Niko winced and closed his eyes. He’d somehow managed to stumble back to Julian’s room in the early hours of the morning, stripped off the awful doulos outfit, and fallen into his cramped cot. He’d woken an hour later with a wretched headache and the need to toss his guts up, which he had done in a bucket, then promptly collapsed again.
Julian must have taken the bucket, because the next time he woke, the guard was gone and a fresh pile of clothes sat neatly on his bed.
While Julian was out tending to Vasili, Niko had somehow managed to dress himself without throwing up again and dragged his ass to the worktable to stare at the pieces of a puzzle that would probably be the death of him.
It was now mid-morning and Julian was back. Niko still wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there.
“What did you learn?” Julian asked.
“I learned…” His voice was wrecked too. “…that spice is fucking nasty and Amir is a piece of shit.”
Julian sighed and leaned against the table. “One of those things we knew already. A man like you has never tried spice?”
“Like me?” Niko arched an eyebrow.
Julian winced. “I merely meant experienced.”
Niko rubbed his face. None of this was Julian’s fault. “I’m sorry. I—I’m still coming down.” The man’s gentle smile almost tore Niko in two. He wouldn’t have smiled like that if he’d seen Niko last night. “I’ve tried spice before. Once. Swore off the stuff when I woke up in a ditch east of Caemn. That shit will kill, or render a man unconscious for days. I’ve no idea why the fucking lords and ladies love it so much.”
He had learned more last night, when bits of it came back to him. Lady Maria had been interesting, not least because Amir couldn’t take his eyes off her. The prince was infatuated with her. There was leverage. And she knew a lot about Vasili, assuming he was the cuckoo she mentioned. Amir certainly wasn’t.
“Anything else?” Julian asked.
“Only some surprises about my own fucked-up head. Things I’d prefer to beat out in training.”
“That can be arranged,” Julian said.
Niko pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the headache. “Amir—the bastard—wound me up so tight and sent me back to his brother like that.”
“Shit. What happened?”
“Nothing.” A lot. The scars. The prince sprawled on the bed. Niko’s startling realization that he’d desperately wanted to fuck him so hard, he’d make Vasili scream his name. Shit. That was the drug talking. And was it any surprise Vasili featured in his fantasies? The bastard had twisted Niko’s screws so tightly, he was bound to blow. Amir had just picked up on that. The spice had heightened everything, made him think ridiculous things, and his body had gone along with it because that was what spice did: made fantasy reality.
Julian shifted, drawing Niko’s gaze up. “Spice is potent—”
“Yes, thank you, I experienced that.”
“And you did nothing with Vasili?”
A clear note of jealousy underlined Julian’s less-than-subtle inquiry. The more Julian spoke about the prince, the more it was obvious they had a strong bond, perhaps a sexual one. As fragile as Niko was feeling, knowing Julian cared about Vasili soured Niko’s mood even further. “If I had, do you think I’d still be here?”
Vasili clearly hadn’t told Julian anything about their encounter. Niko had no desire to relive it. Julian didn’t need to know. “I was so far gone. I could barely walk. I think he took one look at me and left. I don’t really remember.”
Vasili had left, but didn’t call the guards or order him flogged. He just left. That seemed un-Vasili-like. It could have been much worse. The memory of leaning over Vasili, of seeing those scars, of wanting to pin down the prince’s wrists and fuck him, and of how Vasili had briefly relented beneath him, like maybe he wouldn’t fight—right before kicking him in the chest—that memory would haunt him.
He rubbed the spot over his heart. Bastard. No, Niko had been the bastard. He’d been about to rape the prince. There was no avoiding it. Vasili would have not reacted well and Niko probably would have lost his cock, then his head. Likely exactly as Amir had wanted. The middle prince had hoped Niko would rape his brother.
This fucking family. It would be easier to burn down the whole palace and walk away from the ashes.
“Hungry?” Julian beamed, trying his best to lighten the mood.
“No.” The thought of food made his gut roll, but then there was Julian smiling down at him. “I’ll sit with you if you are.” And maybe, if he worded the questions correctly, he could find out why Vasili’s chest had been cut up like a piece of meat. Not that he had any right to know. He really needed to think on something else, someone else. Like spending time with the only good man in the palace.
Julian’s smile grew. “You’ll need to regain your strength.”
“By the three, why? I can’t handle the princes again today.” He wasn’t sure he could look Vasili in the eye. “Don’t make me go in again.”
Julian’s left eyebrow ticked upward at Niko’s whine. “No rest for the wicked.” He shoved off the table. “Bring your blade.”
That sounded more promising. Niko snatched up his blade and followed Julian out of the room.
As they approached a walled courtyard and a line of dummy targets, Niko’s muscles relaxed into the more familiar stance of carrying his blade. He’d rarely been without it on the front line, and having it back now centered him as nothing else could.
He squinted at the targets. A few other guards practiced their parries at the far end. A training yard. The loose-fitting clothes Julian had left for him made more sense now.
Julian shrugged off his outer light armor, dumped it on a dusty table, and rolled his shoulders, flexing his muscles. He carried two shortswords in his gloved hands. Clearly, missing a few fingers didn’t worry him. He’d adapted, as soldiers did. They died if they didn’t.
Niko tried to hide his smile and spotted Julian similarly trying to restrain his grin. They could make this professional. The illicit thrill buzzing through Niko’s veins had nothing to do with the thought of finally clashing blades with the man whose body he’d meticulously studied.
“All right. Are you up to this?” Julian asked, circling around, weighing his blades.
“I’m not at my best, but I figure I can beat a man missing a few digits.”
Julian’s smile twitched. “Tough talk for a man who was throwing his guts up a few hours ago.”
Niko swung the sword in his right hand, loosening up his wrist. He’d prefer to warm up but Julian didn’t look as though he was going to wait. “Rules?”
“Do we need any?”
“Then I’ll assume it’s not to the death.”
Julian grinned. “Best of three hits. Loser must serve the other dinner.”
Well, that sounded delightful. Julian’s grin was infectious and Niko found himself dampening his own. “Deal.”
Julian sprang, whip-fast. Niko barely got his blade up in time to block the thin weapon, but even as he did, Julian’s second blade slashed at his belly. Niko stumbled, tripped over his feet, and fell on his ass, jarring his spine. “Shit.” Julian was damned fast for someone his size. Three seconds to get Niko on his backside. A record.