“It gives a good alibi too,” Killian added, crossing his arms. “A freak attack. A tragedy. The king caught off guard.”
“Yes.” Fyar’s fists clenched in the feline’s fur, his anger beginning to leak out. “Deaths are not rare in the hunt. It would be the perfect opportunity.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Killian promised. Fyar turned slowly to meet his eyes. Bathed in crimson, the king looked like an avenging angel. Beautiful. Powerful. Terrible. “We’ll get you through this.”
Fyar grinned. “Of that I have no doubt.”
The king wasn’t so easy to kill.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
KADE MUMBLED A sleepy thanks when Porthos handed him a steaming mug of java before lowering himself onto a log they had moved in front of the fire pit at the center of the small clearing beside his brother.
The sun was just breaking over the horizon and the camp was beginning to come alive.
It was a tight fit, with four hunters and eight guards and two healers, but they made it work. Groupings of two or three tents were scattered around the area, tucked between groves of trees and fitted amongst tree roots and rocks, all safe within eyesight but far enough apart to feign privacy.
The first day of the hunt had been everything and nothing Kade like had expected. Long hours on horseback turned into hours of walking as the brush became too thick for the horses to wade through with a rider. They went on foot from there, the guards and the healers hanging back as the lords tracked their prey.
It was a tense and awkward dance as the lords felt each other out. Turns out three days of partying together doesn’t automatically make you the best of friends while sober.
That was made especially clear when Lord Anders Aykal, theyoungest—and the most aggressive—of the four abandoned their shared prey in favor of following a trail he claimed was a better prospect. Kade was duty bound to follow the young lord as the groups split, each was meant to have a healer whenever possible, and there was no chance that Porthos would volunteer to leave his brother’s side.
Anders had been injured on his solo quest, thrown into a nearby tree by the giant arachnid Kade was trying not to hurl at the sight of. It really was quite a mess. A horrible, hairy mess.
Anders had gotten away relatively unscathed, only sporting minor cuts and bruises. Nothing Kade couldn’t heal given five minutes.
“What are you trying to prove?” Kade had asked with his hands pressed against the young lord’s ribs.
“Something impossible,” grumbled Anders, his dark eyes flashed. “Just do your job and mind your business.”
The lord reminded Kade a lot of Killi when he was younger. Prickly. With the whole world on his shoulders.
The base camp gave them a safe place to land after a long day. They were the last ones to get back to camp, the sun long gone. There were whispers as Anders stalked through camp; about his reckless and argumentative nature. His anger. It set the others rightfully on edge. Their already shaky alliance spread thin.
Anders didn’t join the rest of them around the fire for dinner that night. Nor did he listen to or swap stories, choosing to hole up in his tent and retire early.
Porthos and Kade were meant to be sharing a tent, but it was apparently news to the other apprentice since he never made an appearance. Instead, he was off, glued to his brother’s side. Itmade it impossible to get Porthos alone.
It was really starting to piss Kade off because heneededto talk to Porthos. He needed to clear the air, but Porthos—the bastard—was dodging him. Every attempt at getting the other apprentice alone was thwarted by Porthos and Lyra having seemingly fused together into one infuriating being.
Kade didn’t know what to think of Lyra, especially now, studying him across the fire. He was leaning on Porthos, whispering with him softly as Porthos wore an expression of exasperated fondness.
The rumored banished Prince of Netyere. He was a bright, optimistic light amongst the competitive energies running high in camp. The sun often caught on his golden hair and gave him a radiant halo.Together with Porthos, they looked like a painting, one of the old legends.
Kade was having a hard time picturing these two brothers as calculating, manipulating assassins, but looks could be deceiving.
“I’d wager one hundred gold pieces that I make the first kill of the day,” Lyra was saying, his chin high and a exaggerated air of arrogance in his tone.
Porthos raised his eyebrows. “Why would it be you?”
“Why wouldn’t it? Who else is as deserving as me? Don’t look at me like that, little brother, I really feel like today is my day.” Lyra sighed like he extremely put out. “Your lack of faith in me is truly insulting sometimes.” He caught Kade’s eye and leaned forward, pulling him into the conversation. “I bet you’re not like this with your brother. I betyoubelieve in his skills.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Kade said dryly. “I never doubt him in anything.”
Lyra turned on Porthos. “See. That’s how it should be.”
“Blind devotion?” Porthos asked.
