Page 77 of Hateful Prince
When in doubt, blame the dragon, right? That always seemed to work in the past.
The beast in question huffed in response to that.
“My dragon thinks we have the wrong person. Dahlia wanted us to be sure before we did anything.”
That took the wind out of Tor’s sails. “She’d never forgive herself if we were wrong.”
“It wouldn’t be her fault. That’s why we sent her away.” Cas leaned against the table where my treasures were piled, and it took everything in me not to shove him bodily aside.
“She wouldn’t see it that way, and you know it, pirate.”
“Oh, fine. Have at your arts and crafts, but then I call dibs at filleting the flesh off that dangly little worm betwixt his legs.”
Tor gave Caspian an appreciative look. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” At the same time, Brian sputtered. “It’s perfectly average.”
Cas shot him a look of pure chastisement. “Not the time, Brian.”
Kit in hand, I laid out everything I needed and locked gazes with Tor. “Hold him still. Cas, I need you to roll down his lower lip and keep it in place. If he moves, I could kill him.”
“If you’re trying to dissuade me, that was probably not your best argument, mate. I’m in a killing mood tonight, or have you not noticed?”
“I’ll let you taste Dahlia first next time,” I offered.
“We have an accord!” he crowed, slapping his thigh before jumping up and moving into position.
Tor held Brian down by pressing on the top of his head. “Don’t move. All I have to do is apply pressure, and your spine will compress until it shoots out your arsehole and through the chair’s bottom. Do you understand? Whimper if you do.”
Brian whimpered, and the distinct scent of hot piss filled the room. Sure enough, the man’s pants were soaked all the way down his legs.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tor muttered.
Giving Cas a nod, I readied my gun and started tattooing the sigil. It didn’t take long. It was a simple rune and had to be fairly small due to the area I was working with. In less than ten minutes, it was done, and Brian was a blubbering mess.
Spit and snot covered his face, and he’d sweated through his pants.
“There now, all done. Let’s start with a test run, shall we? Brian, why did you tell everyone your name was Taylor?”
Brian stared at us, his swollen lower lip trembling. “B-because it made people pay attention to me.”
“My turn!” Caspian said, hip checking me out of the way. “Is it really average, or are you just overcompensating?”
“F-four inches is average.”
“Not where I come from, mate.”
“I’m pretty sure you need at least five inches to be considered average,” I said.
“Is your spell defective, then?” Tor asked.
I shrugged. “He believed what he was saying, so technically it wasn’t a lie. At least as far as he knew.”
“Hard or soft?” Hook asked.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because a hard one is bigger. Maybe he’s four inches when he’s flaccid. You never know. He could be a grower. Shall we all whip ours out and see? We’ve got a good range here, it would help us settle the matter.”
Tor shook his head. “No, that’ll just make him feel worse. He’s already pissed himself.”