A blush creeps across my face. I’m not used to such bold honesty. I release a breath, letting the weight of perception melt away, and ease into his hold just a fraction as we continue our dance.
Then he ruins it. “Are you having a good night?”
I would be if I hadn’t accidentally stumbled upon you and your friends.“It’s been nice enough, thank you.”
“Ah, yes. I seem to be having a similar experience.” He spins me, forcing a break in our stare off. “You see, I have this problem.”
Shit.
“Problem?” I ask, swallowing my fear.
“Mmm,” he affirms. “Something I think you can help me with.”
His words catch me off guard, and I tilt one brow at him.
“How so?”
He smiles, it’s sinister and handsome as the depths of every hell.
“My problem is that a friend of mine can’t seem to keep their mouth shut about some … plans I have. And I’m afraid someone may have overheard a recent conversation we were having.”
My mouth goes dry, and I have no idea how to respond.
“I believe you’ll be competing in the tournament?”
I nod.
“Brilliant. It’s noble of you to want to join the guard. They would be lucky to have you,” he says, surprising me. In the next breath, he whispers, “But keep in mind that it’s difficult to protect the kingdom from the grave. Even harder to spill secrets. And those competing in this particular tournament don’t always play by the rules.”
He looks behind me once more, nodding at the corner of the room, and I allow myself to track his stare.
The larger, tattoo covered male who had been in the alcove behind this asshole, stands in the shadows behind Philippa. He’s concealed enough that I doubt anyone else notices he’s there.
He grins at me when he catches me staring, then drags the knife in his hand in the air across the front of his throat while Phil laughs with her companions, fully unaware of any threat.
Message received.
“Do you see that male standing by the east door?” he asks.
I move to look over my shoulder, but he spins me in time with the other couples on the floor.
“Don’t make yourself so obvious.” He fakes a smile that would, in another world, have me weak in the knees. What a waste of a perfectly good male.
To those around us, it must look as if he’s positively enamored with me.
From our new position on the floor, I glance over his shoulder to find the other male, gangly and red-faced, fidgeting near the doorway.
“I see him,” I clip.
“You could at least pretend to be having a nice time,” he responds, and I give him a saccharine smile.
His eyes flash. “Much better,” he praises, and I try to pretend it doesn’t affect me. “That man is the cause of our little … dilemma. It wouldn’t be such a great loss if something were to occur during the tournament.”
“You’re saying … You want me to … ”
“Think of it as one less rebel to contend with.” His tone is nonchalant, as if he’s not asking me to commit a murder.
“I’m a healer!” It comes out louder than I had intended, and a few of the other couples on the dance floor nearby turn to look our way.
