Looks like this is going to take longer than expected,” Damen said, squatting to rinse his face and neck. “I know the villagers said no, but my gut tells me they saw something. Maybe not the boy, but something.”

Jag nodded. “Agreed.”

The two quieted and filled the hipflasks, but everyone tensed as one of the trackers lifted a hand. Soft footfalls approached, and they drew their swords.

The same woman from the village that greeted them earlier stepped from the brush. She stopped short at the sight of the long swords, her hand reaching out in peace. Vander stepped ahead of the others and waited. “Speak,” he said.

“I saw the boy,” she said quickly, her eyes darting over her shoulder before continuing. “He wasn’t alone. He was with that man, Sharan Dul. There was another with him. Scarred and angry. They were headed toward the mountains.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Riley asked.

The woman wrung her hands. “My husband,” she began, clearly afraid. “He’s one of them.” Her eyes moved to Vander. “I told you the last time you were here my father was dead. Sharan appointed my husband chief and I was made to marry him to give him legitimacy. If I spoke earlier, I would have been beaten.”

“Why don’t you leave, then?” Riley looked at the woman, stunned.

She shook her head. “If I did, the village would suffer more than it does now.”

Vander’s lips pulled down. “I swear on my unborn child, I will put a stop to the abuse.” His faced softened at the tears on the woman’s cheeks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sack of coins. Holding it out to her, he nodded. “Use this to buy food for those in need. There will be more once I return.”

She turned with a teary nod and disappeared the way she came. Vander looked at Jag and shook his head. “How is it I didn’t know how deep this treason and corruption went?”

His brother clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re no guiltier than the rest of us. We trusted Maddox. He’s the link to the palace. The rest of the rot is below him and needs to be cut out.”

“Cut out.” Damen snorted, lifting his curved blade. “With pleasure.”

Vander moved to his camel and mounted. “You keep those daggers in your eyes and in your hands. We’re going to need them.”

“We’re not far from the foot of the mountains. We’ll be able to pick up their trace there, but we should leave now,” one of the trackers suggested.

Vander nodded. “Let’s go.”

It neared sunset as they crossed from the sand to the foothills of the Mirror Mountains. The three trackers fanned out ahead, making their progress slow. One turned, beckoning from the craggy path. Jag and the others dismounted to see what he found.

“We’ll have to go from here on foot. With this terrain, we need all eyes on the ground and the camels are heavy footed. Look here,” the tracker said, pointing. “Signs of a struggle. Fresh blood and newly crushed scrub tell me it wasn’t that long ago.”

He motioned them on with the rest of the trackers and they climbed. Night set in and the temperature dropped. Riley shivered, and Jag took his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it over hers.

“Lettie said Kes was in his pajamas. He’s got to be freezing by now,” she whispered with a shiver.

Jag shook his head. “He’s small, Ri, but he’s a street kid. He’s quick thinking. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s just a boy,” she murmured but didn’t press.

The path curved left, widening at the base of a steep incline, but before the trackers could steer them clear, a piercing yell echoed from the stepped crags above. Pebbles and rock crumbled down.

“Ambush!” Damen cried, drawing his sword.

An arrow flew from the darkness hitting the lead tracker in the chest. He fell backward with a strangled cry. The remaining trackers fled as thundering hooves rumbled closer. Jag shoved Riley behind him, his face a determined mask. He was in full warrior mode.

“Vander! Ahead!” Jag yelled, but there were too many.

Heavy hoofed beasts careened down, and Jag pushed Riley to safety as he dove for cover or be trampled. She screamed, but by the time he got to his feet, she was gone.

He rushed to the path amid the retreating hooves and stood impotent in the dust. He whirled on his feet to the others. “They took her!”

“Who were they? Did you see?” Damen asked rushing forward.

Jag pressed his lips together. “Rogues. Mountain men. And you know who’s behind that.”

Grim faced, Vander nodded. “Bors.”

* * *

Riley woke with her head pounding and her mouth tasting of dust and copper. Wincing, she lifted a hand to her mouth. She closed her eyes again, trying to get her wits. The last thing she remembered was Jag pushing her out of the way of some kind of stampede.

Her eyes flew open and the rest flooded back. Her sliding from the saddle and someone’s grip only to hit the rocky ground with a muffled thud. Laugher at her expense, and when she demanded to know who they were and what they wanted, a backhand across the mouth sent her rocking back. After that she didn’t remember much.

She scanned her surroundings. A barren tent with dirty clothes in the corner and even dirtier plates and cups on a ramshackle table.

Sitting up, she winced again. Glancing down, she exhaled a sigh of relief. At least she was still fully clothed, which meant no one messed with her while she was unconscious. The tent flap moved, and she scrambled back. Grabbing a heavy clay pitcher, she held it tightly. Anyone came near, they’d get a wallop upside the head. The flap opened, and a hooded man stepped through the opening.

“Stay away from me!” she ground out.

The man pushed the hood from his head and straightened. “Sharan.” Riley stared open-mouthed and scooted to the end of the cot. “Why?”

His eyes dipped over her body, lingering on her breasts as they heaved in alarm. When his gaze moved to meet hers, his eyes were cold. “Why not?”

The tent flap opened and closed again, but this time the man was one she’d never seen before but would know anywhere by his description. She lifted her chin and tightened her grip on the pitcher.

“Bors,” she said.

The man looked at her, his eyes more calculating than Sharan’s were appreciative. He inhaled and then spat. “She carries the royal stink.” Moving quickly, he fisted her hair, lifting it from her neck. “And its mark.”

Shoved backwards onto the cot, Riley landed on her bent elbows. Bors’ gaze took in the generous curve of her breasts and the shape of her thighs through her leggings. “Still, she’s a fine piece. Some will pay more just to have what royalty once possessed.”

Sharan curved a hand around the man’s shoulder and jerked him around. “What do you mean pay more? This one is not for sale! Maddox promised one of the three, and I chose her.”

Bors laughed, his gold tooth gleaming. “But you forget, I didn’t get mine, my friend. Nor did I get revenge on her royal lover, so I’m taking yours.”

The man turned, and Sharan pulled a small curved blade from beneath his robes, slicing Bors’ throat with a single fluid stroke, nearly severing his head from his shoulders. Sharan stood, staring down at the man as his blood seeped into the dirt floor where he fell.

He wiped his blade on the cot, his eyes on Riley. “Any ideas of escape and I’ll split you throat to cunt after I fuck you unconscious.”

“Where’s Kes? I know you monsters took him. He’s just a boy,” she said, not knowing where the courage came from.

Sharan looked at her as he sheathed his blade. “He’s in paradise with his useless father.”

She sat up, fists clenched. “You killed him? He’s just a child!”

She flew at him with the pitcher, but he backhanded her across the mouth, tearing open the wound from the night before. Fresh blood trickled. She wiped it away with the back of her hand as he stared.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t know for certain they’re dead.” He shrugged. “I let them loose in the desert, but my guess is the boiling sands did the job for me. No one survives that heat unprotected.”

He yelled for his men, and four sand nomads entered the tent. They stopped short, one eyeing the other at the sight of Bors in a pool of blood on the floor, but Sharan ignored the unease on their faces.

Tears welled, but Riley squeezed them back. “Why, Sharan? You were welcome in the palace. You had a position of importance. What could a child do to threaten you? What could I?”

“Importance?” he scoffed. “The Serene Lord of the Sands. Bah! Tar Navam is more cocksucker than lord of anything. On his knees with Vander’s dick in his mouth.” He inhaled, his eyes intent and cold. “Which is where you should be, but with my cock between those luscious lips. I could use a good rub and suck before we leave. Plus, it’ll help scrub the royal stench from your skin.” He laughed, gesturing with his head to his men. “Maybe I’ll let them have a turn once I’m done.”

Panic bloomed in her chest and she scrambled mentally. “Jag already claimed me, Sharan. You can’t touch me.”

He laughed. “The claim of a royal mutt means nothing. You’ll swallow what I give you and then roll over and spread your ass for the rest.”

“Jag’s claim isn’t just his shifter’s mark. It is the mark of his xenos.” That got the nomads’ attention. Hadn’t Damen said the nomads were a superstitious people?

“So what,” Sharan said, playing it off despite his men’s nervous shuffling. “Stupid superstitions. My men do what I say because the profit is real.”

Riley didn’t miss the tiny change in his voice. She’d hit a nerve. Her eyes moved to the nomads. “You’re lying, Sharan. Their beliefs go deep. These men may have gone rogue, but only because hunger forced their hand. The same hunger that probably forced Kes’s father to give in to Bors. Tar Navam is corrupt, but Vander had nothing to do with it.”

The men grumbled louder at that, uneasy, their interest perked.

“Hunger?” Sharan bit out. “What do you know of hunger? You sit in that polished palace, immune. Vander may have had nothing to do with starting it, but that doesn’t excuse him being absent in his own land.”

Riley lifted her chin. “Maddox acted alone. He’s an opportunist who staged everything for his own ends.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you already knew that. To save his own skin, he’d throw you, Tar Navam, and anyone else he could under the bus to save his own skin.”

“That canary won’t be singing to anyone. I took care of that.” Sharan smirked.

Shaking her head, Riley slid her eyes to the door. Where the hell was Jag? She knew he’d come. His xenos wouldn’t allow anything else. She had to keep Sharan talking.

“Navam went along to line his pockets, same as you, so don’t try and paint your actions as righteous anything. Worse yet, you had the chance to do something about it. You were at the palace. You could have given your people a voice. Once Vander learns how deep this treachery goes, there’ll be no place for you to hide.”

He moved to backhand her again, but she laughed in his face knowing the men were watching. She’d cut his balls off in their eyes even if it meant a broken jaw.

“Go ahead. You want me as a pawn? Then I suggest you shove your hands in your pocket or down your pants, whatever. Maybe it’ll do some good for that limp piece you’re so proud of. Jag is coming for me, and he’ll have your head.”

Sharan’s fists clenched. “What do you know about it? You’re nothing but a human whore who sold herself to the highest bidder.”

“Wrong, Sharan.” All eyes turned to the open tent door where Jag stood with Vander and Damen. “Riley is my wife.”