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“That wasn’t me,” I said, backing up. The girl had retreated to the wall and…appeared to be praying once again. “That was all you.”
He shifted his blade to his other hand. “More coin for my pockets, I suppose.”
The remaining guard shot forward. He was fast, blocking my stab. He spun out before I could strike again. My gaze flicked to the locked door. There was no way I would make it there and unlock it in time.
“Who paid you?” I asked.
He circled me slowly, eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t matter.”
Maybe it didn’t. I already had my suspicions. I spun, slicing out with the blade. The guard brought his fist down on my arm, right on the bruise. I yelped. The shock of pain rippled through me. My hand opened on reflex. The dagger fell, hitting the carpet without a sound.
The guard laughed under his breath. “For a moment there, I actually started to worry.”
“Yeah, well, don’t stop yet.” Twisting at the waist, I grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on.
Turned out to be an embroidered pillow.
“What are you going to do with that?” he asked. “Smother me?”
“Perhaps.” I winged the surprisingly heavy pillow directly at his face.
He jerked back. “What the—?”
I spun, kicking out and up, catching the pillow and his face with my boot. He grunted, staggering several steps back. I snagged my blade from where it had fallen and snapped up. I grasped the hand that held his dagger and pushed down as I thrust the iron through the pillow. The man howled as red-tinged feathers puffed into the air and dropped his sword as he reached for me. I jerked the blade free, desperately ignoring the soft, wet sound of suction and his shrill screams.
I slammed the blade into his chest again, over his heart. The dagger pierced the heavy brocade and the bones there, sinking through his body as if it were nothing but spun sugar.
His screams cut off.
Tugging the blade free, I stepped aside as the guard’s legs went out from under him. He fell to the side, twitching. A pool of crimson swept across the ivory carpet, joining the other deep red stain.
“Gods,” I uttered, glancing up to where the female servant stood against the wall. “The carpet will definitely require more than a spot clean, won’t it?”
Wide-eyed, she slowly shook her head. Her lips moved for several moments without sound. “I didn’t want to do this. They caught me outside. Told me they needed my help.” Words spilled out of her between ragged sobs. “I didn’t know what for until they led me in here. I thought they were going to—”
“Do you know who was supposed to pay them?” I cut her off.
“N-no,” she said, shaking her head. “I swear to you. I have no idea.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t really even know who you are. I thought you were a handmaiden.”
I swallowed a sigh as I looked down at the three guards, not letting myself take in their faces—to see if I recognized any of them and allow them to leave a mark behind. Who could’ve gotten to them that had the kind of coin needed to convince someone to kill someone else who was either employed or protected by the Crown?
There was only one who would do it, knowing there’d be no repercussions.
Tavius.
My stomach tumbled. Could he truly be behind this? I pressed my lips together. Was I seriously asking myself that? Of course, he would, but could he have pulled something like this together in the short time between when he left his father’s office and now? Or had it been planned? His taunts came back to me, and my grip tightened on the dagger. Did he even have the kind of coin he would need or be willing to fork it over?
A loud thud sounded near the door. I turned just as a male voice announced from the other side, “Let me try.”
Before I could even walk forward and unlock the door, I saw the knob turn and keep turning. Metal creaked and then cracked as gears gave way.
Dear gods…
I took a step back as the door swung open, and several Royal Guards filed into the chamber. They drew up short, but it was the male who stood in the doorway that snagged my focus.
I’d never seen him before.
I’d never seen anything like him before.
He was tall and…golden all over. His mane of hair. His skin. The elaborate…facial paint. A shimmery gold swept up over his brows and down his cheeks, a design that resembled wings. But his eyes…they were such a pale shade of blue they nearly blended with the faint aura of eather behind the pupils.
I knew then that he was a god, but that wasn’t what left me unsettled. The facial paint reminded me of the charred skin on the seamstress’s face.
