke to his cabal.

“Kill them all. Don’t damage her body. [Deathbolt].”

The black energy coalesced and lashed from his staff’s tip. Ser Dalimont put himself between the energy and Seraphel. She saw it hit his shield, splash on the enchanted metal.

“Go! Guard Her Highness! Go!”