The guard chuckled and offered his hand. “We’ll call that one mine, shall we?”
“Conceded.”
Julian hauled Niko to his feet, his grip lingering. Niko flashed a grin and pulled the man close, making his eyes widen. “Will you serve me dinner on your knees?” Niko asked. He pushed off and rolled his shoulders, watching Julian stumble slightly. The thought had disarmed him. Good.
Julian’s glare was suddenly full of passionate intent. Niko could have taken advantage of the man’s small stumble, but he’d rather enjoyed seeing it, and enjoyed even more the way Julian was watching him now.
“You don’t have the element of surprise anymore, soldier,” he warned.
“No.” Julian circled and Niko mirrored him, keeping him at a few paves length. “But there are other advantages.”
Sunlight sliced through Niko’s vision, reigniting his headache. Julian’s twin blades flashed. Niko parried one, danced back, and brought the flat of his blade down hard on Julian’s left hand. Julian barked a cry and dropped the sword. Niko kicked it aside and swung again, sweeping his blade in low. Julian barely blocked it. He staggered, losing his footing, retreating.
Hot blood pumped through Niko’s veins. He struck again, blades singing between them, clash after clash. Julian parried each strike, but he couldn’t withstand the weight of Niko’s blows for long. The moment his back hit the wall Niko pinned him there, the blade under his throat, his firm, panting body trapped between Niko’s and the wall.
Julian peered down his nose. “I concede.”
Niko should have backed off. The point was his. But Julian’s body was as hard as Niko had imagined, his skin hot beneath the thin layers of fabric. His mouth was softening from a sneer into something more forgiving, something desirable. Just a taste. A kiss. A test, to see if it was welcome, to see if there was something here, or if it was all in Niko’s head.
A distant shout from the other guards shattered the moment. They weren’t alone. The opportunity had slipped through Niko’s fingers.
“The prince,” Julian mumbled.
“What?”
“Behind you.”
Niko sprang back from Julian so fast his head throbbed anew. Sure enough, Vasili had entered the yard. His head was turned away to observe the others, so maybe he hadn’t seen Niko lingering too long with Julian beneath him. Because if he saw, he might think Niko made a habit of crowding men.
Shit, why did he care what Vasili thought?
“Final point for the win,” Julian said, his words pulling Niko back to the match.
The prince being here didn’t have to be distracting. There he was, in the corner of Niko’s vision, crossing the yard, heading away. See. Vasili didn’t even care.
Julian’s blades flashed. “See something you like, doulos?”
Niko laughed and fixed Julian in his sights. “Now I do.”
Julian licked his lips, probably knowing damn well how Niko absorbed that tiny gesture into every inch of his body. Julian thrust low. Niko parried, but the guard pivoted, so light-footed it put Niko’s dancing strides to shame, and his second blade sliced in. Niko barely managed to lean back, saving his face from a new scar, but Julian wasn’t done. His other blade flicked up, its deadly movement catching Niko’s eye at the last second. Niko ducked and jabbed the pommel of his sword into Julian’s unprotected middle. The man huffed and placed his hand on Niko’s shoulder. Niko kicked his leg out and Julian fell hard onto his back, momentarily winded.
Niko pointed the tip of his blade at the man’s throat.
They both breathed hard, sweating under the sun.
“Fuck.” Julian spat.
“Later.”
Niko glanced over his shoulder to see if Vasili had noticed. He’d noticed, all right. He stood in the middle of the yard, fine black clothes contrasted against the wall, his arms folded, hip cocked, watching.
A figure moved on the wall at the far end of the courtyard.
Niko squinted against the sun. Was it normal for people to be on that wall?
The figure reached over their shoulder. Niko’s heart lodged like ice in his throat. He’d seen the same action a thousand times, and it meant only one thing: an arrow being pulled from a quiver.
“Down!” he yelled, bolting for Vasili. The prince unfolded his arms, but didn’t move.
The figure on the wall slotted the notch of the arrow on the string and drew.
“Get down!”
The arrow sprang. Its spinning head zipped past Vasili’s shoulder. The prince whirled. He should have run, or gotten under cover. Instead he clutched his shoulder, continued to stand in plain sight, and looked up the cloaked figure on the wall.
The figure bolted. Niko veered from Vasili toward the fleeing attacker. He dropped his sword, grabbed a ladder and raced up it, breaching the top in seconds to see the cloaked man—he assumed a male—running down the grassy hill toward the walled gardens. Niko dropped down the other side of the wall and chased the man through the grass, gaining on him.
The figure disappeared through a small, open gate and darted into the nearby city streets. Niko raced after him, but he was damned fast and clearly agile. He sprinted over a small rope bridge spanning a stream and a burst of speed took him down a cobbled street, upsetting the market traders.
“Out of the way!” Niko burst through the crowd, chasing the figure’s rippling cloak.
Loreen’s haphazard streets dipped and climbed. The figure leaped down a flight of steps, landing with inhuman grace. Niko launched himself down after him, stumbling over the last few steps but regaining enough to close the distance.
Strolling citizens blocked the would-be assassin’s path to freedom. He shoved them aside, spotted a ladder and sprang up it, his bow and quiver bouncing on his back as he disappeared through a window. Niko clambered up the ladder seconds behind him and scrambled over the windowsill.
Inside a dark, small room, a dagger flashed toward him. Niko sidestepped and brought his left fist down on the assassin’s face. He grunted. The dagger flashed again, this time finding its target. Pain burned across Niko’s upper arm and he recoiled. The assassin lunged. Niko caught the man’s wrist, blocking the thrust but the man shoved forward.
Niko’s head slammed into the stone wall, his teeth jarring. A vicious punch to his side stole the breath from his lungs. Hands flung him back, pinning him to the wall.
The assassin grinned. Sharp teeth. Grey eyes. Elf, his mind screamed. Old fear plunged rods though his limbs, trying to freeze him rigid.
He grabbed the elf’s face and shoved, then kicked, striking him in the chest. The elf stumbled back. Niko stepped forward, but the room spun out from under him. His knee hit the floorboards. Wait…
The dagger flashed again. Niko jerked back, grabbed the elf’s wrist, and brought it down over his knee. Bones snapped. The elf howled, a familiar, blood-curdling sound. It hissed in his face, then sprang back, tearing from Niko’s grip, and vanished in a whirl of cloak through a doorway.
Niko reached for a nearby table and heaved himself onto trembling, leaden legs. His legs slid out from under him, their weight all wrong.
Sticky wetness ran down his thigh. The punch—it hadn’t been a punch at all. He groped at his side and his hand came away glistening scarlet.
The door. The window. If he could get to one, either, any… Gods, his head hurt. He collapsed against the doorframe, smearing blood onto it. Someone screamed—not an elf. Just someone nearby surprised at finding him.