Chapter 14: Chapter XIV

I don't put my knife down. "What are you doing here?"

His arms are crossed and he leans languidly against the wall, making it clear that my knife is no threat to him. "I came to check on your progress."

"I thought the Lord of the Underworld didn't visit his hires." It was unheard of for him to visit me once. To do so again...well, I'm not entirely sure what this means. But I know that it can't be good. If he felt that a visit from Grey wasn't enough to get his point across, I'm in serious trouble now.

"I'll make an exception for you."

My heart jumps in my chest and goosebumps rise over my bare arms. When I first entered this room, I was already cold from the numb emptiness the Immaterial Ring left behind. But Victor's mere presence makes me shiver more, as though ice has suddenly mixed with the blood in my veins. There's something about him that gives me the strangest feeling, a feeling that I don't know the name for. It's new and unfamiliar, and cuts straight down to my bones.

"It's difficult to speak to the prince alone," I admit. "If he's not surrounded by his courtiers, he's surrounded by his guards." Or his bedmates.

Victor chuckles darkly. "You're not trying hard enough, sweetheart."

I'm too irritated to allow my fright to stay my tongue. "I know you're eager, but this isn't something that can be rushed." I have always worked on my own schedule. It takes time to ensure that I've correctly pinpointed my target's greatest fear, and there's no room for error. Here, the stakes are much higher. Here, I'll almost certainly die if I'm not correct on the first try.

I have perfected my methods over the years. Now, they always work. Victor is no disenthraller; of course he doesn't understand how involved this process is. I know that I'm running out of time, but I'm sure that I can figure this out.

Unless, of course, Madeline is right. If the Silver Prince fears nothing, I can assert no power over him whatsoever.

"I told you how to do it," he says. "All you need to do is seduce him. Loosen his tongue with alcohol and he'll bring you to his bedchamber. There, you'll be alone. And there, you'll be able to convince him to do anything you ask."

"Speaking to him gets me nowhere. He has no interest in me."

"I can assure you that that is not the case."

Frowning, I ask, "What do you mean?"

His bright blue eyes flash in the candlelight. "I spoke with Ethel earlier. She's noticed the prince casting glances at you. And he's not the only one."

"Lord Dustin."

"And several more."

I stare at him silently. His low voice is even and I can't see his face, so it's impossible to tell if he's mocking me or not. Yes, I have noticed interest from men in the streets of Durnwall, but I find it difficult to believe that the noblemen of the court have been looking at me in any capacity. Dustin is the only one who really speaks to me, and his advances are likely due to desperation—I'm sure that very few women find him appealing, despite his money and status.

Victor chuckles. "You've been so busy watching the Silver Prince that you've neglected to take notice of those around you. You're slipping, Nyx, and that's dangerous."

I flush with anger. "I'm not slipping."

"You are. You find the prince so fascinating that you have learned nothing about anyone else."

The beginning of an argument is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. As much as I hate to admit it, Victor is right. I've been so preoccupied with Adrian that I've observed no one besides him, the king, and Dustin. Usually, I'm more alert. But there's something about this assignment that's turned my whole world upside down.

Or maybe it's the ring.

"Does anyone else matter?" I ask.

Victor strides towards me. Although I'm still holding my knife, I back away from him until I'm pressed against the wall. He shouldn't intimidate me, but he does. My heart is fluttering in my throat and the sweat pooling in my left palm makes my grip slippery. I remember the first night he visited me, when I swiped at him in the dark and missed. Even in darkness, I never miss. But I have never gone head-to-head against someone like Victor.

"You could learn so much from everyone else," he murmurs. "Have you not thought of this, Nyx? Have you never considered stealing the king's shadow?"

"No." But what could I really learn about Adrian from the king? He doesn't seem to know his son very well at all. It seems like Adrian isn't even allowed to visit him whenever he wants to, and the king is so disinterested in him that he would never invite the prince to see him.

My parents might be dead, but at least they loved me. The same can't be said for Adrian. I wonder if he'll mourn King Thurstan when he dies.

"But you don't even need to do that." Victor reaches out and takes my chin in his hand, tilting my head upwards.

My stomach tingles as though a whirlwind has been set loose inside of it. The feeling is so strong that I think I might vomit. Victor is the Lord of the Underworld; he's powerful enough to end my life in an instant—or make me wish I was dead.

Killing him before he can kill me won't even help. His soldiers would hunt me down and rip me apart—and I'm sure that Grey would be in the lead.

"You're beautiful, Nyx," Victor murmurs. "Why don't you use that to your advantage? It would be so easy."

It's too mortifying to admit that I'm incredibly inexperienced. Even if I wanted to seduce the Silver Prince—which I don't—I wouldn't even know where to begin. And I'm nothing compared to the women I know he's been with. Besides, I can hardly speak to him without losing my temper.

"I have my own methods," I say, staring into his bright eyes. Combined with the scent of bergamot, they are intoxicating.

"Surely you know by now that they won't work on the prince."

I steady myself and knock his hand away. "Why would you ask me at all, if you trust me so little?"

He shakes his head. "Because disenthrallment is a rare gift, and out of all the disenthrallers I've met, you are by far the best. I never expected you to be so inflexible, though."

"I told you: I have my methods."

Victor stares at me for a long, chilling moment. Then he says, in a voice so low it's barely a whisper in the darkness, "I see. You lack motivation."

"I want the prince out of the way just as much as you do," I tell him.

"It's not only your identity that's at risk, Nyx Madden. It would be quite a shame if that shack you call a home were to burn down. Such accidents happen often, and always at the most inopportune times."

My blood is cold, colder than a stream in winter. I stare at Victor, my fingers slowly curling into fists. He's talking about my home, the only place I have ever considered a home after my parents died and I was left on the streets for some time. Despite myself, I've grown attached to my crumbling room, and the thought of seeing that entire building burned to the ground has me reeling.

"That woman...is her name Blythe? If the flames don't consume her, I wonder how long she'll survive without her only source of income. Winters are harsh here in Durnwall, as you well know."

It feels as though the room is tilting and, though Victor has me cornered, I'm grateful for the wall against my back, grateful to have something to provide some support in this vicious moment. My reaction is wholly unexpected: I have always been careful not to get attached, to keep a safe distance from everyone because everyone can easily be stolen at any time, much like my parents. Life is so fragile—I know that better than anyone else, especially after all the shadows I've held in my own hands, knowing that I could kill with ease if I were to just rend those shadows in two.

But Blythe is the only person left in the world who actually cares about me. She's the only person who wonders where I am when I leave and looks for me when I return. The thought of her dead—or worse, trying to survive on the streets of Durnwall when she has nothing... I can't bear it. She's done so much for me. She didn't have to take a chance on the bedraggled girl who was several ducats short of her first month's rent, and often came up short in the months after that as well. She didn't have to teach me how to nurse my own wounds or bring me tea when I was ill.

The last thing I want is for Blythe to end up like my parents.

I shake my head. "Victor—"

"And Morwen," he says casually, tilting his head. "You would have nothing to wear without her."

It is truly hateful for him to use these people against me, people that I am desperately trying not to care about. But, somehow, they have wormed their way in through their unearned kindness. It's true: Morwen has helped me in so many ways, far beyond anything I would have expected from her.

"As for Ethel," he says, a cruel curl to his lips that is not unlike that of the Silver Prince, "I am sure that you've known her long enough to develop some sort of compassion for her."

His threat to Ethel makes my heart jump in my chest, not simply because he's right—I have, inexplicably, developed a kind of compassion for her—but also because I know how she adores him. I know that Ethel would do anything to help Victor in his quest to claim Itoria. I've seen the way she looks at the diamonds he gave her: with nothing but eager, hopeful happiness. Victor has Ethel's soul in his clutches, and she means absolutely nothing to him.

It is exactly as I suspected.

"Now," Victor says, an irritating hint of gloating to his voice, "finish this."

I can't let him see that he's shaken me, so I blurt, "Make it worth my while."

Victor scoffs. "Is the gold not enough of an incentive? Or your friends' lives?"

"No. I have no friends, and I have far loftier goals than gaining useless riches." I'm not prone to squandering it like the duchess, nor accumulating it selfishly like Cordelia, but still I feel as though the Lord of the Underworld can offer me something better. Adrian will soon be the most powerful man in Itoria, after all, and I don't want to be trapped under his thumb. I can't let Victor blackmail me, either.

A noise of approval comes from under Victor's mask. "Oh? Then tell me the reward you require, Shadow Thief."

I take a deep breath. "Make me your lieutenant. I want to keep working for you after this is over. Once I capture the prince's shadow, I want to use him to make Itoria a better place. A fair place, for all of us."

Victor nods. "Your skills are useful, and I believe you're worthy."

Relieved, I let my breath out in a sharp sigh.

"But, Nyx Madden, you're going to have to improve."

He's right. Deep down, though I don't want to admit it, I know he's right. There's only one way to get close to the prince, and it's not with the Immaterial Ring. In a way, I'm grateful for that—I never want to wear that cursed band again. But I think this might be more difficult.

I think it might be even more painful.

"I know." My voice is almost inaudibly soft, almost lost under the sound of my pounding heart, which echoes in the cavern of my ears.

"Tell me why you're so reluctant."

Lying won't help me now. "I don't...I don't know how."

"Ah." There is unmistakable amusement in his voice. He reaches out again, this time resting his hand on my cheek. Though his skin is rough, his touch is gentle. He strokes my skin with his thumb and, with his free hand, grips the bottom of his mask.

The whirlwind has turned into a hurricane. I feel as though the ground is unsteady beneath my feet despite the fact that I've grown somewhat used to wearing these impractical shoes. But I know that it's not the shoes that makes the room tilt or my head swim. It's Victor.

"It's easy," he murmurs. "It will be laughably easy for you, Shadow Thief."

He slips the mask up just enough to reveal his mouth. A full mouth, with lips the color of a winter sunset. His hand moves to the small of my back, and the one on my cheek moves behind my head. He presses me close, until our mouths are intertwined like the vines that crawl up the castle walls.

The weakness in my knees is frightening. I have never been touched like this. And no one has ever seen so much of the Lord of the Underworld's face.

Too soon, he pulls away. I catch a flash of a grin spreading over his mouth before he pushes the mask back down. "That is all it takes," he tells me.

"Victor..." I trail off, unsure of what I meant to say.

He strides to the window and pushes it open. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he says, "The prince will be like clay in your hands. Mold him however you wish, and take from him what you should. But don't forget: your time is running out."