Joel gripped hard.
Faust flailed and tried to rip the servant’s hands from his neck, his dull nails digging deep into Joel’s skin.
“Forgive me,” Joel said in Faust’s ear. “It will be over soon.”
Faust struggled and heaved. He’d let his guard down, just as Rene told him never to do. Be aware of your surroundings, Rene had warned.
“Stop struggling.” Joel pulled the prince up to adjust his grip.
“Daren!” Faust rasped, his voice far too soft. His vision blurred as he tried to regain his footing on the floor of the bath.
“Your parents went much easier than you. I should have just poisoned you—they suspected nothing.”
Anger pooled in Faust’s chest. He should’ve known an insider killed his parents. Only skilled assassins could’ve played a role before striking in the heart of the castle. Faust concentrated on his surroundings, grasping the natural water magic in the air. A portion of the bathwater swirled and cracked into icicles under the surface. Faust kicked water up and edged his body back in an arch, grabbing natural wind magic next, aiming the icicles underneath the water for Joel and the bottle across the room.
Wind shoved Joel backward on the slippery floor, an icicle slamming into the wall behind him. The sound of the bottle shattering echoed in the stone room while a faint streak of sky blue reflected in the water as the wind magic whispered out.
Faust gasped and hauled himself out of the bath. His chest burned, but he shoved Joel into the water with a large splash.
“Daren!” he shouted, and swayed to find purchase on something, anything! His bedroom door banged against the wall, and Faust saw the blurry outline of the captain. Faust sank to his knees in a feeble attempt to cover himself. “He tried . . . to kill me!” Faust staggered to his right as Joel lifted himself from the bath on the far side.
Daren readied a blade. “Go to the king, Your Highness.”
Faust ripped the linen sheet off the bar by the door and fled into his room. He didn’t bother drying and shrugged into his long tunic with haste. He forewent pants and boots and wobbled to the door, but wind brushed against his chilled skin, the curtains by the balcony swaying.
Faust froze. He was certain the balcony had been closed earlier, and the natural magic flitted about as if it’d been disturbed recently.
Someone else was here.
Faust whipped around and met a fist to his gut.
Chapter Two
Faust shivered and cursed the bindings on his hands and feet that kept him perched over a man’s shoulder like a sack of food. He’d never felt so humiliated. It didn’t help that his tunic and hair clung to his icy skin. These men had come prepared, and the incense made him too drowsy to retaliate. Tapping into the natural magic could give the knights more proof of his magic to report to Emoris, or worse, Lathil, the second Sovereign of the kingdoms of Alimphis—who would stop at nothing to confirm it. Lathil was far more intimidating, the warrior of the two deities, and took care of Emoris’s dirty work. He wouldn’t put it past Lathil to punish his whole family, but he had to take a chance.
Faust concentrated on the natural magic in the air from Alimphis. The land was usually eager to answer his call, and it didn’t disappoint him. Alimphis carried his magic as if it were an extension of himself. He let a little of his magic weave into the wind as a way to guide Konrad to him, hoping he could hold out until his brother arrived.
Faust took a shaky breath, focusing on the men again. It was early enough for the market to be empty. Several men had killed Joel, ambushed Daren, and overpowered him after the hit to his stomach. He had a faint idea of where his captors were from, but no clues as to why they wanted him. They carried the scent of gunpowder and dressed like those of Windilum, but he thought anyone from Windilum was barred from gathering in the capital of Alios.
Faust caught the echo of clanking armor. He gasped. “Guards!” he bellowed, pleased to hear their yells as they scrambled after his voice.
“Silence, you brat,” one of the cloaked men said, lifting one hand to strike Faust.
Faust closed his eyes tight, expecting pain, but a single gunshot reverberated through the air, wind brushing against his face.
“Colton!”
Faust cracked an eye open, and his throat ran dry. The man had a hole between his eyes and blood dripped down his face as he fell backward with a thud.
“Where did that come from?” the other man asked.
“Don’t panic, Pal,” another man snapped. “Keep running, we’re as good as dead if those knights catch up with us.”
Pal ran again, the man’s grip bruising on Faust’s hips. “Why is one of our own attacking us?” Pal rounded a corner into an alleyway, ducking into an open doorway until the knights passed. “What do we do, Treval?”
“We run. We have our meeting point,” Treval said. “Failure isn’t an option. Come.” The pair turned down the alleyway again.
Faust couldn’t allow this to continue. A dull ache had set into his bones. “Guards!” he yelled again. It earned him a slap in the face, and he groaned.
“We should gag him,” Pal said. “We’ll never get out of Limorous at this rate.”
Gunfire rang out again.
Faust wasn’t able to avert his gaze this time. Treval fell back with a thud.
Pal halted and searched.
A cloaked man dropped behind Pal. Fierce grey eyes captured Faust’s soul, and something uncoiled deep within him. Warmth touched Faust’s senses, the scent of blood surrounded him, and yet, he felt welcomed, protected even. The briefest flash of light bronze skin showed underneath the dark scarf the cloaked man wore over his face, and leather armor came into view as the man raised a strange gun with red gems at him.
Faust’s heart leaped to his throat, his trance broken.
A single shot resounded in the morning air.
Faust’s world tilted as Pal fell. He tensed for impact, but only warmth enveloped him, along with an exceptionally strong pair of hands. Faust blinked.
The man hoisted Faust over his shoulder and sprinted out of the alleyway to the street. He went up a flight of stairs that leveled with the rooftops of the lower part of the market. “They certainly didn’t want you decent, did they?” He commented as if one spoke of the weather.
Faust bristled. “Unhand me, you brute.”
“I’d rather not.” The man snorted. “If I put you down, you’ll be taken by the knights, gorgeous.”
The nerve of this man! He was a prince, not someone to woo. Faust tried to wiggle out of the man’s arms, but aching pain had turned into a strange tingling sensation. Each passing second caused his body to grow weaker, and Faust was almost certain he’d pass out. His stomach knotted, and the nauseating urge to toss what little bread he’d eaten this morning grew.
“Unhand the prince!” Kingsley Knights bellowed from afar.
The man picked up the pace. “Hang on tight.”
“What are you—” Vertigo hit Faust hard as the man vaulted into an alleyway. Faust hunched into the man’s larger body, and the sensation of warmth brushed against his senses again, inviting him closer. He bit his lip to regain his focus and swallowed bile.
“I won’t drop you, I promise,” the man said with what sounded like a grin. “Is there anywhere I can put you where you’ll be safe?”