4. Nicholas
4
Nicholas
A n unmarked carriage used for deliveries brought me to the edge of town. The driver called the horses to a stop, and I could hear him unhooking their reins. Once he and a horse walked out of earshot, I dropped from the bottom of the carriage where I’d wedged myself between the frame and base of the cabin.
Keeping to the shadows, I crept between homes and shops down empty alleyways. The cold mud squelched beneath my feet whenever I wasn’t careful with my footing. Tula's outfit molded perfectly to my body, allocating give where I needed in order to keep my presence stealthy. A bulky hood hung over my forehead, and a black fabric mask covered everything beneath my eyes. I kept my hair tied back so no loose tendrils would reveal the coloring.
Completely protected from recognition.
One with the darkness, I could roam in secret far from the castle and the role of playing prince. Here, without the crown adorning my head, I held the same value as anyone I’d pass on the street. A man redefined.
A man with a purpose.
Tucking myself between buildings, I waited for a horse and buggy to pass along the street. When the coast was clear, I crossed.
168 Unison Way.
The top window flickered with the orange glow of candlelight, but no one seemed to be downstairs. The neighbors also appeared to have retired to bed, leaving an opening for me to investigate. Evergreen bushes lined the side of the house, a perfect cover while I skulked in the shadows.
Seb told me about the report. Bruce Gallagher had been taken from his backyard after sunset. Confirming it was only me amongst the stark silence of night, I quietly stalked up to the fence and peered over.
A dark form moving along the neighbor’s fence line caught my attention. I’d have to wait until they returned inside so they didn’t give me away.
My suspicions about it being the neighbor were quickly proven wrong as the shadowy figure cleared himself over the fence and dropped into Mrs. Gallagher’s yard. My adrenaline spiked. Perhaps the kidnappers returned for the Mrs. If that was the case, I had to stop them and figure out how to get them into the castle dungeon for interrogation. Judging by the perpetrator’s small frame, I didn’t see myself losing this fight. In fact, it would take a matter of minutes at most to subdue this criminal.
Since I became a man at the age of sixteen, my father saw fit for me to learn the ways of combat. Countless hours, endless days, until my body was left beaten and bruised. And still, he’d told me to train.
"A true king can defend his crown, even in battle. You never know the power your opponents will have, what advantages they will wield. Be prepared for the worst, and you will not fail this kingdom."
If not for the saving grace of my mother, the man may not have been satisfied until I’d been buried under the dirt. Even then, he’d probably have demanded I crawled out.
On a warm summer’s day, when the sun hit my face, it brought me back to the feel of my mother's loving palm caressing my cheek. Telling me she was proud of me, whether I had won the spar that day or not, whether I had magic or not. It was who I chose to be that mattered more than what I could do, she’d said.
That sentiment was another log in the fire of my current determination to put an end to this criminal ring that’d survived undetected for too long.
The figure navigated through the tall shrubbery, rustling the leaves in his wake.
A perfect opening.
I jumped, gripping the top of the five foot tall fence and scaling until I cleared it. The moment my feet connected with the grassy ground, I rose to my full height.
The small man wasted no time unsheathing a dagger when he spotted me. Moonlight glinted off the sharp blade. A pathetic weapon, really.
I withdrew my sword that’d been fixed to my back in the sheath sewn directly into the fabric, hauled it over my shoulder, and held it extended between us.
He didn’t move. Probably weighing his options, knowing my blade was the stronger opponent. We paused in a standoff.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I warned through the fabric of my mask.
“Neither should you.” A feathery voice, smooth as silk but filled with challenge.
A woman.
In my moment of chauvinistic shock, she lunged. Not wanting my blade to injure her, I moved it from her line of attack.
A solid blow to my side had me regretting my decision. Her knuckles pummeled my ribs on the right side, and in one fluid hit, she delivered an uppercut to my chin.
She sent my gaze flying toward the night sky. Before I could return my focus, the sole of her foot connected with my stomach. Her forceful kick sent me stumbling back. Instincts had me fighting to gain control. I couldn’t let her keep the upper hand, so I recovered before falling. Never let the enemy get you to the ground.
Pain radiated from my ribs and jaw, but I centered myself. With slightly bent knees, I assumed a fighter’s stance, one that’d been ingrained in me over years of practice. To let her know I wasn’t messing around, I swung the blade in a figure eight before holding it steady. The steel sang against the night air before I sank into a meditative calm.
The fact that she struck me with limbs instead of her weapon told me she didn’t intend to kill me. She could have sliced at me while in my taken aback stupor, but she hadn’t. Either she was untrained, which, judging from her form and agility, I would have a hard time believing, or she wouldn’t use lethal force unless she had to.
“Not bad,” I said, my jaw still throbbing from her punch.
“Thanks, I learned from the best,” she explained in a surprisingly cocky fashion.
Who the hell was this? A femme fatale lurking in the shadows, capable of taking on an unexpected foe. And she’d bested me. I couldn’t recall a time in the last decade that any opponent, swordsman or in the ring, had lowered my defenses before taking their shot. Suddenly my jaw wasn’t the only part of me wanting to throb, and I hastily cleared my throat to shake off the reaction.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, no more praise left in my dropped voice.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
I chuckled, a calculated move. “You’re cute. But I’m growing tired of your games.”
“Cute? Is that what it felt like when I knocked the breath out of you, cute ?” Her tone was smug, knowing it didn’t fucking tickle.
A flash of heat brushed my cheeks. It may have been impressive when she did it, but the gloating? I could do without the gloating. “Answer me,” I barked.
“Maybe I’m here to stop you.” She reasserted her stance, her small body still primed for a fight.
“Stop me from what, exactly?” I sparred with my words, trying to cipher her intentions. Direct questions didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, but nothing trains someone more for manipulating word play than being in politics.
She replied, “Someone lurking in the dark at a recently widowed woman’s home has nefarious intentions, wouldn’t you agree?”
If I had to guess, I’d say her eyebrow cocked at the end of her question. But like me, her face was mostly covered, and her loose hanging hood cloaked the rest in shadows.Perhaps she hadn't realized what she'd just admitted, that Mr. Gallagher did indeed lose his life, though her taunting confident tone held an allure like she knew exactly what she was saying.
“You mean like you’re doing?” My words came out wrapped in velvet, playing along with this game we'd begun. I didn't mind engaging, especially when it fed me more answers.
Her body tensed, though she tried her best to keep her stance open. That hit a nerve.
“Maybe you’re the one who needs stopping,” I said. “What kind of woman wants to strike against a grieving widow?” I asked in a condescending and sly manner. Calling her character into question was the first sign of an uncontrolled response I’d managed to get. Maybe getting under her skin would have her revealing something she didn’t intend to.
The tension in her shoulders melted away. “So you admit it?”
Her question flipped my understanding of the situation. “Admit what?”
“That she’s widowed?” Her insinuation was that she’d gotten me to reveal something.
“I—” I stumbled over what to say, not understanding the relevance of repeating what she’d previously thrown at me.
Unless she'd been baiting me.
Apparently that was all the ammunition she needed because she came at me again—only this time I was ready. Sending her fist flying, I shielded myself with my left forearm. Before she could prepare another hit, I sent her tumbling back with a kick of my boot against her abdomen. She fell, but saved her landing by using the momentum to roll. She wasted no time getting back on her feet.
She was trained well.
“Kicking a lady isn’t very nice.” I could hear the smile on her lips, even though she groaned through the pain.
“Oh, you’re no lady ,” I crooned. No proper lady would have the skills she did. Still, the sight of her hand glued to her abdomen definitely didn’t make me feel like a man.
She straightened slowly, and before I opened my mouth to see if she was alright, her right arm cocked back. Shimmering moonlight off metal gave me the split second difference between life and death, because a moment later she sent the dagger hurtling in my direction. I leaned, twisting to the side, dodging just in time to watch it pierce the wooden fence at my back.
Almost soundlessly, she approached at full speed. I turned around just in time to duck and miss her right hook. She really expected to hit me with all the same moves a second time? Lunging forward, I tackled her middle while simultaneously hooking my right heel behind her right ankle. In one fast motion, I drew my heel back, forcing her to pivot. Before my next breath, I’d managed to wrap my arms around hers, pinning her back to my chest, locking her arms in place, and hovered my sword in front of her neck.
Her ragged breathing was the only sound between us. I had the leverage here, and we both knew it. Somehow she felt even smaller in my arms, but I didn’t dare relax my grip. “That wasn’t very nice,” I taunted, unsure why I didn’t spit out my threat right away. Lingering here would draw attention, and getting caught wasn’t in my plans for tonight.
“I’ll show you how nice I can be,” she gritted out.
She lifted her legs off the ground, and I grunted, trying to not to let her fall and take me down with her. My muscles strained, and I held my breath while counteracting her amplified weight. I crouched over her slight frame to keep her in my grip.
Too late I realized her maneuver.
Her head flew backwards, smashing into the side of my nose with an audible crack. Instinctively, my grip loosened, and before I could gather my wits, she dropped to the ground and her leg swept mine. My left side smashed against the ground.
Do or die. I raised my sword, ready to slash at her next advance despite the blinding pain and disorientation. I raised my gaze just in time to see her shadowy figure crossing the yard. She hopped over the fence, out of sight, leaving me in a perfectly silent garden.
My sword arm dropped in defeat, and I finally grumbled from the pain. A tender jaw, bruised ribs, an unidentified nose injury that hurt like hell, and a battered left side. In a matter of minutes, I’d had my ass handed to me. I rubbed my jaw, realizing it had been for nothing. I had no insight as to who she was, or why she’d come here. And I was fairly certain she didn’t actually know what befell Mr. Gallagher, but was trying to find out. Let alone the fact that we’d marked up the scene of the abduction that I’d come to scour for clues.
I took a moment to rest in the plush grass before rising to my feet. Muscle memory slid my sword perfectly into the sheath on my back.
This unforeseen altercation didn’t need to completely impede my purpose for coming here tonight. I dragged my gaze around the garden, ignoring the dents she’d made in the bushes on her landing.
On the whole, this garden didn’t hold any advantages for stealing a person. The back fence only came up to my knees, exposing it to the alleyway behind. Mirrored gardens lined the other side, providing the same amount of minimal coverage. Quite an exposed setting.
I reconsidered this may be a case of a man running out on his wife, but a subtle mark caught my eye. The pointed peak of one of the fence panels differed in color.
I walked up to it, getting closer for inspection. Even from the faint light of the moon, I recognized it. Blood. Not only that, but a few boards tilted toward the street. This could have been made years ago, or it came from Mr. Gallagher being dragged away in the night.
Faint voices from down the alley echoed, and I listened until I determined they were approaching. After taking a beating and confirming for myself that Mr. Gallagher was indeed most likely the newest abduction in the seaside town, I decided taking my leave was best.
Planning to exit the way I came, I turned on my heel and made my steps light as they carried me back through the yard, but I paused. Jutting out of the fence was a dagger. The one she threw at me that could have killed me. A piece of her left behind as she fled in a hurry. Something about leaving it didn’t sit right. If I did, Mrs. Gallagher could report it.
If this mystery fighter in the night had anything to do with Mr. Gallagher’s disappearance, she’d deserve to get found out, tracked down by my guardsmen. But the thought of that put an odd strain on my heart. Deep down in my gut, I didn’t believe that was the case.
So I ripped out the evidence of her, splintering the wood as I did, and took it with me as I headed back to the castle.