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Vortalis had once joked they should keep the Red London Antari in their dungeons for an hour or two. Not injure him, just spook him into being less careless wandering around Makt. Athos had no such mercy.
Astrid had directed him to the dungeons just in time to witness the end of it. The fifteen-year-old was chained up, jacket and shirt torn off and tossed to the side. From this angle, Holland couldn't see the marks left behind by the whip but he could smell the blood. The boy probably screamed and cried before, but now only let slip a pathetic whimper.
"Does it hurt much, flower boy?" Athos purred, his hand resting on the curve of a shoulder. "A fitting punishment for a thief."
He saw Kell flinch at the touch, the kind of reflex he had trained himself out of. Acting like prey only encouraged the predator.
This wasn't his responsibility. The boy had been caught trying to smuggle something out of White London and this was his punishment. He owed him nothing. And yet...
And yet.
Holland stepped forward, loathing his weakness as the movement drew Athos' attention. "It would be wise to release the boy back to his London."
"Would it be wise?" Though his voice remained pleasant, Holland heard the dangerous undertone. Athos hated it when others interrupted one of his games.
He had committed, it was too late to stray from this. "Red London will not appreciate their Antari returning as damaged goods, or not returning at all. They may demand equivalent compensation."
"Are you worried about what Red London will do to you, pet?" The teasing smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Not particularly," Holland answered honestly. "Are you?"
He let that hang in the air between them. Athos had torn free every secret and fear, knew what distressed Holland the most. Only one of them was strongly motivated to keep Holland alive and functioning, if only out of pragmatism.
His words were undeniably a challenge, a risky move that if played right could win him this game. It wasn't about Kell really; it was about denying Athos another toy.
Kell meanwhile was showing a rare amount of sense, keeping still and quiet as his fate was bargained over.
"Of course." Athos said with an magnanimous wave. "Clean up the mess and escort the boy out."
Holland started to breathe easier as the king passed by but stiffened when Athos gripped his shoulder. There was undeniable venom in his voice. "I expect you in my quarters this evening to discuss compensation."
Nails digging into his flesh, telling him exactly what service was expected. With that, Athos left them.
He could handle it, he reminded himself. He had been handling it since the Danes stole the throne. He would survive it better than Kell, who had only ever been pampered. It still took a minute before he could take an even breath without feeling sick.
Chains undone, a whispered spell, where the whip had cut too deep healing together. Far from the worst he had seen. The boy was shaking. Not his problem, he'd done his part.
The shirt and fancy coat were in the corner. Holland tossed them over; Kell flinched, barely catching them. "Next time you're reckless enough to get caught, I won't be the one to save you."
Kell's face was pale but his mismatched eyes met his. A quiet but genuine, "thank you."
It didn't mean anything. Holland couldn't protect this one either.