After the gates closed, Dante circled the walled royal complex looking for a weak spot, just as he had done four times already since accepting the job. His efforts revealed no new information, no better idea of how to extract the princess. So he stopped at Blukke’s to change into his own clothes, then headed toward Tabor’s.
Blukke wasn’t at the pub when Dante arrived, so he claimed a table just inside the establishment that provided a clear view of the lively street but made it difficult for those outside to see him. He’d finished his second ale before Blukke arrived, slinging a bag of coins on the table.
“For you,” Blukke said at Dante’s raised brow.
Dante lifted the bag, weighing it in his palm. It was a lot of gold. “Why are you giving me money?”
Blukke gestured to the barmaid, ordering a drink as he sat down opposite Dante. “I’m not. It’s from Sol. Said he thought an advance might help you focus.”
Dante pocketed the bag, not bothering to hide his displeasure as Blukke knew Sol well enough, too, to know that this was not a gesture of good will. It was a command to get on with it already. A command to succeed. By giving him this advance, Sol was threatening him. If Dante didn’t deliver, the money would be considered unearned and thus stolen. All his years of service wouldn’t be enough to protect him from Sol’s wrath.
Ignoring the weight in his pocket that also lay upon his shoulders, Dante enjoyed the company of his friend. The men shared what they’d been up to since the last time they met, news they’d gleaned from their travels, messages they’d been entrusted to share by mutual acquaintances. They had been at it for only a couple of hours when a pretty woman made eyes at Blukke from across the pub, and the mustachioed man downed his drink with a wink to Dante before abandoning him to take up residence at the empty seat next to her.
Dante remained at his table, now running his fingers over the condensation on his mug as he watched the nocturnal scene on the street. He had nothing better to do and he couldn’t go home. The only home he had in Hogard was Blukke’s, which was likely about to be occupied by the woman who was already threading her fingers through Blukke’s short dark hair.
Blukke had always had that effect on women. His classically handsome face and beautiful blue-violet eyes drew them in, only for his smooth charm to ensnare them. Dante always thought such a gift was more burden than reward, especially considering their profession. Blukke’s face was remarkable, memorable. Dante preferred the anonymity his average features provided.
He watched a woman who’d been overserved stumble out of the pub, through the tables outside, and onto the street. Her husband trailed behind, righting the skewed chairs she left in her wake. Dante hummed to himself, surprised that he had witnessed a second decent act today in this unscrupulous city.
He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the shifter guard being kind enough to deliver the woman’s necklace in the bailey earlier. Royal guards were absolute pieces of shit, the lot of them. Dante would have assumed they’d push that woman out and pocket the gold necklace for themselves as soon as the gates were closed. That was likely the fae guard’s plan. But the shifter, he’d been decent. Just like this man, straightening up the mess his wife made instead of leaving it for someone else. Decent people in Hogard. Who knew?
The drunk woman collided with someone on the street, falling to the ground, taking the pedestrian’s cloak with her. Dante breathed a laugh through his nose, offering a prayer to Lunin to give that poor husband strength and patience as he hauled his wife away. Then his attention caught on the newly revealed figure of the pedestrian.
It wasn’t her thick thighs and round ass perfectly displayed in tight black pants that had him squeezing his mug tighter in his fist, though that is where his eyes were drawn first. It wasn’t that little curved paunch exposed by her tucked in shirt, or the flushed skin of her ample chest peaking out from where the top buttons remained open. Nor was it the patches of irritated skin that stretched from her neck southward, disappearing under the midnight blue fabric. Dante recognized the pattern as a love rash that had been left by a very recent mouth sucking and scraping her flesh.
No, it wasn’t any of that that had Dante gripping his glass. It was the woman’s hair. That long, thick, healthy, clean ash blond braid could only belong to someone in the royal court. No one else had such impractical hair. No one else had the means to care for it. And he had seen that hair before, just a few days ago. The princess’s white dress had concealed the voluptuous body that lay beneath. But her hair had been the same.
The princess covered herself again with the cloak, conspicuously looking around. Dante was light-headed as he processed this gift Lunin had given him. The coins in his pocket no longer felt heavy as he flipped some to the barmaid. He didn’t have time to explain to Blukke. He only saluted his brother as he rushed out the door and into the shadows of the nearby alley, watching the princess walk down the deserted next block. He removed a length of black fabric he had tied around his waist, rewrapping it around his head to conceal all but his eyes.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She didn’t even attempt to conceal herself. She wore the cloak, yes, but she padded openly through the center of the empty street without a glance over her shoulder to see who might be following her. Dante considered for a moment that he had been served some bad ale. That this couldn’t possibly be happening. But his thoughts were clear and his body well controlled as he silently moved through the street after her, keeping himself tucked into the cover of the closed mercantiles that lined this block.
He followed her for another block until she dipped into an alley then slid in behind her. She was standing at the side door to a shop, but she didn’t knock. Nobody would be here at this hour, anyway. She fumbled with something in her pocket, pulling out an envelope. Dante watched as she looked at the envelope, her shoulders sagging as she ran a thumb over the parchment. Sighing, she used her other hand to open a small slot in the door for mail, then withdrew it without depositing the envelope. The loud clang of the small metal cover closing rang through the night. The envelope still clutched in her hand, Dante saw her fingers tighten, and she threw her head back, looking at the sky.
What the hell was she doing?
It didn’t matter. He had her. Right here, right now. No one and nothing stood in his way. It was so easy. He removed himself from the shadows but still she didn’t notice him. Not until he stood nearly on top of her.
“Good evening, Princess.” His voice was the low purr of a lover.
The woman startled, simultaneously dropping her head to level, taking a step back, thrusting the envelope back into her cloak pocket with one hand, and extracting a dagger with the other, angling it at him. Dante was surprised at her speed, though it wouldn’t help her.
“You must have me confused,” she said, her voice as hard as the steel in her hand. “I have no business with you. Be on your way.”
The cloak she wore was worn, and she had obviously believed it to be a suitable disguise. Even without her tell-tale hair, Dante would have seen her for what she was. The clothes she wore below were simple but well made and intricate. Even with his heightened senses, he hadn’t noticed the golden thread weaving through her blouse in a beautiful design down the placket when she was on the street. But now he did, and that alone announced her status.
Dante took a step closer, and her fingers tightened on the hilt of her dagger. He didn’t reign in his smile as he eyed her weapon, knowing she couldn’t see it under his mask. It was a fine, sharp blade with a blue stone at the end of the hilt--no doubt more for looks than utility. “What do you think that little thing will do to me?”
The princess held her ground. “I suppose it depends on where I stick it, doesn’t it?”
If he wasn’t in Hogard, if he wasn’t working, if she wasn’t his target, if she wasn’t her--his enemy--he would have laughed.
“They teach you such things in that fancy castle?” Dante cocked his head, his eyes now raking over her neck and delicate collarbone, the red hue of her love rash beginning to fade. Apparently, they taught her more about where one could stick things into her.
“You are mistaking me for someone else,” she asserted.
Dante could see the flickering of her pulse on her neck, her quickened heartbeat belying the calm of her voice. She hadn’t been trained to avoid being followed, but she’d been trained to hide her emotions. Of course, that would be a necessary skill for the future ruler of Wassalia. Mustn’t let the masses see how much you enjoy putting them to death.
“I don’t think I am.” Dante didn’t move as she took another step back, then glanced around the alley, looking for an escape route. Foolish. If any adversary stood before her with the intention of killing her, they would have easily been able to succeed in those moments she let her attention wander. When her eyes again laid upon him, Dante could see the panic in them. “No, Princess. You won’t be leaving this alley. Not alone, anyway.”
Her breathing quickened as they stared at one another. Then she whirled around, sprinting toward the end of the alley. It was walled off; there was nowhere for her to go, so he let her. In the gust of air her whipping cloak ushered in her movement, Dante caught a strong whiff of peaches and honeysuckle with a slighter scent of oranges and grass. Dante slowly walked after her, his movements smooth, his boots silent on the stone. She had reached the end of the alley and stared at the wall, turned away from him. Dante almost felt sorry for how incompetent she was.
Before he reached her, she spun back around, releasing the dagger.
A hair’s breadth length of the tip had pierced the extra leather padding over his heart before he had been able to halt the dagger with his magic. It remained supported by that unseen force, sticking straight out of his chest, the blue stone glinting in what little moonlight the cloudy night provided. He plucked the dagger from the air, flexing his grip and examining it, before tucking it into a sheath inside his boot. He swallowed his shock at her efficiency, her perfect aim.
“Come now, Princess. No need for any of that. I’m not going to kill you. I don’t want to hurt you at all. Be a good girl, and I won’t have to.” Not that she didn’t deserve it. Perhaps at some point during the journey, she would get unruly, and Dante would have reason to lay his hands on her. He could only hope.
She had controlled her breathing, but that spot on her neck still fluttered rapidly. She pursed her lips and Dante saw the resignation in her face. Excellent. “What do you want?”
“You and I are going on a journey.”