**Chapter Eleven: The Bargain**
The knife's edge bit into flesh, drawing a thin line of crimson. The Queen of Thorns watched with detached amusement as blood welled along the blade's path.
"Your princeling doesn't have long," she observed, swirling a violet-hued vial between her fingers. The liquid inside caught the torchlight, casting eerie shadows across the cavern walls. "Shall we discuss his worth?"
Kaelan lay motionless nearby, his breathing shallow. Dark blood seeped from the wound in his abdomen, pooling beneath him. Poisoned steel—Tristan's favorite trick.
Rook groaned from where she hung between two guards, one eye swollen shut. Brick remained upright only through sheer stubbornness, iron hooks piercing his massive shoulders. And Pip...
Pip didn't move at all.
The queen's boot nudged Kaelan's shoulder. "This one might be salvageable. For a price."
Seraphine's fingers twitched toward her hidden blades. The knife at her throat pressed deeper in warning.
"Consider carefully," the queen continued. "Save him, and you enter my service. Let him die, and I'll gift you Tristan's head in a velvet-lined box." She smiled. "Both options have their appeal."
The cavern air hung heavy with blood and smoke. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in a steady rhythm.
Kaelan's fingers spasmed against the stone floor.
Rook spat blood.
Pip's lifeless hand lay palm-up, as if waiting for one last coin toss.
The queen extended the vial. "Choose."
Seraphine took it. The glass felt unnaturally cold against her skin. As she uncorked it, the liquid inside released no scent—nothing to betray its nature.
No way to know if it was cure or curse.
Only one way to find out.