Bile rose in Maxim’s throat as the scent of blood, so familiar and so detested, filled his nose. After so many years of war, he was beyond weary of it. Exhausted by endless battle, losing too many good men. Tired of blood and death and the ceaseless quest for vengeance that had once been his own driving force until he had finally emerged the victor. But could there be a victor, truly, when there would forever be shadows waiting in the darkest night for him to be alone, hoping to sink their daggers between his ribs or slit his throat?
His heart was pounding hard, his mouth going dry. All signs that one of his fits loomed. No. He couldn’t afford to lose control now. Not when so much was at risk—the peace he had worked so damned hard to achieve, his alliance with Princess Anastasia, his chance to overthrow King Gustavson.
Lady Tansy.
He didn’t know where the last thought emerged from. But suddenly, all Maxim could think about was the dark-haired Siren who had denied him the night before. What if he risked bringing further danger upon not only himself, but Lady Tansy and the princess as well? He had to concentrate. To keep the demons at bay.
He inhaled through his mouth, trying not to breathe in the scent of the blood.
“This one resembles Charles,” he acknowledged grimly, giving the dead would-be assassin’s boot another sound tap. “Likely a by-blow.”
“Your uncle had more bastards than there are hours in the day,” Felix agreed, finishing cleaning his blade and restoring it to its hiding place inside his boot. “He could be one.”
There was so much blood on the floor. Pooled around the bodies, seeping into fabric and carpets alike. He was going to have to replace the Aubusson in this chamber as well. It was an odd concern, he knew. He ought to have had a thought for thedead men on the floor. Perhaps he would have done, had the pair of them not been hiding in the study, intending to stab him mercilessly to death.
“This makes three,” he pointed out needlessly, for Felix could count the number of men who had sought their way into the house intending to slay him just as well as Maxim could.
“Three dead men,” Felix agreed.
Death. Blood. Bodies. Gore. The sound of cannons roared in his ears. Or maybe that was the pounding of his heart. Screams filled his mind. That was the ugly, ruthless, terrible consequence of warfare—the battlefield never left a man. Years could pass. A lifetime, even. But the memories remained, forever haunting, emblazoned upon his mind.
Maxim began tapping his foot. His cravat was so tight, choking him. He wanted to breathe, but his lungs felt as if they had been seized by an invisible fist, and he didn’t want to smell the metallic tang lingering in the air.
“Do you suppose there are more?” he asked his most-trusted man.
“If there are more, they’ll meet the same fate,” Felix said calmly, his tone one of eerie reassurance.
And Maxim believed him. They had fought in hand-to-hand combat at each other’s sides during the Varros Great War. There was no braver man, nor any deadlier, than Felix.
Tap,tap,tap. The frantic movement of his foot was not sufficient. He wouldn’t be able to breathe if he remained in this room another moment, surrounded by death.
He nodded. “I need to?—”
“Brother?”
The untimely interruption of Nando’s voice had Maxim turning to find his brother at the threshold of the study, his gaze pinned upon the dead men, his face taking on a sudden pallor.
“Fucking hell,” Nando muttered.
Maxim stalked across the chamber, relieved for the distraction and the opportunity to turn his back upon the ghastly sight. “Close the damned door.”
His brother belatedly did as he commanded, snapping the portal closed. “What’s happened?”
“Assassins,” he said succinctly, stopping before his brother. “Felix discovered them before they found me.”
“Deus,” Nando said, still looking pale, his gaze lingering on the dead men over Maxim’s shoulder.
“You’ve returned early this evening,” he observed instead of offering further explanation.
“What will you…” Nando’s words trailed off and he swallowed hard, as if struggling to continue. “What will you do with them?”
“It’s best you don’t know, Your Royal Highness,” Felix said calmly.
“I…” Nando paused, swallowing again, as if doing his utmost to keep from casting up his accounts. “I suppose so.” He turned his unsteady gaze upon Maxim. “You weren’t injured?”
“Thankfully not,” he reassured him. “I was not at home until after they were already dispatched.”
Because he had been out doing, of all things, shopping. It was embarrassing to admit, even inwardly. King Maximilian did not reduce himself to the ranks of lowly pages by wandering through shops for bits and baubles to impress a lady. Whenever he had made a gift to Lucinda, he had always foisted the task of the selection and purchase upon one of the young servant lads in his employ.
