The frame of mind to give away a fortune out of spite. The frame of mind to say to hell with everyone in this world and very especially me.
The frame of mind to become someone—something—else.
“Say something,” Jameson ordered.
“What do you expect me to say?” Rohan replied. “Or do, for that matter?”
Green eyes locked on to his. “I don’t know.” Jameson phrased that like a warning/invitation of his own. “Whatcanyou do, Rohan?”
I’m the king. I can do whatever the hell I want, starting with taking care of four intruders however I please.
But for some reason, Rohan did not move. For some reason, he thought not of the order in which he would take them out but of Savannah in that dress, of the messages he’d inked onto skin and the word he hadn’t.
M-I-N-E.
“Would you like to hear a story?” Rohan knew this was reckless, but he was the Proprietor of the Devil’s Mercy. He held oh-so-many cards.All those ledgers. All those boxes.“I saidwould you like to hear a story, Hawthornes? It’s the story of a bastard prince who grew up the ‘son’ of a rather violent duke in Regency England. And it is also the story of a servant girl who grew up in the same castle alongside him and later met with a most tragic end—except, of course, shedidn’t.”
There was a single beat of silence.
“She ascended.” That was the uncle, looking rather worse for the wear.
“It’s a love story,” Rohan said, “that started with murder, took a stroll through blackmail and betrayal, and ended somehow with a sprinkle of redemption and the hatching of a glorious, Machiavellian plan. A plan that involved gambling, secrets, and an underground palace. It’s the story of that royal bastard, the underground throne he sat on, and the woman behind the throne. Or women, plural, I suppose.”
“The Mercy,” Jameson said. “And the Gilded Blade.”
“Some thrones, it seems,” Rohan murmured, “are also leashes.”
“How—”
Rohan cut Jameson off. “Does it matterhow? Does any of it matter?”
Grayson strode right up to Rohan, leaving less than an inch between them. “They haveSavannah.”
Rohan moved with death-defying speed and hit his target hard enough to feel the crunch of bone beneath his fist. Grayson went down but didn’t stay down, and when he got up, Rohan hit him in the face a second time.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Rohan said, preparing for the four-pronged attack that was surely coming any moment. “Appearances. As the bloke in charge, I have to beat at least one of you to a bloody pulp.” He looked at Grayson. “And you hurt Savannah. Badly.”
I do not, Rohan could hear Savannah saying,do anything badly.
“I would die for my sister,” Grayson said. “Without second thought, without hesitation, without regret.Would you?”
Rohan looked from Grayson, whose eye was well on its way to swelling shut, whose lip was split and then some, to the others, and notoneof them had the decency to attack.
I would die for my sister.Grayson’s words wormed their way into Rohan’s veins, heading straight for his heart.Without second thought, without hesitation, without regret. Would you?
“I have everything I ever wanted,” Rohan said, his voice echoing through the cavern all around them. “And I don’t want it anymore.”
“Because it’s not what you thought it was?” Jameson said quietly.
Rohan stared him. “I don’t think I’d want it even if it was.”
“You’re in.” The uncle, once more.
“Who the hell are you again?” Rohan replied.What use will you be to me?
“You know who he is,” Xander said. “I’m pretty sure you know exactly how many times I’ve burned off my eyebrow and what my favorite flavor of scone is.”
“Which eyebrow?” Rohan quipped, turning and striding toward the emerald path—back toward the Mercy. “And American scones are an offense against God and man.”