Free Prince of Swords by Linda Winstead Jones

couldn’t leave her with just anyone.
    Lyr also knew he couldn’t take Rayne directly to Ciro—and he knew he had no choice but to face the prince.
    The crystal dagger, which he’d strapped close to his thigh, hummed. He heard and felt it, but Rayne didn’t seem to hear anything at all. She didn’t look around for the source of the noise. Instead, she looked deeply into his eyes as if judging his reaction to her claims.
    â€œI would not lie to you,” she said softly. “You saved me from imprisonment, and have kept your word to me. You could’ve taken the crystal dagger and left me in that house alone, and then what would I have done? I can’t fight you, I can’t force you to do anything against your will. I can only trust you, Lyr Hern.”
    Lyr wished for Keelia’s guidance, but Keelia was not near. He briefly placed his hand against the humming dagger, wondering if it would speak to him as it had in the past. If it spoke to him with words he did not wish to hear, would he listen? Should he attempt to ask for guidance? No, he was not a man to be incessantly guided by others. This decision was his to make, it was his alone. The solution to his dilemma was simple, and would not require him to go much out of his way. Having Rayne along would slow the journey, but if she was meant to give birth to Ciro’s child, then he had two choices. He could kill her, or he could take her to Ariana and Keelia and entrust her to their hands.
    And if he did not succeed in his mission to defeat Ciro, then one of them would have to kill Rayne. She and Ciro could not be allowed to come together and make that special child.
    Â 
    H E WOULD HAVE TO MOVE VERY CAREFULLY WHEN THE time came. Phelan knew what the Prince of Swords could do. He’d seen the displays of magic and swordplay.
    Before the Isen Demon had called, Phelan had more than once seen time stop at the hands of the young man who led this party. He never felt as if time had been lost, but one moment the young man was in one position, and a moment later he was not. In the blink of an eye, the Prince of Swords might be at your very back, and you would not know he was there until it was too late.
    A useful gift, one he wished he himself possessed.
    He’d had no doubts about killing those of Ciro’s Own who’d guarded the woman. What choice had he had? None at all. That had not been the time to reveal himself, to rise up to fight alongside those the Circle called enemy. If he’d given himself away too soon, he, too, would be dead, and then who would be left to deliver the woman to Emperor Ciro?
    Yes, emperor. Another step had been taken. Another victory had been won.
    Though Phelan had hidden himself for years among noble warriors, he’d always been rather fond of the killing that came with battle. There was no need to admit such to others, of course, but when in battle, he felt a rush like no other. On some occasions he had not stopped when the battle had ended, but had continued on late at night, in dark alleyways and the homes of welcoming strangers. When there was no enemy to be killed, he imagined his own enemies in the bodies of drunken bums who would not be missed, or in loose women who plied their trade in dim alleyways.
    He’d often silently bemoaned the fact that there was not enough battle in Tryfyn to suit him, and yet he’d somehow known that a proper battle was coming.
    When the demon had come for him, it had been no surprise at all. Phelan had welcomed the joining with the demon, and he’d gladly taken on this assignment to watch and listen and even guide. He’d been concerned when they’d confronted the Queen of the Anwyn, that powerful seer, but the demon had promised to protect him from her sight, and it had. It had protected him very well.
    The demon had considerable powers, and was able to protect some of its secrets with a dark magic the Queen and those like her would never