Cain let out a sharp laugh, which Verin echoed. The thief circled behind them, and Celaena straightened, wondering if they’d actually pick a fight here. “Lots of barking from the prince’s lapdog,” Cain said. “But does she have any fangs?”
She felt Nehemia’s hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off as she took another step toward him, close enough for the curls of his breath to touch her face. Inside the castle, the guards remained loitering about, talking amongst themselves. “You’ll find out when my fangs are buried in your neck,” she said.
“Why not right now?” Cain breathed. “Come on—hit me. Hit me with all that rage you feel every time you force yourself to miss the bull’s-eye, or when you slow yourself down so you don’t scale walls as fast as me. Hit me, Lillian,” he whispered so
