Chapter 4 #2
He was infuriating. And before today she would have laughed it off and told him that not in a million years could she ever believe him doing so.
But now she had seen that wicked side of him, and it had excited her far more than it should.
Arla enjoyed violence – revelled in it – and how exciting that it should come from somewhere she least expected.
Of course, there had been a lot of talk about Hark’s reputation, about how he was skilled enough with a blade that he could rival the King’s Assassin.
But she had believed it to be no more than just that – talk.
Still, just because he had proven he could threaten a civilian, did not mean he was any good at fighting. And he certainly would be no match for her.
The second they were inside the palace gates and through a stone arch that opened out into a courtyard, everything seemed to move incredibly fast, even for Arla who was used to the bustle and chaos of court life.
Stable hands were beside Hark and Arla before the horses’ feet had halted.
‘Good afternoon, sir, and…?’ A short, hunchbacked groom greeted them, taking both sets of reins.
‘Lady Reinhart,’ Hark supplied, and Arla lifted a brow ever so slightly. It was better than assassin, she supposed.
Was it?
Not that the use of such a name had done anything to shield the identity of the blonde-haired girl, her reputation far too widespread to be masked by something as trivial as a name.
Arla Reinhart. The King’s Assassin. Cyrus’s whore. Lady Death.
No, there wasn’t any title that would disguise the assassin in her, and the way she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes already alert and aware of everything within two hundred yards.
The groom knew it, too, his pale grey eyes widening at the bow and quiver of arrows on her back. Arla didn’t imagine the step back he took.
‘Are we going to stand here all day?’ she grumbled, not inclined to show off the superficial niceties or politeness that court life had hammered into her.
She didn’t like these people. She wanted them to be scared of her, and there would be no end to the scenarios she could dream up about what she would love to do to each and every one of them.
‘What she means is, “Fallon, would you be ever so kind and take care of our weary horses and inform the King we have arrived?”’ Hark declared, side-eyeing her as he loosened the girths of both horses.
‘Of course, your—’
‘Thank you, Fallon!’ Hark interrupted, reaching to take Arla by the elbow before she saw him think better of it.
Good. It would be a shame to have to stab him in front of his own people.
Rolling her eyes and closing her hand reassuringly around the hilt of her blade, Arla followed Hark into the palace of Kastonia.
Unlike Castle Grey, Larkire Palace was blooming with colour.
From the carpets to the drapes, to the gold covering everything in sight, it was magnificent.
Again, Arla could not work it out. For a country so obviously poor, the poverty plaguing its citizens was nowhere to be seen inside the royal residence.
Soldiers stood in the doorways, their scarlet tunics sparking a wariness in Arla that had had its origins nine years before, in a house bathed in blood.
But none of the soldiers caused either Hark or Arla any bother and were content to let them make their way through winding corridors and small passages until they reached a door painted in gold, guarded by no fewer than six soldiers.
She could take on four with no problem – if they were as useless as Cyrus’s soldiers – but she would have a hard time with six.
Enough, she told herself. She was on a job and if she were to start gutting the Kastonian palace from the inside out, she’d surely lose the position – if not her head – for which she had worked so hard.
‘I do hope you’re going to behave in front of the king and queen, Reinhart,’ Hark said, on a firm exhale, his fingers toying with the cuff of his shirt rather like they had done with Vetta’s mane.
‘I wouldn’t dream of anything else,’ Arla said sweetly.
‘Gods, you make me want to cut my own throat.’
‘And you make me want to use that blade to stab you through the heart,’ she replied, a forced smile fixed on her face.
He’s nervous.
Hark hated her, and she hated Hark, but it was rare for him to be so open as to tell her how much her presence infuriated him.
If he was insisting on goading her into an argument, Hark was uncomfortable and needed the distraction.
She’d known him for two short years, but she had made it her sole occupation to investigate the handsome Kastonian ambassador when he had first arrived, and she had been reprimanded by Cyrus more than once for her absence from court when she had spent her evenings tailing the ambassador or eavesdropping on his conversations.
If there was anything she did not know or hadn’t observed about Hark, it wasn’t worth knowing, and if they were going to house a Kastonian in the palace – the very palace they had tried to storm – she would make sure he wasn’t a threat. And it had turned out he wasn’t.
Movement on the other side of the doors caught her attention, and she was disappointed when a slight man wearing a white tunic and glasses slipped through the gap in the door, obstructing her view of the throne room beyond.
‘His Majesty requests you are stripped of all weapons before entry,’ the man stuttered, careful to speak over Arla’s shoulder rather than look her dead in the eyes.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Arla complained, undoing the scabbard at her waist, and dropping it to the floor with a clang that made the man wince.
The doors then began to swing open, and Arla was almost blinded by the bright light that streamed out of the throne room.
‘Behave,’ Hark growled, before ushering her through the doorway.