“You sound jealous.'

'If you think I'm jealous because someone else got to stab you, then you're right.'

'Prove it.'

She heard the slump of his dagger as it fell at her feet. It was the jeweled one he carried everywhere. So many of the gems were missing, but the knife's hilt still glittered in the torchlight, pulsing blue and purple, the colour of blood before it was spilled.

'What am I supposed to do with this?'

'You might want to use it, Little Fox.' The corner of his mouth twitched as he slowly slid his pale hands through the bars of the gate and broke the lock in half. It could have been a twig, a piece of paper, or her.”