“Ten years ago, your father burned my wife alive, claiming she was a witch. What say I do the exact same to you as retribution?”

“I say you let go of me immediately.” Magnus glowered at him. “Your need for vengeance has nothing to do with me.”

“He’s right.” The king stepped forward and pushed back his hood. “It has to do with me.”

The man gaped at him as if not believing his own eyes.

“Apologies for the loss of your wife,” the king said, the single lantern above the exit door lighting his near-skeletal face. “I despise witches for reasons far too long to list here and now. But I’ve rarely executed one who hadn’t dealt in blood and death. If your wife is now in the darklands, that’s exactly where she belongs.”

The man’s face reddened with rage, and he stepped forward with a sharp blade in his hand. Magnus watched his father as he stood there unmoving, his skin sallow, his shoulders hunched. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—fight for his life.

Did he want to die?

The man’s attention was fully on the king now, burning hatred in his eyes as he surged forward.

Magnus moved before he even realized his own intentions, grasping the man’s hands, stopping the blade before it met its mark.

“If anyone deserves the right to kill my father, it’s me,” he growled. “But it won’t be tonight.”

He wrenched the sharp blade around so that it sank into its owner’s chest instead. The man cried out in pain before he slumped to the ground. A pool of blood flowed freely from the fatal wound.

There was a moment of utter stillness in the alleyway before the king spoke again. “We must leave before anyone comes by to witness this.”

Magnus had to agree with him. He wiped the blood from his hands on his black cloak, and quickly they returned to the Hawk and Spear Inn.

“Don’t take that act to mean that I don’t hate you,” Magnus said.

The king nodded grimly. “I’d think you were a fool if you didn’t. Still, despite your hatred for me, I want to give you something.”

“What?”

“The air Kindred.”

There was no way in the world that the King of Blood would hand over a piece of the Kindred to anyone, not even his own son. And yet, the king led Magnus upstairs to the room he’d been in for two straight days.

Magnus scanned the space. “Where’s Selia?”

“In the courtyard.” The king nodded toward the window. “Your grandmother likes to do her Oldling rituals nightly at this hour under the moonlight, which is why I was able to slip away.”

The king went to the straw bed, lifted up the blankets, and felt beneath the mattress. He frowned. “Help me lift it,” he said.

“That weak, are you? So you really would have let that man kill you while you simply stood there waiting?”

“Just do as I say.” The glare his father shot him was much more familiar than any talk of sharing and regrets.

“Fine.” Magnus went to his side and lifted the mattress so his father could search beneath.

Shock flashed through the king’s watery, bloodshot eyes. “It’s gone.”

Magnus regarded him skeptically. “How convenient, considering you were about to give it to me. Please, Father, spare me such acts. As if you’d hide that kind of a treasure in such an obvious place.”

“It’s not an act. It was here. I’ve been too ill to find a better place to hide it.” His expression darkened. “That little princess of yours stole it.”

It had to be a lie. Yet another lie. Magnus couldn’t believe otherwise, not over something this important.

Before he could reply, the king stumbled past him to leave the room. Magnus followed him down to the hall, where Cleo still sat with Jonas.

Magnus couldn’t believe his eyes. It took every last piece of restraint he had not to make Jonas his second kill of the night.

Cleo shot up to her feet at the swift entry of both the king and Magnus. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Did you steal the air Kindred?” Magnus asked, not liking the drunken slur to his words.

“What? I—I wouldn’t even know where it is!”

“Yes or no, princess?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin. “No.”

“She lies,” the king said.

“The king of lies wishes to accuse the princess, does he?” Jonas practically spat out, his hands fisted. “How ironic.”

“Where is your earth Kindred?” Magnus demanded.

Cleo’s brow furrowed into a frown as she slid her hand into her pocket, her eyes growing wide. “It’s gone. It was here, I swear it! I keep it with me all the time!”

A wave of nausea came over Magnus. There was a thief among them. And whoever it was would soon deeply regret their actions.

It wasn’t long before the loud voices drew everyone to the room, wondering what was going on. Both Milo and Enzo had their weapons drawn, ready for a fight.

Magnus scanned the group. Everyone was accounted for—Nic, Olivia, even Selia had joined them, her face flushed from whatever ritual tonight’s moon had earned. Everyone except one.

“Where is Prince Ashur?” asked Jonas, frowning. “He was here earlier with Cleo and me.”

“I haven’t seen him today,” Olivia replied. “Perhaps he’s gone out.”

“Perhaps. Anyone know where he went?”