Kiva wanted to smile, to laugh, to get up and dance in celebration. Rooke didn’t argue—couldn’t argue, since she’d used his own words against him. But still, she’d worried about him finding a loophole, some way of denying her claim. Instead, he’d only brought up the likelihood of her failure. That she could handle.

“I’ve beaten the odds before,” Kiva replied. “Ten years in here, and I’m still alive. That has to count for something.” She recalled what Mirryn had said about her being a survivor, how it was Rooke who had told the princess as much in the first place.

“You’re alive because I’ve protected you,” Warden Rooke hissed, the anger returning to his face. “You’re alive because your father saved my life, and in return, I promised I would keep an eye on you. How else do you think you’ve lasted so long?”

Kiva recoiled at the mention of her father, but couldn’t keep from answering, somewhat bitterly, “Because people know I’m your informant, and since no one trusts me and everyone hates me, they leave me alone.”

“Wrong,” Rooke gritted through his teeth. Kiva had never seen so much emotion from the normally stoic man. “It’s because everyone in here—inmates and guards—knows that if they lay a hand on you, they have to answer to me.”

Kiva nearly snorted. She’d been mistreated too many times to count over the years, especially by the guards. And then there was Cresta and her threat against Tipp, something the Warden didn’t care a whit about. So much for the protection he claimed was upon her. Her perceived allegiance to him had brought Kiva nothing but trouble, along with the constant anxiety of having to deliver enough information to remain useful to him.

But . . . he was right in that nothing truly awful had ever happened to her, unlike what many of the other prisoners had endured, especially at the hands of the guards. She’d suspected that Rooke’s attentiveness acted like a warning to them, she’d just never considered if it was because he’d wanted to protect her, that he was repaying the debt he owed her father for saving him from a near-lethal case of sepsis almost a decade ago. Perhaps Rooke did care about her, in his own unconventional way. The thought sat strangely within her, as if she couldn’t reconcile the idea of him keeping her alive while at the same time frequently threatening her with death.

“You couldn’t have just let it lie, could you?” Rooke finally said when Kiva remained silent. He sounded weary now, the anger bleeding from his voice. “If you hadn’t interfered, Tilda Corentine would have died today, and life would have gone back to normal. No more royal orders, no more sending updates about her condition or answering demands about whether she’s cognizant enough to communicate.”