“I’d be careful not to get too close to the cat. She’s got a temper. And very big claws,” I mock. Krantz sends at least a dozen hidden daggers whipping toward me, and I will them to break apart into tiny pieces. “I believe that is now the third time you’ve tried that on me. Hopefully third time’s the charm, and you’ve finally learned you won’t get a blow in that way.” Krantz’s eyes widen, and his jaw opens slightly, realization dawning across his features. “Ah, yes, I see you’re realizing that the Prince did not hide you as well as you thought during that little attack on the thayar tower. If only he were as powerful as me, but alas, you allied yourself with someone whose magic is as apparent to me as your fear.” I hate mocking Thorne’s incredible magical strength like this, but I need to keep his cover in case we need to use him with the rebels again.

Krantz bares his teeth at me, and the other rebels with him fan out in a semicircle around me with practiced movements, like they’ve drilled this repeatedly. From the corner of my eye, I notice Thorne’s body tense as he watches Krantz with predatory intent. The posture matches Lunaria, who now stands, her graceful body angled and on alert.

“It’s only fair that I trick you,” I continue, “after you put on such a good performance when I had you in my cells. Here I thought you were a farmer, just trying to protect his family. I won’t let you out of my clutches again.”

“I am trying to protect my family, and all of Thayaria, from your wicked blood magic,” he jeers. “Witch!” He spits at my feet, but the ire in his voice doesn’t match his eyes, confirming my suspicion that he’s using a convenient narrative rather than possessing any real belief that I’m a witch. All the rebels with him spit at my feet and hiss, raising swords over their heads in a pitiful semblance of a battle cry.

I only smirk, then will all of their swords to fly out of their hands in an instant. All but Krantz cower back in fear. When I stand, they back up, inching farther away with every lazy step I take down the dais. I’m eager for a fight with the bastard who’s slipped from my clutches not once, but twice. Vines inch along the ground with me as I delicately make my way across the marble floor, my steps echoing loudly. A foot away from Krantz, I stop, though he doesn’t flinch when my vines reach him and crawl up his legs.