KNOX’S POV

The words rip out of me as a roar, barely human, vibrating through my chest and echoing off the mountains loud enough to shake snow from the trees.

And Harrison — this old man dangling from my grip with his feet kicking uselessly, his expensive shoes scraping at air — doesn’t even have the decency to look afraid.

“Your Majesty.” His voice is calm through the crushing grip on his windpipe, almost bored. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I assure you, this was never personal. I never willed for us to fight. This exchange would have been smooth — bloodless, even — if you had simply minded your...