A dozen guards charged into the throne room. She lost her concentration and Yates surged to his feet, aiming straight for her.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Yates paused. “Where’s the sun-kissed?” he roared.

“There!” one guard said, pointing.

She didn’t have enough power to reach them all. And with the knot of people blocking the entrance, she had nowhere to go. Bedlam ensued for a short—too short— time. Shyla ducked and dodged and fought those closest to her, using her magical commands at every opportunity, but eventually Yates caught her.

“Don’t try anything,” he said as the cold steel of his knife touched her throat.

Stop.

He applied a slight pressure. A line of fire crossed her neck.

“I’m not going to stop,” he said. “And you don’t need to be alive in order for us to remove your eyes.”

Damn thick-headed man.

The prince’s voice cut through the cries and everyone stilled, including Yates.

“What in the seven hells is going on?” he demanded. “While I’m glad you’ve arrived, why are you here?”

One of the guards straightened. “We brought you a prize, sire.” He gestured and the people near the door moved further inside—the throne room almost filled to capacity. But then, through the midst of them, a man was shoved forward to the middle of the room.

Rendor.

Eighteen

Beaten, bruised, and bloody, Rendor stood before the prince, who eyed him with mild surprise and amusement. Shyla sagged against Yates. Rendor had tried to rescue her and now…now they were both in trouble. Unless she could gather enough magic to freeze everyone.

“Where did you find him?” the prince asked.

“He’s been trying to recruit your guards to switch their loyalties to the sun-kissed, sire,” one of the guards said.

Really? Shyla strained to catch Rendor’s gaze, but his hard stare was aimed at Yates behind her.

“Did he have any success?” the prince asked.

Uneasy chuckling. “No, sire. We caught him before he could do any damage.”

“Good work, Lieutenant. Rendor, you should have left Zirdai when you had the chance. We’ll deal with you in a bit.” The prince turned to Yates. “Captain—”

“He’s not your captain,” Rendor said. “Not while I’m still alive.”

Yates tensed. And Shyla inwardly groaned at his bold statement. The big brute was going to get himself killed.

“We can settle this right now,” Yates said. He handed Shyla and his knife to the closest guard. “I’ll know if you try to influence me with your magic,” he said to her, then to the guard, “Watch me. If I signal you, slit her throat.”

“Yes, sir.”

From her point of view, her situation had improved. The man holding her was no Yates. His mind was easily influenced. She wondered if that had been Rendor’s plan all along.