“Quickly now,” the voice behind Emmett was breathless and tense. “We must keep moving.” The sounds of every foot and pant echoed over dripping stone walls and the treacherous cobbles beneath them. Only a single lamp lent lighting to the space, casting great shadows and ominous, twisting silhouettes everywhere. Six men? Eight? Emmett couldn’t recall the count—suddenly could recall very little, in fact, with respect to plan or purpose. His heart pounded, his mouth was dry, and the question as to why he was there at all would not stop haunting him.
Emmett reached out blindly, grabbing for the man to his right, assuming, hoping it was Thomas. Thomas would know; Thomas had to. “But where is the prince?” Emmett hissed.
“Never mind the prince,” Thomas’ voice came from in front of him and Emmett
