Perry's POV
The assassin didn't scream. He didn't beg. Even as Timothy snapped his third finger with a sickening crack, the man just smiled through a mouthful of blood.
"You're wasting your time, Mad King," the man wheezed, spitting a glob of red onto the dungeon floor. "The board is already set. You're just moving the pieces where he wants them."
I grabbed the man by his throat, slamming him against the stone wall. My wolf roared in my ears, demanding I tear his jugular out, but I needed answers. "Where is Reginald? Tell me, and I'll make your death quick."
The assassin's eyes gleamed with fanaticism. "He isn't hiding. He's waiting. The attack at the ball? The dagger? It wasn't to kill you. It was to see where you would take her."
My blood ran cold.
A distraction. It had all been a distraction to force us to reveal our defensive positions, to make us panic and retreat to the royal suites.
