I sound bolder than I feel, and the king’s eyebrows go up. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says. He glances at my brother. “Are you afraid of your employer?”
Dane is staring daggers at me, and I know he wants me to excuse myself and flee, in some vain hope that the king will meet me later and have no recollection of this moment. For Dane, maybe that would be possible. My brother barely pays attention to anyone below his station. It’s the only reason he didn’t recognize Maddox Kyronan before grabbing hold of my arm to shoo me back to my chambers.
But as I look into his golden eyes, I know thekingwon’t forget. There’s no sense in trying to hide my identity any longer. Besides, I rather like that he slipped in here without anyone recognizing him.
The same way I did, really.
It’s the biggest surprise of all, especially when I didn’t expect to like anything about him. I almost offer him a smile, as if we’re co-conspirators, trapped by this arrangement.
But I think of those warm fingers that touched my arm, surely a sign of the power he wields. I think of all the rumors that preceded his arrival. I think of the magic that Dane desperately wants. The talent to call fire that can kill thousands on the battlefield.
Is our brutality not the exact reason your king seeks an alliance?
My smile stops before it can form. I won’t allow myself to be fooled by a gentle voice and kind eyes. I felt the strength in his grip. I see the power in his frame.
But I can go into this alliance on equal footing.
I take hold of the maid skirts and drop into a curtsy. “Your Majesty, it is an honor to finally meet you. I am Princess Marjoriana.”
The king goes absolutely still. Shock washes through his eyes before his expression locks down, closing off. He’s frozen in place, and he says nothing.
Wind whispers along the main doors, and someone nearby gives alittle cough, but the king doesn’t move. The silence stretches on for so long that I begin to feel a bit foolish.
And then I realize that we’re not co-conspirators at all—not really. Maddox Kyronan showed up to secure an alliance between nations, while I snuck into the atrium dressed as a maid—as aspy, just as he said. He might not have announced himself to me, but it’s not like he showed up in rags and hid his identity.
And then I practically accused him of lacking integrity and tormenting his people.
Heat floods my cheeks. I’m suddenly terrified he’s going to say something that will humiliate me as effectively as my brother.
But he doesn’t. His rich golden eyes simply blaze into mine, and I can’t read anything in them.
Captain Zale is the one to finally speak. The man claps his king on the shoulder in a casual gesture I’ve never seen anyone use with my brother—ormy father.
“There you go,” he says. “I told you I’d have a good story later.” He looks past us all and finds a footman along the wall. “Rumor says you have good whiskey here. Which one of you can bring us some?”
Thatbreaks the king’s silence. He snaps his head around to look at his captain, and his expression is aggrieved. “It’s barely dawn, Sev.”
“Well, I’ve been up all night, and there’s apparently no heat in this country.” Captain Zale nods at the footman who’s stepped forward. “That means we’re going to need twice as much.”
Chapter Five
The Assassin
The gathering room of the Hunter’s Guild is never busy at dawn. We do nighttime work for a reason, and most everyone sleeps the day away. By dusk, the room will be as packed as any tavern, with just as much wine and ale poured, because anyone is welcome to spend money here. Hunters are well trained and discreet, and we’re notalwayskillers. Technically, we’re only hired to find people. Everything we do afterward is just a matter of how much someone is willing to pay.
This morning, the gathering room is nearly deserted, the scuffed wood floors smudged with dirt and sticky with spilled ale, along with a few darker spots of blood from where discussions grew a little too heated. Sunlight shines through the windows near the ceiling, but it does nothing to warm the space. Every torch is unlit, the hearth just as cold as the ones in the palace.
Only two people are present. One is Hammish, the old man who cleans during the day, though it doesn’t look like much of that has happened yet. A mop bucket sits near the wall, a thin crust of ice on the water, but Hammish is pouring himself a glass of whiskey behind the bar. The other person is Rachel, the daytime keeper of the books. She’s well into her fifties, and she’s been doing this a long time. Possibly as long as I’ve been alive.
She whistles low when she sees me. “Asher. I heard you were back.”
I push back my hood and approach the cage where she sits. Steel bars stretch from the ceiling to the floor, forming walls that are ten feet wide, trapping her inside with a desk, two chairs, and a series of chests along the stone wall at her back. It would give the impression of a cell, but the locks are all on the inside, blocked by panels of steel that are too wide to reach around and too thick to break. I’ve seen men try.
Rachel doesn’t just keep track of our assignments. She holds the money, too.
“I’m back,” I say. “I checked in last night.”
“I saw.” She taps the book. “Only ten percent pay because of the delay. That’s unlike you.”
