“One of the doulos attacked me,” he explained as Julian guided him down a corridor. Julian didn’t reply, just stared ahead with the stalwart look of a man who followed orders like they were ordained from Etara, the goddess of earth and war. “Put me back in with them and I cannot guarantee the same thing won’t happen again.”
“The prince is very much aware of what you’ll do, Nikolas.”
Had Vasili anticipated this? No, that was too much of a stretch. He could not know Niko would be attacked, or how he’d react. Although, was it really so unexpected given how Niko had already killed a man in the cells? This couldn’t go on. These were games to see what triggered Niko. He’d hurt someone else, someone who didn’t deserve it. “I need to speak with Vasili.”
“You will.”
“Julian…” It was the first time he’d said his name, and he brought the guard to a dead stop in the corridor. He had startling blue eyes, the kind made for laughing, although he wasn’t smiling now. His broad-shouldered stance could easily make him intimidating, but he didn’t radiate violence like some men in his position might.
What had he been about to say? Niko cleared his throat. Now he had the man’s full attention, he wasn’t sure of his words. “Did I kill the doulos?”
“You certainly did not make a friend of him.” The guard's mouth hinted at a restrained grin, and warmth touched his eyes. “He survived.”
Well, that was good, wasn’t it? “If you put me back in with them—”
“You’re not going back there. Come now.” Julian took his arm and urged him along. They walked in silence a while, turning corridors and climbing steps. “Some advice, if you’ll listen?” Julian voiced it as a question, implying he’d noticed Niko’s stubborn streak. “The prince is…”
Indecision made his gaze flicker. His fingers tightened on Niko’s bicep. “… Complicated. Work with him, and you might survive this.”
Work with him? He wasn’t sure such a thing was possible. Vasili seemed to summon in him the urge to kill the moment the prince stepped into the same room. “I agreed to kill a man for him. The rest of this was avoidable—putting me with doulos. I’m not a criminal. It’s on him.”
“You agreed, yes. But he doesn’t believe your word. I wonder why that is,” Julian mused in a singsong voice, keeping his eyes ahead.
Niko stared ahead too, wishing he could see through walls to a way out. “He doesn’t trust anyone.”
Julian glanced over, his smile gone. “Prince Amir wanted you dead for attempting to kill another slave. Vasili saved you from the noose.”
Saved him? Niko barked an incredulous laugh. “It’s Vasili’s fucking noose to begin with!”
Julian grabbed Niko’s jerkin in his fists and yanked him face-to-face with startling strength. “Mind your words, Nikolas.”
“Unhand him, Julian.” Vasili sighed, having emerged from a gilded door at the end of the hall. “Bring him inside.”
The room was different from the first he’d been invited into. That one had been overflowing with opulence. This was softer, somehow. The furniture and wallpaper weren’t fighting for attention. Instead, cool, clean lines and colors complemented each other. It was probably the first room in the palace that didn’t instantly give Niko a headache. Then there was the huge bed. Blood red velvet curtains draped from each of the posts. Black quilts were laid over it, pooling around it.
By the gods, it was hideous.
“Leave us,” Vasili said.
Julian frowned. “I don’t think—”
“Good. Don’t. Go.”
Julian reluctantly let go of Niko’s arm, lingering like he had more to say, and finally left. Niko couldn’t decide if Julian took his work as the prince’s guard seriously or if there was something more between them. He couldn’t imagine Vasili’s sharp exterior ever thawing enough to let anyone close. Niko had found rocks with more empathy.
Vasili gracefully reclined in a chair, placed an ankle on his knee, and stared. His white-blonde hair curtained half his face, hiding the scarring. When he gestured, he did so with his right hand, proving it had healed enough for him to freely move it. “You understand how we can meet like this?”
“I…” Niko wasn’t entirely sure of his answer. He wasn’t sure of anything since the guards had dragged him to the palace dungeons.
Vasili rolled his eye. “You are my doulos, to do with as I please. Thus, you and I can be alone. In fact, it’s expected of us. Come closer. I do not bite.”
Niko took a few obligatory steps forward and stopped. This felt like a trap. Julian hadn’t bound him, and there were plenty of ornaments and pieces of furniture that would make brutal but efficient weapons. He’d already spotted a large, beautifully decorated vase that would make a brilliant projectile. The broken pieces would make excellent blades.
“Were you, say, a mercenary, we would not be here,” Vasili said, his words and voice elegant and smooth. “Were you, say, an assassin? We would not be here. Were you a lord or indeed a lady, we would certainly not be here, in my personal chambers, alone. As a doulos we can be in the same room, without anyone caring. Our conversations are private. Now do you understand?”
“Then…I am not your slave?”
“For the benefit of others, yes. If I wanted a real doulos, I’d find one far more willing to fuck without arguing.”
A relief, for the most part. Niko sighed. If he could ease the tension between them, perhaps he could convince the prince he didn’t need a handler in Julian, and then he’d flee. “I apologize.”
The prince raised his eyebrow.
“For the wrist. And the trouble.”
Vasili tilted his head and smiled. “How kind of you to admit your wrongdoing, but also bullshit. Still, I’m impressed you were able to say the words without spitting in my face. Now, sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
Vasili blinked. “I’d rather I did not have to speak with you at all.” He leaned forward, making his long hair slip from his shoulder. “I’d rather you were not in my chamber and I’d rather I still had two eyes instead of just the one. We would all rather things be different, so take the fucking seat, Nikolas, and save your energy for arguments worth having.”
Nikolas grabbed a nearby chair, spun it around to face the prince, and sat.
“Don’t worry,” Vasili purred. “There will be many more chances for you to defy me.”
“Am I here just for you to torment?”
He chuckled and rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, propping his chin on his knuckles. “What a delight that would be. But no. Carlo, my younger brother, did not die by accident, as the gossip would have you believe.”
He hadn’t heard. Being locked up on arrival at the palace and then convalescing for the past few weeks meant he hadn’t heard much of anything, and certainly nothing of courtly politics.
“His saddle was loose. The horse spooked. His body was found a mile outside the city. His skull was caved in, apparently from a fall.”
He delivered the facts calmly, coolly, and utterly detached in a way that made it seem as though a stranger had died, and not his own brother.