Betty POV
"Drink the petrol or drop the match, Betty," Mitchell says, his voice cutting through the damp air of the castle courtyard.
I wipe a smear of cold maple syrup from my bottom lip and glare up at him. My stomach is still heavy from the three portions of pancakes I rammed down my throat inside the stone kitchen. The heavy grease sits like lead, but the hunger inside my chest is different. It is a hollow, scratching thing.
"He is not a monster," I say, my boots crunching on the wet tarmac. "He is a prisoner."
"He is a rogue," Adriel snaps, stepping into my path before I can reach the iron rings bolted into the flagstones. "He broke into your rooms. He took you. If my father had his way, his head would be on a pike by the castle gates before sunset."
"Your father is not here," I
