As I lead our forces to House Saren, more of our allies join the now massive group of soldiers. There is no doubt that we can easily overrun House Saren. Or any other House for that matter. By the time we are marching through the tunnel leading to their rakennus, the reverberation of so many feet hitting the ground vibrates in my bones.

When we exit the tunnel on the other side, the gates in the border wall close as the guards fall into place in a defensive maneuver. Their scouts must have sighted us but it does not matter. Our numbers are such that they could have had days to prepare and it would not make much difference in the outcome.

As we march across the flat plain leading to their defenses, I judge how far their archers can reach and raise my fist high, our army coming to a disciplined halt. As discussed on the ride over, two contingents keep moving on either side to surround the House on all fronts, blocking any attempt at escape.

"Where is your Prince?" I call out, projecting my voice across the distance.

"Have you not done enough?" one of the guards calls back. The head guard judging by his position and his insignia. "Your embargo has already decimated our coffers! Houses who are not even allied with you refuse to conduct trade with us. Have we not suffered appropriately?"

I frown at that. It seems as if his people may not know Malathin's most recent transgression.

"We were lenient," I finally say. "After your Prince's latest attack, we can no longer afford to be so."

The other guards look at each other but the one speaking keeps his sharp eyes on us. Not one to be taken as a fool, that one.

"What attack?" he finally asks, after his people quiet somewhat.

"Prince Malathin has taken my Pari," I say grimly, watching the guard's face which tightens at the news. Perhaps he is acting to stall, or perhaps they really to not know.

He gestures one of the guards over and says something to him, his head close to the other male's ears. I watch as the other guard disappears, taking two more with him.

"I will deliver Prince Malathin to you," the head guard announces, turning back. "And we will begin a search of the House to look for your Pari. I have not seen a human female enter our boundary walls, but it is possible she was hidden."

I look over at Drevakin and Elorshin, ready on either side of me.

"Unhappy people are not loyal people," Drevakin offers, one of his eyebrows quirked.

"Yes, but this is unheard of," Elorshin argues.

"Waiting to see if they do deliver their erstwhile Prince cannot hurt. It is much more efficient than storming the walls, with far less risk of casualties," I say to them in a low voice.

They murmur their agreement at that.

So we wait.

As always, it is the waiting which is the most difficult, but we do not stand idle for long. The sounds of a struggle drawing nearer are clear in the tense silence.

"Open the gates for them," the head guard orders, eyes still on me.

The gates open, just wide enough for three guards to exit with Malathin held forcefully between them.

"Let me go, you honorless sons of devos!" he screams, his hair in disarray, his clothing ripped, and what looks like a bruise forming high on one cheek.

"Highly unusual turn of events," Drevakin murmurs sardonically.

The guards shove Malathin towards us and retreat back to the gates. Eyes on my opponent, I step down from the carriage. Anger is ice in my veins as I stalk towards him.

As I near, Malathin gets to his feet, his eyes narrowed, his hand going to his sword hilt.

"No," I growl, my hand darting out to grip his wrist in an immovable hold, halting the attempt.

He sneers.

My fist connects with his face in a painful, satisfying crunch.

He falls, but I keep him on his knees with a hand clenched in his tunic.

"Where is Ling?" I ask, my voice low and calm. I will do whatever it takes, even if it means taking Malathin apart piece by piece with my bare hands.

He meets my eyes, his mouth bleeding, and then he smiles, showing blood covered fangs.

"She is likely already dead," he spits. And then he laughs.

I slide my knife out, flipping it and stab it into his thigh in one smooth move. He screams, jerking in my hold, his hands scrabbling for his own weapons. I step in behind him, wrapping my arm around his throat. His hands grip my forearm tightly as he chokes, his nails trying to dig in. I stare at his face dispassionately, waiting until it seems as if he may sink into unconsciousness. Then I ease back on the pressure.

If Ling has not been found by the guards yet, I do not have high hopes they will find her. If she is even here. I am starting to suspect she may not be.

"Where is Ling?" I ask again, my mouth close to his ear. "I can inflict pain for a very long time. I may even enjoy it considering what you have done." I drag him down to the ground and brace my knees on him, holding him down.

Ripping my knife from his flesh, his cry echoes in the silence. I bring the blade, already dripping with his own blood, to the coward's neck. His eyes roll as he watches the blade near his skin.

Ah. So he has some sense of self-preservation left.

"I already told you," he says, fear in his voice now. It should be satisfying, but I am wasting time that I could be using to reach Ling. "She is most likely dead. Orders were to kill her if you did not step down within a certain time period."

I resist the urge to slit his throat, to kill this weak, pathetic creature.

"I am going to ask once more," I say coldly, letting the blade just break his skin. "Where. Is. Ling?"

His breath comes in pants now, the fight truly leaving him as his blood continues to spill. "House Caffaar," he finally spits out. "House Caffaar."

I pull my knife back, slowly using his tunic to wipe my blade as I watch his face. He is still underneath me, expecting another attack, but I stand and step back. He has nowhere to go. If his own people do not finish him, it is likely the devos will.

Dealing the deathblow will only shorten his misery.

I deliberately turn my back on what remains of Prince Malathin of House Saren. Drevakin and Elorshin watch with unreadable expressions, but some of the men’s gazes are tinged with fear.

They are right to be afraid.

If Ling is dead, I have nothing left.

And a male with nothing left to fight for is a dangerous animal indeed.

"We ride to House Caffaar," I say into the ringing silence.

Nobody gainsays me.

Climbing onto my carriage, I urge the juntta forward in the hushed silence.

I will find Ling.

There is no other option.