“Why, for one thing, in Vaskandar, we do not let our mage-marked be kept as prisoners or pets.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You are more than welcome to join me there at any time. You would be raised up as a great lady, above the common throng.”

“Tempting.” Zaira held up her wrist, the jess glittering in the lamplight. “But I’m stuck with Raverra so long as I’m wearing this.”

Ruven shrugged. “That could be taken care of.”

A hunger came into Zaira’s face. She took a half step toward him. I tensed.

“You can remove it?” Her voice strained like a taut rope.

“I have my ways. Do you wish a demonstration?”

“No,” I said. “No demonstrations, thank you.”

But Ruven had already lifted a lazy hand to beckon one of his servants forward. A man-at-arms, tall and fair, like all Vaskandrans, stepped forward. “Your Highness?”

“Your wrist,” he commanded.

The man swallowed, going milk pale. But he pulled back his sleeve and stretched out his arm.

“No, really.” I waved both hands, as if I could somehow fan Ruven away. “This isn’t necessary.”

He laughed. “Of course it isn’t necessary. My goodness, Lady Amalia, what a tedious world it would be if we only did necessary things.”

He clasped his servant’s arm with one hand, then drew a long dagger with the other.

“Your Highness,” the guardsman began nervously, “with all respect, what are you—”

He stopped moving. His chest rose and fell, and he stared at the knife with fear still shining in his eyes, but the prince had taken his ability to move or speak, just like that.

Ruven laid his dagger’s edge against the guard’s wrist.

“That’s enough,” Zaira said harshly. “Getting the jess off isn’t worth losing my hand.”

“You won’t lose anything,” Ruven promised. “This won’t even hurt.”

And he pressed the knife into his guard’s skin.

I choked back a scream. There was no blood. The man’s eyes strained wide against the paralysis that held him, but there was no pain in them, only terror. The dagger pushed through his wrist slowly, like a cord through butter, and the flesh knit again around it after it passed. The blade emerged clean on the far side of his arm, gleaming in the darkness. No mark scarred the guard’s smooth, pale skin.

Zaira’s face had gone positively green. I edged closer to her, in case she fainted or threw up. I didn’t feel much better. I’d rather swallow a cup of live snails than watch that again.

Ruven released the guard, who snatched his arm back and stumbled away from his master, gasping.

“See?” Ruven spread his arms wide, still holding the knife. “Did it hurt? Tell them.”

The man rubbed his wrist, trembling. “It … There was no pain, Your Highness.”