“Says the one who met his end by falling into a hole,” Victoria said. She and Vincent had flanked the other side of the pit in case the captive tried anything creative. “Did the humans dangle a pastry as bait over their trap, or were you just too stupid to watch where you were going?”

He swore at her, but she only kicked snow in his face.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Marc said.

Albert laughed, then ground his teeth together against the pain. “Months. Since Thibault showed his true colors and wed his human-lover of a son to that red-haired whore. Weaklings like that don’t belong on the throne. Guillaume and I both recognized that it was time to switch sides.”

I frowned, realizing that he didn’t recognize me through my disguise.

“I knew it,” he gasped out. “Knew it the moment Tristan stopped me from killing him,” his eyes went to Chris, “And then humiliated me for the sake of that stupid girl: the Duke was right about him being a sympathizer. Worse than a sympathizer, he was willingly bedding that nasty little creature. Was in love with it. And Thibault knew. Put up with Tristan’s proclivities and forgave his treason. That says something.” He coughed. “That means something.”

Marc didn’t react. “Where is the Duke?”

Albert grinned. “Somewhere you’ll never find him.”

“He doesn’t know,” Vincent said. “Angoulême wouldn’t trust his plans to a turncoat commoner. Those human recruits bending knee to Roland probably know as much.”

“Maybe they do and maybe they don’t,” Albert responded. “But if you think to get the information by torturing it out of me, you’re wrong. I. Won’t. Tell. I’m a dead man as it is.”

Whether he’d given an oath to the Duke or was that convinced of his own fortitude in the face of torture, he meant what he said. He was as bound to tell the truth as any of them. Part of me wanted to tell them to let him die, but the cost of my earlier cruelty was fresh in my mind. Such a slippery slope it was to become cavalier with life just because the life in question was that of my enemy. It was the attitude of Thibault and Angoulême, and if I was no different, how could I claim to be better?

My hand went to the two remaining perfume bottles in my satchel, and with a sigh, I gave Marc a little nudge with my elbow. “What about for the chance to live?”

The injured troll’s eyes bulged with recognition. “You.” His face contorted with effort. But Albert was not Anaïs or Tristan, and the iron piercing his body kept him in check.