The crowd falls silent, and Salzar finally notices me. A red cape falls down his back. His hair is short and black. He doesn't cower. He sneers. "Greetings, Prince Fenris. So glad you could join us in exacting justice on the monsters who ravaged this realm."
"This ends now," I roar, working very hard to reign in my own temper. To refrain from bashing the man's face in with my fist.
The crowd grows uneasy at my words, whispering.
Salzar raises an eyebrow. "Would you deny the people their due victory? Would you spare the rebels who destroyed your city and killed your citizens? Are you not the Prince of War?"
There's a shift in the air. Everyone is listening, but they are unsure of who to follow.
Baron stands by my side, alert and ready for battle. "I am the master of this realm, Salzar. Not you. You have no authority here, and no right to decide the punishment of prisoners of war." My voice is low, but it carries through the crowd.
"They killed our families," Salzar says. His voice is compelling, passionate, a master manipulator riling the crowd's thirst for vengeance. "We cannot let our enemies live. You taught me that, Prince of War, when you killed my son for attacking your princess."
And now we come to it. I knew Salzar would be a problem, and he picked the worst time. Rodrigo deserved his fate after attacking and attempting to feed on Arianna, but this crowd will not understand why the Fae who killed their families don't deserve the same fate. I'm losing control.
"Take the remaining prisoners to the Keeper," I command my own soldiers. "Get them food, aid and rest." The crowd is shocked into silence, then that silence breaks in a wave of outrage.
"Consider this," I say calmly, quieting them once more. "How do you want the Fae to treat any hostages they might have taken from our side?"
Salzar sneers. "They took no prisoners. All have been accounted for, dead or alive."
I turn to him, digging into him with my gaze, showing the wrath in my eyes. I walk up the steps of the stage, shaking the wood beneath my boots. "You're wrong, Salzar. They took one. They took Princess Arianna."
There are gasps in the crowd, a shocked pain that grows. I was counting on this response. In the short time Arianna has lived here, she has worked her way into the hearts of these people. They love her.
Salzar is at a loss, so I press my advantage. "You have already killed several hostages who might have had information about where Princess Arianna is being kept. Your reckless disregard for the authority of this realm might have cost the princess her life!" I can only hope my words are exaggerations meant to stir the emotion of the crowd, and not prophetic. "Guards! Take Lord Salzar to the dungeons to cool his tempers and remind him who rules here. Three days should be sufficient."
Marco and Roco grab the struggling man and drag him through the streets as he shouts profanities and swears to end me. I would laugh, but there is still the matter of finding Ari.
"To the rest of you, focus your energies on rebuilding your homes, your lives, your city. The prisoners will be questioned, and I will find the princess."
I leave then, with Kayla and Baron by my side.
"Careful, brother," Kayla says, once we are out of earshot of anyone. "You cannot make too many enemies and still rule."
Word will get out now about Arianna being kidnapped, and my brothers will panic. I need to find her.
Now.
I storm back to the castle and make my way to the Infirmary. Kal is tending to three prisoners who are much the worse for wear. He doesn't have them chained to the beds, which concerns me. Marco and Roco stand guard, and I order two more men to join them in securing the prisoners and keeping Kal safe.
"I need to question them," I tell Kal.
"You can try, Your Highness. But they are not very coherent."
Kal is almost as tall as me, but more slight of build, with a long white beard and long white hair. He might seem old, aged, but for the unlined skin. He is ancient, however. Only Fae who live many hundreds of years or more grow hair so white. He is also someone I trust, despite his heritage and our current war with his people.
"Have they said anything useful?" I ask.
"No," he says simply.
I walk over to the woman who was being whipped when we arrived. She is moaning in pain, and I crouch next to her bed. "What's your name?" I ask.
Her eyes are glassy and lids heavy. She's too pale and clearly doesn't comprehend me.
I move on to the next prisoner, an older man with thick arms and chest and a bright red patch of hair on his head that falls to his shoulders. "Where are you from?" I ask him.
His eyelids flicker, but they do not open. He looks feverish.