I smelled the woman before I saw her, the thick cloud of fruit-scented perfume that so many of the working girls in Turino had begun wearing after Vali had become our queen. I wouldn’t be the one to tell any of them their efforts were in vain; Vali’s natural perfume was as unique and beautiful as she was, and no other woman could compare. No one else could tempt me. And since I couldn’t be with her tonight, since it was my brother’s big nest-building extravaganza, I would just drink some more whiskey and ignore the woman with the bad perfume.
Except I couldn’t. She had her hand on my thigh, heading as fast as a rat toward my cock. I jerked away, regretting the last few drinks that had slowed my reflexes and allowed her to get close enough to slide a hand between my legs. But the other patrons had insisted on buying me drinks, and my guards had promised they would get me back to the castle unharmed.
Where were my guards? Blake had gone to take a piss, and then Valor had nipped out to check on him… then I didn’t remember seeing them again. There were four more outside, but something was wrong.
“I’ve always wanted to try an Alpha. Fancy a ride?” The whore put her fingers back on my thigh, her yellowed teeth peeking through red-stained lips in a wide smile, brassy red hair piled on top of a face that showed a hard life lived.
That didn’t matter. I would still cut off that hand if she didn’t remove it. “Hands off, woman! I’m a mated man.” The men around me, who had been drinking along with me for hours now, guffawed at my predicament.
She pulled back, her face flushing as red as her hair. “Well, yeah, Your Majesty. We all know that. It’s not like you can’t get your pecker wet elsewhere, though, is it? A bit of fun on the side.”
“I’m a faithful mate,” I gritted out, motioning to the barkeep for water. I’d had too much to drink if whores thought I was easy pickings. “You should go.”
She sneered, hefting her tits up as if to show me what I was missing. “It’s not like the queen is faithful to you.” She sniffed. “Fucks every single one of your generals on the regular, I hear.”
The bar went silent, as if the whole place had been plunged into the deepest ocean. My hand was already on the hilt of my sword when I felt a small hand cover mine. “Don’t kill her, Your Majesty. She’s just a stupid cow.” A street urchin, a cutpurse by the looks of her, stared up into my face with a stern expression. “Ya ought not to be drunk right now. There’s men after you and your lady.”
“What?” I picked her up by the back of her collar like a kitten and peered into her scrunched up face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m one of Vilkurn’s,” she breathed as quietly as she could. Her eyes darted around the room. “Name’s Ratter. Code is mischief maker. They’re goin’ for your lady, but you got one here as well.”
I set her down as gently as I could and slipped a small blade out of my sleeve, handing it to her. Her eyes went wide, staring at the jeweled handle. I didn’t bother asking if she knew how to use it; if she was one of Vilkurn’s, she had been given enough training to stay alive.
“Poisoned?” she hissed, and I frowned as I shook my head. I wouldn’t hand a poisoned blade to a child.
“Mine is,” I said, covering my sounds with a loud belch. “How many?” I threw back the cup of water the barkeep had placed before me.
“Only one here that I know of for sure,” she said without moving her lips the slightest bit. “Two at the castle.”
“My queen’s protected,” I said, more to convince myself. Vilkurn had been obsessed with his plans to fortify our defenses.
“No. She’s in her Omega cycle, and the guards are down, I think.” She covered her mouth with one hand and spoke clearly. “Not sure where the front ones went. There’re two dead guards out back, and two more in the alley. All their throats slit real neat-like. Professional job.”
I nodded slightly, palming my knife, one of four I wore strapped to my body every hour that I wasn’t in bed with my mate.Goddess, protect her, I prayed. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to Vali while I was drinking like a fool.
Then Ratter bent down, placing her head on the bar as if she were tired. “He’s here for ya, King, just came in the back. Wearing dark gray and black, hard eyes. An Alpha like you.” She slumped as if she were asleep, but mumbled something that sounded like, “sneak attack time.” I wanted to tell her to run, to get out of the pub, but I wasn’t certain how many of the enemy stood around me, waiting for the right moment.
The door to the pub opened wide with a great rush of frigid air, and a group of rough merchants stumbled in out of the cold. “Chilly out!” one of them shouted, a man I had met years before, a wool merchant known for fairness. I met his eyes and he nodded at me once. All the newcomers had blades or tools in their hands, held low. “Castle has their special torches lit.”
“Someone’s been getting up to mischief,” I responded, finishing the code that indicated I needed assistance.
After a moment of silence, where the entire pub seemed to take a great breath, the wool merchant stepped toward me, his face grim. “We’d best be getting’ ya home to your lady, Your Majesty.”
The group with him circled me, and I tensed until one of them murmured, “Nell at The Rutting Sow sent us. Queen Vali might need ya.” Before I could respond, something behind me exploded into flames.
I whirled, blade raised, to see a tumbler of whisky had been dumped over and was burning brightly on the bar near the back of the pub. No one was near, but I knew who had started the fire—and why. It was a distraction, an effective one.
The pub erupted into shouts.
When the men broke their circle around me to put out the flames, Ratter muttered, “Here he comes.”
From the corner of my eye, I spied a figure dressed in black, blade held low as he rushed forward like the rest of them.
Only he wasn’t rushing to put out the flames; he was attacking me.
I stepped forward, grappling with him, my hands on his forearms. He did the same, keeping my knife from his flesh, but the hood of his cloak fell back, and I found a stare as cold as my Torturer’s. His fighting moves were polished, subtle even. Not a soldier, then, and probably not a common spy. If he was a trained assassin, I would bet my last copper that the blade he intended for me was poisoned. We struggled for a few seconds, equally matched in strength. His knifework was slightly better though, and the edge, shining as if it had been dipped in sap, came too close for comfort more than once. He avoided my blade neatly, my reflexes still slowed by the alcohol.
Out of the blue, a high screech broke the sounds of mayhem. Ratter had climbed on top of the bar and launched herself at the assassin, landing on his shoulders. “Get him, King!” she yelled, holding the man’s shoulders back. She sawed at his neck with the small knife, but only managed to cut the strap that tied his cloak around him.
