Royal Champions Vs. Evil Minions Round Two
Angelica prepared to flirt her way out of the dungeon.
She finished the second braid Dirk had started and pinched her cheeks to give them a lively flush.
Thankfully her dress was still relatively clean, not that she had anything else to change into.
She tugged at the bodice and plumped up her breasts until near indecency.
If she had to fight, she might spill out, but she was willing to take that risk to get results.
The keyring she’d taken from Fyodor had several keys on it and it took her a few minutes to find the correct one.
She slipped it into the lock and turned slowly, listening for any signs of a nearby guard.
When no one came to investigate the quiet click, she eased the door open and slipped into the hall.
The wet, stone facade continued for about twenty feet on both sides of her cell, then abruptly stopped, as if the renovator had run out of funds. The wall beneath was practical—dry—white brick.
A freshly installed set of bars blocked off the end of the hall. Beyond the bars, someone had set up a makeshift guard station. The card table looked particularly flimsy next to the large, solid oak chair needed to support an orc.
Right now, the chair was empty, and cards were spread over the table in an interrupted game of solitaire.
There should have been at least one minion guarding the entrance to the dungeon.
Where had the guard gone? And how long until they returned?
As incredible as her ‘feminine wiles’ were, Angelica didn’t think the guard’s absence was Fyodor’s doing. The only other reason they would abandon their post was if the others had entered the lair.
Since none of them had come to her rescue or joined her in a cell, she assumed they were after this ‘anchor’ they’d talked about.
Had they planned to leave her in the dungeons while they broke the curse?
Just because she’d voluntarily been captured did not mean they could exclude her from the grand finale!
She unlocked the door and stomped out of the dungeon.
Maybe she would find the anchor first. None of the others knew what or where it was, so unless they’d had a second grand epiphany while she was gone—and if they had, she would be furious.
Who knew using herself as bait would mean she’d miss so many important developments?
—she would be as likely to find it as they were.
The stairs leading out of the dungeon had probably followed strict safety regulations once, wide enough for three people to walk across, with handrails on both sides.
After the evil curse took hold, the handrails became the ideal perch for twisting vines and ivy to grow up the wall.
There were only a few bare spots where someone had removed the foliage.
Angelica paused and watched as a vine curled more firmly around the rail.
The wet, mossy stones of the dungeon were a purposeful aesthetic that only threatened the health and safety of the Lord of Grimnight’s prisoners.
Didn’t interfering with the stairs also threaten his minions?
What if an orc slipped on a fresh patch of ivy and fell?
Didn’t the mage care for his own employees?
Well, he was evil, so perhaps he encouraged workplace malpractice.
She filed that information away and continued up the stairs.
Now, if she were an anchor, where would she be?
The sea.
Gosh, she’d spent too much time with Dirk if that was her first answer.
She shook her head and focused on what she knew rather than what she didn’t: the anchor was the key to breaking the curse; the Lord of Grimnight, like most evil mages, had an overinflated ego.
The anchor would either be in his office, somewhere he could gloat over it privately—perhaps even stroke it as he admired his own evil genius—or on display where everyone could see it.
If he’d put it on display, it might be heavily guarded.
Getting close to it unnoticed would be almost impossible.
If it was in his office, she risked finding the evil mage before she found the anchor.
But one evil mage seemed easier to fight than a room full of minions, so she chose to search his office first.
Where would an evil mage put their study? Underground or in a tower. Certainly not the ground floor. Since the dungeons were underground, she assumed the Lord of Grimnight would want to be above his prisoners, metaphorically and physically, so she found some stairs and started making her way up.
The first thing she found at the top of the stairs was a directory for the offices on the floor.
The second thing she found was a lacertian.
The lacertian hadn’t noticed her yet. The upper half of their body leaned into one office while their feet remained in the hallway. Their tail stretched out straight behind them to maintain their balance. “Champions? Are you in here?”
Angelica pressed her back to the wall, trying to blend in with her surroundings. Unfortunately, her dress reflected light, and the walls had been painted a dreary black. Maybe if she struck a pose and stood absolutely still, they would mistake her for a painting.
The lacertian’s search yielded no results. They abandoned that office and walked down the hall, away from Angelica, to search somewhere else. The lackluster way they continued to call for the champions—thus alerting everyone to their presence—implied that they didn’t care about their task.
Angelica hoped all the minions were so committed to their jobs.
Once the lacertian was gone, Angelica perused the directory for any hint of which office the evil mage would have claimed for his own. City planning, public works, tax assessment. None of them sounded particularly grand.
She ignored all of them and continued to the next floor.
A large section of the third floor was dedicated to an enormous office.
A bronze plaque hung above the door with the words “Mayor’s Office” carefully etched into the metal.
Below it hung a second sign, made of battered black metal, that read “Lord of Grimnight” and below that was a sign that read “Keep Out.”
On the door itself were a bevy of warnings, all overlapping each other: Knock First, I Mean It, Cursed, Danger Ahead, Beware of Mage.
None of the warnings had much impact when the door stood six inches open.
Angelica tiptoed over the threshold, hoping to avoid any traps. When no rope net dropped and no magic burst around her, she relaxed and flounced the rest of the way into the office.
The Lord of Grimnight had truly outdone himself on the decorations. Everything was black—black carpet, black furniture, black curtains. The only spot of color were the books spread haphazardly about the room.
Fitz would want to know what kind of books an evil mage kept in his study.
Angelica picked one of them up and examined the silver title on the spine: Love and Other Curses. Was it some kind of spell book? And why did the name Lucy Merryweather sound familiar?
She perused the rest of the room, looking for anything that could qualify as an ‘anchor.’ The most obvious choice was the large something hidden behind a swath of black fabric. She tugged the fabric down, revealing a gilded mirror.
Instead of her own reflection, Angelica saw a strange man.
He sat at a desk, testing a cup of steaming tea with small, careful sips.
When he noticed her, he almost dropped the teacup into his lap.
Hot liquid splashed onto his hands, and he swore and sloshed even more over the edge as he hurriedly set it down.
“Are you alright, cookie?” a worried voice called from out of sight.
“I’m fine, dearest!” The man wiped his hands with a handkerchief and composed himself before examining Angelica. “You aren’t Brutus.”
“Brutus?” she asked, blinking in surprise.
The man snorted and corrected, “Sorry, the Lord of Grimnight, or whatever silly title he’s stolen for himself.”
“No, I’m not.”
He assessed her in a frank manner. “Then you must be one of the champions trying to dethrone him.”
Angelica realized this man was probably the evil mage’s friend. She began to drape the cloth back over the mirror.
“Wait.” His calm, unhurried tone made her pause. “I’m no friend of Brutus’—not anymore, at least. He has something I want; I might have information you need. Perhaps we can assist each other.”
Angelica pursed her lips. She wasn’t eager to trade with a stranger, let alone one on questionable terms with an evil mage, but she didn’t want to dismiss him out of hand.
“I’m looking for a spell anchor, but I don’t know what it will look like.
” She made it a statement, not a question, afraid asking for his help would bind her in some unfavorable magical bargain.
“Magical,” he replied promptly. “I’m looking for an apprentice named Wilde.” When she didn’t react to the name, he continued, “Blond hair, black eyes, spends a lot of time around one member of your group?”
She furrowed her brow as she thought of the only person who matched that description. “Do you mean Will? Trey’s boyfriend?”
“Trey as in Treasure Banes?”
She nodded.
The man cursed softly under his breath. “That is … less than ideal.”
As the pieces clicked into place, a disturbing thought occurred to Angelica. “Wait, the Lord of Grimnight has something you want, and you want his apprentice, and Will—Wilde—is a mage’s apprentice, then that means—”
A pale hand reached past Angelica and grabbed the edge of the black cloth, pulling it down to cover the mirror and cut off her conversation. “Your presence is requested in the throne room.”
She whirled around to find a black-cloaked figure behind her, the hood pulled up to cover their face. Two lacertians stood behind them, brandishing a length of rope.