4
Valine didn’t think. She just moved. Tackling Freyja to the floor, she wrapped her arms around the other woman’s head and shielded her body with her own. For a moment, she didn’t breathe. For a moment, she only locked eyes with Freyja, hazel meeting Earth.
“Are you okay?” Valine whispered.
“I’m fine,” Freyja answered, slightly breathless. Her eyes searched Valine’s face, and she scrambled to get off the other woman.
Valine got to her feet and was prepared to offer Freyja her hand, but the other woman was already up. She glanced behind Valine, and she followed her gaze. Behind them, Malik leaned against his throne, and his expression was…amused.
“Mayhap I should have mentioned that Freyja is a ruinmancer and that she would be destroying the tunnel behind us. Too many people know about it. But not to worry, a new passage will be constructed in due time.”
Malik had a smirk about him, his light eyes predatory and interested. Valine realized with a start that she was seeing attraction. That something about her on Freyja had spiked something in the dark ruler. Interesting. Valine made a mental note to file that away for future experimentation.
Freyja was perilously close to the explosion. Had Valine known that the ruinmancer—a destruction mage—was aware of the distance needed from the ruin, she would have acted differently.
The tapestry hardly billowed, and the dust had already settled behind it. The sound had been much larger than the actual explosion. It hadn’t shaken the foundations or even the room. The hanging jewels on the chandeliers jittered the slightest as if a breeze had passed by, but otherwise, the palace was unscathed and unaffected. Even then, Freyja had been able to contain it so well, Valine doubted anyone even woke from their beds.
“That information may have benefited all parties present,” she replied curtly.
“On the contrary,” the king demurred, thumbing his lip, “I’m quite entertained by this outcome.”
His eyes were hungry, and Valine flushed.
“Alistair, Freyja, Sarim, you may retire for the night. Get some rest,” Malik commanded.
“Are you sure, Mal?” Sarim asked carefully, amber eyes flitting to Valine. She resisted the urge to react.
“I am,” Malik confirmed with a flick of his head. “We’ll be all right.”
The trio acquiesced and disappeared through the enormous arched door, the obsidian and gold blending in with the rest of the throne room. The door opened and closed with a squeal of hinges. With the slamming of it a final sound to their departure, Malik turned to Valine.
They were silent in their regarding of each other. With the slightest lift of his head, Malik sat himself on the dais steps, bringing a knee up and stretching his other out. The king was actually lounging. He was at ease, and his dark cloak spread out behind him, his black vest tight against his abdomen—a garment she knew was popular in Adraali—with a corseted back. It only enhanced the king’s good looks and trim waist.
“I will show you to your rooms shortly, but I wish to speak with you freely here.”
“I am at your service, My King.”
Malik’s lips pulled up in the corner. “I see you’ve changed your attitude since the bridge.”
“I have,” Valine bit out.
“Glad to see it. What do you know of the Thyccan royal family?”
Valine answered immediately. “The king has two daughters, one married to a lord in the north-east—Melusda, I believe. The younger of the two went to university to study botany and herbalism, but now her father’s coffers are running dry, and her apothecary isn’t bringing in the revenue he wished. He’s hoping to marry her off rich to pay off his debts when he made some poor public investments.”
“Very good. That would be Liesl. She is one of the hopeful brides being sent to the palace.” He tapped his fingers on his knees. “Being fiscally irresponsible is not enough to bring her father to bend the knee. We need a little more than that.”
“I shall work on it.”
“Delightful.”
Valine shifted her weight. She was still wet and very much cold from the midnight jaunt and bucket bath courtesy of Alastair. The king noticed her discomfort. Unclipping his cloak from his shoulders, he beckoned her closer. She was too cold to fight much, but she did huff for good measure.
“I don’t do apologies very well, but I regret punching you,” Valine ground out.
“I never asked for one, but the sentiment is appreciated, nonetheless.”
Without the cloak, she could confirm that the vest was, in fact, corseted, with burgundy boning and restraints. The rings, of course, were gold.
Approaching the king, she sat next to him, and he wrapped her in the swath of fabric. It was warm and scented with black orchids, tobacco, and cloves—she wondered if that scent was from cigarettes or perhaps the candles. Beside her, the king’s body heat was like an open fire, and she forced herself not to lean into him.
“Dubon?”
Valine pulled the cloak up to her mouth, warming her fingers in the fabric. Another eastern country. “Not much on the king and queen. They’re quite boring. Three children, two boys, and a daughter. The crown prince is the dutiful son, the second son promised to take over lands to the north-east with a political marriage to the Ixaithan princess. I’m assuming the daughter is set to be another bride hopeful?”
“Correct, but so is the Ixiathan princess. Your intel is a few days late. The marriage was called off due to the second son admitting he preferred to never procreate. How do you know so much about the continent’s politics?”
Valine shrugged, attempting to deflect. “When you’re an assassin, it pays to know who to avoid and what blood wars not to become involved in.”
She could feel Malik’s burning gaze on her. Reaching out, he clasped her jawline in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He was firm, his eyes intense. “What do you know about the city of Cydra?”
Panic flared through her, setting her heart racing. Ice plunged through her veins, and blood ran from her face. She knew she was caught. Malik quite literally held her in place, and she knew the quick shot of alarm that had widened her eyes was not missed.
Valine swallowed. “This one feels like a trick question.”
“It’s not. You and I both know the answer to this one, so why don’t you just tell me.”
“Cydra is my family’s lands,” she finally admitted.
Malik quirked a brow, interest piqued, his face open for her to continue.
“My father was a cruel beast. Sired more illegitimate children than legitimate. I was his first daughter, the fourth child by my mother. I was an embarrassment. He’s not missed. My eldest brother now rules Cydra with his wife. I’ve never met her.” Her answers were ticked off, automatic.
Cydra was second only to Gallae, the capital city of Runell. She was hardly removed from royalty, but she’d done everything possible to make the world forget it.
“Did you kill your father?”
Valine stared him hard in the eyes, his strong grip still clutched her. She said without flinching, without blinking. “Yes.”
“Why?” Was all Malik asked, his hand dropping.
“He was a bastard. He would beat us, and any daughter born of his marriage after me was killed.” Valine swallowed, forcing down her fury. That hot temper she’d inherited from the brute rising. She fought it by standing before the king, shaking out her damp hair. He watched her, and she saw him look her up and down, drinking in the wet fabric clinging to her cold skin, the bare flesh that remained exposed.
“He shouldn’t have been so surprised when I murdered him. But oh, he was. Perhaps he’d thought me so weak and inconsequential that I’d never have the power to silence his continued siring. To me, he was the inconsequential one, not even important enough to be the first man I’d killed. Nor lucky number three, or even magical number seven.” She chuckled darkly. “No, he was basic and simple number four.”
Malik got to his feet and stood before her. “What did you tell him before he died?”
The assassin smiled. “I told him that all his hopes and dreams would die with me. That I was never going to be the pure and chaste daughter he wanted me to be. I told him that I would fuck all the men I wanted, that I would be a whore if that’s what I desired. I told him I would burn down the Desdemon name, bury it beneath shame and disgrace. I told him that I would ensure his legacy ends with despair.”
Malik’s hand came to rest on her waist, his fingers tightened, pulling her closer. “Did you?” he whispered, lust darkening his eyes. “Did you fuck all the men you wanted? Burn down the Desdemon name?”
Her eyes flickered to his lips. To the wound she’d given him. From beneath her lashes, she rasped, “Not yet, but I am not finished.”
His fingers drifted beneath her breast, and she shuddered—not in revulsion like what Ishaq had elicited, but in pleasure. Her eyelids fluttered. “I’d like to help you with those plans. Would that interest you?”
She knew the double entendre he was giving her, and the prospect of bedding a king was incredibly alluring, but she had rules she wouldn’t break. “I must be clear; my services as an assassin are the only ones to be paid for. I do not sell my body, and I do not fuck the men who employ me.”
“I would not dream of buying anything else,” he breathed, his other hand cupping her chin. “Your boundaries are noted, though I must admit, I am disappointed.”
“I am open to flirtation,” she managed, her desire warring against her values.
He grinned. “Then, I look forward to the wonderful and terrible future we will wreak.”
“As will I.”
They stayed like that for a minute. Frozen and electric. She didn’t know what had come over her. What possessed her to stay in the king’s arms, when only an hour before, she’d punched him in the face, and he’d held a blade to her throat, pinning her to the bridge. When she quite literally told him, she wasn’t going to sleep with him, despite the stirrings in her wanting to. Perhaps it was raw sexual energy. Perhaps it was lust. Perhaps it was animal attraction. Or maybe even it was the draw of a hate fuck. She didn’t know the king, nor did she particularly like him. But sex…sex was definitely a desire.
Malik broke from her.
“I will show you to your room. You are cold and require rest.”
They left the throne room and the king escorted her through the viridian and onyx and golden halls. The palace was dark and beautiful, luxurious and ornate. Guards in dark livery and armor patrolled. With a simple nod from the monarch, they were unbothered. Ascending three floors, they came to a wing lighter than others—walls of diamond-pane windows were set into the stone, ironwood doors opposite. He brought her to the third door.
“These are your quarters. If you require anything, please let me know. You will be assigned servants in the morning. You are not to tell anyone what your role is here. If you do, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, your life will be forfeit.”
Valine smirked, cocking her head. “Now, why would I ever consider a foolish task like that?”
“Spies and assassins are a fickle bunch.”
“Ah, but you did choose me.”
The king grinned, backing her against the door, a hand above her head. “Oh, I certainly did. And I’d choose you again.” Stepping back, he nodded politely. “Goodnight, Little Liar.”
“Goodnight, My King.”