And now he was bleeding out in some forgotten corner of this godforsaken place like a wounded deer.
"My apologies, Great Khan, but we must make way for the Divine King," the man who pinned him hissed.
Kasimir.
One of his own men, bought off by that woman, turned traitor for promises of power under new rule.
Ragnar tried to focus on the man's face, memorise it so he could drag the bastard through the Seven Hells with him, but everything kept blurring at the edges.
"You shouldn't have tried to take what wasn't yours," Kasimir continued, pressing him against the wall.The pressure on his wound made Ragnar's body nearly shut down."The old ways are done.The Divine King will unite the tribes, and you—" A cruel smile."—will be nothing but a corpse she steps over."
Ragnar's hand moved weakly towards the knife at his belt, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate.Too much blood loss.
Pathetic.Dying in a woman's bedroom.
Kasimir took a sharp breath, his lungs seizing, eyes bulging.His mouth opened in a soundless gasp as something silver protruded from his throat.Blood bubbled up around the wound, dark and viscous in the moonlight.
A cloth appeared from nowhere, pressing firmly against Kasimir's neck as he slumped forward.
"Sorry," a soft voice said, a voice like the chiming of bells."But my maid has enough to clean up without adding blood to her list."
Kasimir collapsed with a thud.
Ragnar found himself staring.
It wasn't a man, nor anyone that seemed like a trained killer.An absurdly fragile-looking girl with pale hair hung loose around her shoulders.She wore a simple sleeping robe that did absolutely nothing to conceal her form.
And her eyes—eyes of death.
She pulled the silver hairpin from Kasimir's throat and wiped it clean on the dead man's robes before rising and fixing those exquisite eyes on him.
"Your turn," she said softly.
The hairpin pressed against his throat—not breaking skin, but positioned right over his jugular.One flick of her delicate wrist, and he'd bleed out in seconds.
Ragnar tried to speak, but only a rasp came out.His vision darkened, blood loss finally catching up to him.
"Who are you?"The woman's voice was steady, unbothered by the corpse at her feet or the dying man before her."Why are you here?Who sent you?"
He wanted to answer.Wanted to tell her he was the Great Khan of the Valthorne tribe, that she dared not harm him if she knew what was good for her.
"You dare—" before he could continue speaking, the silver pin pierced skin, drawing blood.It shut him up instantly.He gulped at the sensation, which slowed his heart rate, making it feel as if time had come to a standstill.
Obscene.
What an obscenely audacious woman.He could snap her neck under separate circumstances.
"Don't delude yourself into thinking you can kill me.Behave and I will save you."
Heat rose to his cheeks, but she could only see his eyes.His hair was a mess, framing his face along with the mask that hid his identity.
Of all the ways to die,he thought with delirious amusement,it is to Tsenkhinn Narvaal.
"Speak," she commanded."Or I'll assume you're here to kill me and save us both the trouble of waiting."
There was no need to listen to her; he could easily shift his body weight and she'd fall.He could —!
Pain ripped through him, overwhelming and agonising.He doubled over, his body folding as his mind felt it was being torn apart by the experience.
