My Ruthless Prince

by Gaelen Foley

  And then it would be over.

  “Sir, will you be riding out with us?” one asked.

  He nodded. “To your horses!” he commanded the guards, flashing a bold smile. “Order agents in the forest! This is good sport! We bring them in alive. They’re more useful that way.”

  “Drake, be careful,” Emily whispered from a short space behind him. He wasn’t aware she had followed him down off the dais, but when he turned to her, her forceful stare was a pointed reminder that his former colleagues were under orders to kill him if they got the chance.

  He smiled darkly, recalling especially Warrington’s reputation as an assassin. But for appearances’ sake, it was vital that he go personally and lead his Promethean henchmen on this chase.

  It was the only way he could think of to make sure the reckless bastards got away.

  He kissed her hand with a look that told her not to worry, then marched out.

  As soon as Max and Rohan had burst back out of the woods onto the road, Jordan brought the horses to them.

  “Did you kill him?” he asked, as they swung up into their saddles.

  “Missed,” growled the big duke.

  “We have to get out of here,” said Max. “Niall made it into the castle. They’ll be out here looking for us shortly.”

  “What about Drake?”

  “We can worry about him later. Fall back!”

  They reeled their horses around and cantered down the mountain road to seek a more secure position.

  In moments, they could hear the expected riders pounding after them in the distance.

  “We need to get off the road,” Max said tautly. “They’ll be upon us in a moment.”

  Rohan nodded, scanning the landscape. “Let’s try to get above them. There!”

  The hill he pointed to looked a little easier for the horses to negotiate than much of the rough terrain that surrounded them. Wasting no time, they veered off the dusty, winding road up into the wooded high ground.

  They were barely out of sight when the pack of men from the castle rode into view.

  “It’s Drake!” Max whispered.

  Jordan stared at their former colleague, shaking his head. “He’s not just one of them, he’s giving orders.”

  “Must have considerable status as Falkirk’s bodyguard.”

  Rohan took aim.

  “Warrington, no!” Max shoved the barrel of his rifle skyward just as Rohan squeezed the trigger.

  The duke turned on him in fury. “What the hell are you doing? I had the shot!”

  Max stared hard at him. “No. There’s got to be another way.”

  “Er, gentlemen,” Jordan murmured as Drake’s men pointed toward the forest, trying to determine the location the single shot had come from. “Argue later. There are thirty men down there, and personally, I’m in no shape for ten-to-one odds today. That only makes it worse for you two, so I suggest we make a timely egress.”

  Rohan glowered down the hill at the enemy. “Damn it, Max, you should have let me kill him.”

  “Did it ever occur to you he might know what he’s doing?” Max retorted.

  Jordan ignored them both. “The farmers we talked to yesterday told me about a cart path to the west. It’s not on the map, but I wager it’s going to be our best way out of here. Follow me!” He kicked his horse into motion; Rohan followed, still scowling.

  Max, however, turned his horse in the opposite direction, his pulse pounding.

  “What are you doing?” Jordan cried, glancing over his shoulder.

  “I’m going to let them catch me.”

  “The hell you are!”

  “I know what I’m doing! You two get out of here!”

  “Have you lost your mind?” the duke demanded.

  Max shook his head impatiently. “I know it’s a risk, but I cannot believe Drake would ever betray us. That means he’s got a plan, and I intend to help him. I’ve got a better chance of doing that if I can at least get in there and talk to him.”

  “You’re mad,” Jordan marveled.

  “It’s my own affair if I am! Now, go! I’m sorry, but I have to do this,” he said impatiently when his friends refused to leave. “He’s our brother. I can’t leave him behind. If I don’t come back, tell Daphne I love her.”

  “Bloody hell!” Rohan said.

  “If you’re going to let them capture you, maybe we should join you. The more the merrier?” Jordan offered grimly.

  “No,” Max clipped out. “I need you on the outside. Be ready to give me some cover when I drag him out of there—and the girl, Emily, too, if she got this far. Now go. Take that cart path, but try to find some way to watch the castle from a safer location.”

  “You’re sure about this, Max?”

  “Entirely. I’m responsible. I’m the one who let Drake escape my custody.”

  “You’re the one who’s going to have to kill him if it turns out you’re wrong, and he really is a traitor,” Rohan warned. “No more excuses.”

  “If I am wrong, then, yes, I will. You have my word,” Max agreed. “Now go, please.” He kicked his horse into motion again, riding east through the woods while they went west. With any luck, he could draw the enemy to him so his friends could get away.

  He urged his horse on over the treacherous ground, trying to find a spot where he could pretend to make a stand and get captured without getting himself killed.

  The bullet that had streaked just above Drake’s head, close enough for its breeze to riffle his hair, only added authenticity of his present claim of loyalty to the Prometheans.

  He had a feeling he had Warrington to thank for this further proof of the Order’s enmity. Although his private goal was to let them get away, he had no choice but to let his men tear off in the direction from which the shot had come. They began to search the woods.

  “This way!”

  “No, down there!”

  “Split up!” Drake ordered, motioning some of his men toward the cloud of dust that had appeared on the faint westward road down below. Whoever had kicked it up had already disappeared around the curve of the hill, but it was no great mystery who had likely produced it.

  Meanwhile, others had caught the trail of a third rider spotted among the trees. Uneasiness rippled through him. Why would they split up when they were so badly outnumbered? Drake followed the pack in deepening concern.

  Then the men were hollering, their threats and curses echoing through the woods.

  “Put your hands up! Weapons down!”

  Bloody hell. When Drake arrived, he hid an inward stab of dread behind his cold expression.

  They had Max surrounded, on the ground. They had pulled the marquess off his horse and had taken a few choice swings at him, along with a kick in the gut.

  “We got one, sir!”

  “So you have.” Drake stared fiercely at Max. What the hell do you think you’re doing?

  The men were thrilled—an active Order agent for the sacrifice, one of the Archangel’s own knights!

  But if they had known the sly bastard half as well as he did, they would not have been so quick to congratulate themselves.

  Indeed, they would have realized that an agent of Rotherstone’s capability did not just happen to get himself caught.

  You cocky bastard, Drake thought as he realized Max had contrived to surrender himself. But why? To get into the castle? Or did he think Drake couldn’t handle things alone? He shook his head at his boyhood friend. Misguided fool.

  “Bind his hands. You’re losing your touch, old boy,” Drake remarked.

  Max merely smirked.

  Drake jumped down from the saddle and sauntered over to Max. “Where are the others going?”

  “What others?” Max replied in polite boredom.

  Drake punched him in the stomach for his insolence.

  The marquess doubled over a bit with the blow, but surely knew that Drake had to make it look like they were really enemies. “Nice seeing you again, too,” he forced out.<
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  “What are you doing here?” Drake asked.

  “I’m afraid I came to kill you.”

  “Ah.” Drake nodded. “Doesn’t seem to have worked out for you very well.”

  “Not yet, no.” Max straightened up with a slight cough, catching his breath. Despite half a dozen rifles pointed at him, his silvery eyes glinted with steely confidence even as one of Drake’s men yanked his arms behind him, shackling his hands behind his back. “Tell me, Drake, how’s dear old Falkirk these days?”

  “Dead, I’m sorry to say. But you might be interested to know he made me the new head of the Council before he died.”

  Amazement flickered through Max’s eyes, but he quickly hid it behind his bravado. “Well, I always knew you’d go far in life, my friend.”

  He laughed darkly. “I’m not your friend, Max. You and the rest of the Order left me for dead, remember? The lot of you can go to Hell for all I care. In fact, I will personally make sure you do. Put him back up on his horse.”

  Drake’s men did his bidding—none too gently. When the Promethean guards had shoved their captive up into the saddle, Drake personally took the reins and led Max’s horse behind his own, heading back to the castle.

  When they rode into the courtyard, Drake found Emily outside, anxiously waiting for him to return. He saw the relief in her face as she realized he was back, quite unscathed.

  Then her gaze moved to Max on the horse that Drake led behind his own, and a chill of fear crept into her eyes.

  Until that moment, Drake had been unsure of how exactly to play his hand. The fact was, he was worried. With the ritual of the eclipse taking place tomorrow night, he had barely slept in days, on the very knife-edge of suspense. Rotherstone’s arrival was sure to heighten the Prometheans’ suspicions. As if keeping Emily and little Stefan safe were not enough to worry about, now he had to keep Max alive, as well.

  Drake felt close to overwhelmed with the momentous task ahead. But the instant he looked at Emily standing in the sunlight, the idea suddenly crystallized in his mind.

  Perfect.

  The break in the dungeon wall through which she had slipped out of the castle to meet him in the woods . . .

  Hiding his distraction, Drake lowered his gaze as he reined his horse to a halt and swung down off the saddle.

  All he had to do was find a reason to lock her up below along with Max. He winced at the thought of her in some dungeon cell, but he saw no other way.

  She was just going to have to trust him.

  Emily watched in trepidation as his men got Max down from his horse. “What’s going on?” she whispered to Drake as he stalked past her, leading the way into the castle.

  He ignored her—or at least, made a show of doing so.

  Visibly appalled, she stared at Max as the guards marched him past her, his wrists shackled behind him; the marquess gave her a warning look in answer.

  She kept her mouth shut, but followed the men as their party tromped into the great hall. The surviving Prometheans crowded around to get a look at the captured Order agent.

  Drake was all too familiar with the creeping sensation their scrutiny must have sent down Max’s spine right about then, with a crowd of twisted occultists gawking at him. But unlike Drake, who preferred to keep his hatred to himself, their stares provoked the proud marquess to a flash of his famous sarcasm.

  “Good God, what a stench is in this place!” Max glanced around at the Prometheans. “Now I see why. It’s full of human excrement—complete with buzzing flies,” he added, nodding scornfully at Drake.

  Drake turned to him, smiled, and sighed. He had no choice. He hauled back and punched him in the face.

  Emily gasped. “Drake!” She came running over in protest. “What are you doing?” she cried.

  He ignored her yet again. “Throw this blackguard in the dungeon,” he ordered Jacques.

  Emily turned to Max in confusion. He was glaring at Drake. “Are you all right, my lord?”

  Before Max could answer, Drake clasped her elbow and turned her away from their prisoner. “Don’t you talk to him!”

  “You didn’t have to hit him!” she exclaimed.

  He leaned toward her, glowering. “Are you questioning me?”

  She blinked.

  “You know, I’m getting very tired of your presumption on my favor. I don’t tolerate any disrespect from them—” He gestured to the roomful of people around them. “The same goes for you. So you’d better mind your tongue, my girl. Don’t forget, you can easily be replaced in my bed.”

  She gasped in shock. “How dare you?”

  “I can do as I please,” he said. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you think you were in charge around here? You seem to need reminding about your proper place. Perhaps a night in the dungeon will help refresh your memory.”

  “What?”

  “Jacques, do we have an extra cell available down there?”

  “Oui, Capitaine,” the Frenchman said uneasily.

  “Good. Then take this haughty little bitch away. By morning, maybe she’ll think twice about challenging me.”

  “Drake!” she burst out, aghast.

  He nodded for her removal, playing well the sinister part of the top Promethean chief.

  She stared at him in utter confusion, her eyes big, blue, fragile saucers.

  Trust me.

  Two guards grasped her by the arms and began dragging her off to the dungeon. “Drake!”

  “Silence!” he roared back. “Don’t whine to me! You brought this on yourself, you cheeky wench! Get her out of here.”

  “Oui, Capitaine. Come, mademoiselle.”

  “Drake, please! What did I do wrong? Let me go! Drake, don’t do this to me! Drake!”

  As the men led her and Rotherstone away, he steeled himself against her echoing pleas, knowing he could not give in to pity.

  The time to explain would come soon enough.

  He turned away, returning to his throne-like chair in the great hall, his face a mask of dark, hard indifference. “Good riddance,” he drawled. “I was growing bored of her, anyway. Now, then, what is the next order of business?”

  Chapter 20

  Emily spent the remainder of the day and the whole night in a dungeon cell, angry, wounded, and bewildered.

  What the hell is going on?

  Drake had never spoken to her like that before in her life. Another blasted ruse? It had better be. Oh, yes, he had better have a damned good explanation, she thought in unabated fury, even though she gathered that her favorite blackguard had some new trick up his sleeve.

  Some of the things he had snarled at her in the great hall had cued her in to the fact that—as usual—there was more to his behavior than met the eye. He usually knew what he was doing. Still, how dare he call her a bitch?

  Ruse or not, she was still stung, after all she had done for him. No woman had ever given so much and been so put upon, she thought, feeling justified in sulking in her cell. She wanted to wring his bloody neck.

  Thankfully, the presence of Lord Rotherstone two cells down and across the aisle from her helped keep her courage up against the encroaching darkness of this horrible dungeon.

  When the guards withdrew, they were able to exchange some basic information in hushed tones. She confirmed that the Prometheans had indeed chosen Drake as their new leader and explained how it all had unfolded on the night Malcolm Banks had invaded the castle with his private army.

  She also described the prophecy Falkirk had found in the Alchemist’s Scrolls, but for fear of being overheard, she did not even whisper to the marquess that Drake had fully regained his memory and their incarceration was probably just a ruse.

  The very walls had ears.

  Besides, her own faith on that point was wavering, frankly, after Drake had admitted two days ago that he was tempted to embrace his new role in life.

  She wanted to believe he had put that wicked notion out of his mind—but he was not acting like himself.

  Ah,
she was so weary of it all . . .

  She leaned back against the clammy stone wall, staring into the inky gloom of the subterranean prison and battling moment by moment a wave of irrational fear.

  Even if it was a ruse, how could he do this to her? Didn’t he know being trapped down here in the darkness would plunge her back into the awful memories of her ordeal when she was seventeen?

  If it were not for the nearby marquess, she’d have given in to panic hours ago and would have probably been reduced to wild screaming, just like she had been for days in the pit of that well, where she had thought she was going to die.

  But Drake had rescued her, she reminded herself, shivering. She hugged herself around the waist, trying to ward off the chill. He had not done this to hurt her, she promised her bruised heart. He had to have a reason.

  Nevertheless, the darker it got through the long, cold night, and the longer she remained a prisoner, the harder it got to stay brave and hold on to hope.

  If there was one benefit to be gained from the experience, however, it was that it brought her closer to Drake in a strange way. At last she had a firsthand glimpse of what he must have gone through. All those months of being trapped down here. It was hard to stay angry at him when she pondered all he’d suffered.

  Tasting the horror of it for herself, she was left wondering if anyone ever really could come back from that, as she had assured him that he could.

  Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe he would be permanently scarred in his soul, just like they had left their mark upon his body. All the love she had to give might not be enough to truly heal him. Maybe, without telling her, he had made up his mind to quit fighting it and had already given in to darkness . . .

  Just then, she heard male voices down the corridor.

  Someone was coming. She rose quickly and crossed her cell, grasping the rusty bars as she peered through them, waiting to see who it was. Had Drake finally come to his senses and ordered her release?

  The brisk rhythm of bootheels ringing out over the flagstone echoed down the torchlit corridor.

  Emily drew in her breath as Drake himself suddenly appeared, marching out of the shadows.