He could not believe it. What was Lord Dagen playing at? Why in the name of the forest would he move Bree Paine, Taveon’s slave, into nice quarters on a hallway that was filled with low-ranking members of the Court? Hell, even Rafferty lived in that same wing. Sure, Dagen had posted guards outside her door, but it was ridiculously careless. Not only could Bree try to escape, but her life was in danger every second she stepped foot inside the main corridors of the castle.

Taveon threw open the door to Lord Dagen’s chambers without even knocking. The male might have been his father’s Hand of the King, but that was no longer his position now. Taveon would barge in if he pleased.

“What is the meaning of this?” Taveon asked in a low growl. Lord Dagen sat at his dining room table, a small oval thing made from the woods of the Forest of the Fireflies. It stood out from the dark and dreary atmosphere that hung throughout the rest of the castle. It was one thing that Taveon had always noticed about the Lord. He might have been his father’s right hand, but his tastes had always been far different.

Dagen leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his golden-haired head. “I assume you are here about the girl.”

“Of course I am here about the girl,” Taveon barked. “You moved my slave from her cell to a room in the middle of the rest of the Court’s quarters.”

“Your champion,” Dagen corrected. “I moved your champion to better quarters. If she is going to succeed in her task, then a damp, dark, and dreary cell is not the place for her to waste away her hours. She needed more space, fresh air, and a window to see outside.”

Taveon’s frown deepened. “Since when do you have any mercy for the slaves?”

“It is not mercy, Taveon,” Dagen said, forgoing any acknowledgement of Taveon’s title. “It is common sense.”

“You went behind my back,” Taveon continued as though the Lord hadn’t said a word. “You did not even discuss this with me. You just moved her without asking.”

“I did not need to ask,” Dagen said, his eyes glittering. “Your father may be dead, but I am still the Hand until a new King takes the throne. And as long as I hold my title, my word counts for more than yours. The champion is to live above ground instead of below, and she will be receiving far more nutritious food from now on. Those scraps will do nothing but make her weak.”

Taveon couldn’t believe this. Lord Dagen had done many things in his life, but the Prince had never known him to be quite so bold.

“Why are you doing this?” Taveon couldn’t help but ask. “You do not even wish me to rule, and it is not as though you care about Bree.”

Dagen raised an eyebrow. “And you do care about her? If you did, you would have given her better quarters yourself. Honestly, Taveon. I do not understand why you are so worked up about this. What harm can there be in giving her a nicer bed and a window?”

Taveon prickled at Dagen’s words. He had not told the Lord what she’d done that day he brought her back. In fact, he had kept that information hidden within himself. Only Rafe knew the truth. He needed to be careful now. If the Lord knew the truth about what had happened, he would start asking questions. Questions that Taveon could not and did not want to answer.

“She does not wish to be here,” Taveon finally said. That much was the truth, and it wouldn’t hurt for the Lord to know that much. In fact, Bree had probably told him as much. “She may try to escape now that she is no longer behind iron bars.”

The iron kept the Redcap girl from doing anything too crazy. She might not realize she was strong enough to rip through them in her beastly form, but Taveon certainly did. But iron was a weakness for the Light Fae. One touch could send her falling to her knees.

Dagen waved his hand dismissively. “There are guards stationed in the hallway, and the window is far too high in the tower for her to do a thing. If she tried to jump out, she would fall to her death. She might hate this place with all of her being, but she is not suicidal. She cannot run.”

Taveon realized there was no use in arguing anymore. Lord Dagen had made his mind up about Bree, and there would be no talking him out of his decision. For whatever reason, he was dead set on keeping Taveon’s slave in courtly quarters.

“Fine,” Taveon said with a scowl. “But if she escapes and I am left without my champion, that is on you, Lord Dagen.”

And it didn’t escape Taveon’s notice that this was precisely what Lord Dagen wanted. Without Bree, the Prince would have to find another champion, one much less certain to win.

Which would mean Taveon would be much less certain to take the crown for himself.