Maddek considered that—beginning with the first night, when the trap jaw had attacked their camp. Uncertain she’d seemed then, struggling to see through the shadows. “I think not.”
“Still, it is a valuable gift.”
“It is,” Maddek agreed. As Yvenne herself was.
From the bed came a soft, feminine moan. As they’d prepared for Bazir’s attack, young Toric had insisted that the lingering weakness from the revenant’s poison would not affect his ability to wield his sword. That he’d well proven this night, for very little that Maddek heard from behind those curtains sounded like pretense.
The moan also drew Kelir’s gaze to the bed and a frown to the warrior’s face. “Dawn approaches.”
And the moon would set as the sun rose. Maddek knew well. “It does.”
“Go to your bride. I will finish this for you.”
“I have vowed to bring her his head.”
“So you will, even if you are not the one to remove it from his neck. I will deliver his head to you in a ribbon-wrapped box and you will place it at her feet.”
Then kiss his way up her legs before fully claiming her. So badly Maddek wanted that. For her brother’s head was not the only promise he’d made.
He’d also promised to see to her pleasure, so deep inside her. Long and hard, until she came for him again and again.
Yet of the promises he’d made, it was the last Maddek feared most—to not believe anything from Bazir’s poisoned tongue.
For Maddek had truly underestimated her brother. Yvenne had accused him of denying her a sword and shield by not allowing her to speak, yet her silence had been Maddek’s own shield. Family cut deeper, and the rage he’d known simply listening to Bazir’s lies about Yvenne and his parents had been enough. If she had spoken more about his mother, and Bazir had twisted those words again . . . Maddek knew not if the sly-tongued dog would have found a weakness in him.
As it was, he already struggled with doubt. Not in the claims that she was a demon—but from words as yet unspoken. Because Yvenne had stopped them with her knife. But even unspoken, Bazir’s intention had been clear. He meant to accuse Yvenne of killing their mother.
And that accusation had found weakness in Maddek. It had wriggled into him as a worm through a crack. He did not believe it—he would not believe it—yet his mind returned to it again and again.
Though it could not be true. Everything she’d said of Queen Vyssen was evidence against it. Yvenne had loved her mother as Maddek had loved his own. But that worm still wriggled in his brain, a sly tongue wriggling behind it.
Better that he never allowed Bazir to speak again. But that was not the plan.
A seabird’s warble floated in from outside, joining the song of the waves—Danoh’s signal that the soldiers finally approached.
Approached with the intention of killing his warriors and taking his bride.
Many battles Maddek had fought. Many times he’d waited for an enemy’s advance, felt the rush through his veins when they finally appeared, his blood thundering and hot.
Never had it been as this. For they intended to kill his warriors and take his bride. To return her to Zhalen’s prison, where she would know suffering at her father’s hands.
This night, Maddek would defy all that the goddess had claimed. Though not yet a king, Maddek would protect her. Then he would have her.
And he would not lose her.
Another warble from Danoh. The soldiers had chosen the spiral entry, making their way up the curving ramp that led to the main entrance of their quarters. Rugusians were mountain men and no stranger to climbing, so Maddek had anticipated their scaling the balcony to the bedchamber. It offered the greatest surprise and allowed them the best vantage prior to attack.
Perhaps because Bazir was no Rugusian and could not climb. By Temra’s fist, Maddek prayed that cur was with them and not waiting for a signal that the deed was accomplished.
Swiftly Maddek abandoned the shadows for the position chosen if the attack did not come through the balcony. Kelir followed, feet silent. The soldiers would likely split their numbers after entering the nest—half seeking out the Parsathean guard to kill them, and the remainder attacking the bedchamber through the vestibule. Quick and quiet they would need to be, giving the Parsatheans no opportunity to raise an alarm or to reach for weapons and shields.
The door between the corridor and vestibule was closed, yet the vestibule was open to the bedchamber. No sound could Maddek hear from the corridor. Southerners wore so much metal armor that always they clinked and jingled like a purse of coins. The stealth of these gave indication of experience.
Toric’s grunting came louder, faster, creaking the bedframe. Luring the soldiers in, giving them false belief that their target was well distracted.
Maddek slipped into the vestibule, then sprang against the wall adjacent to the closed door. His fingers caught a marble protrusion made from the carving of a shell. He hauled himself upward, using another carving to climb higher. Into the corner of the vaulted ceiling he wedged himself, hands and feet braced against the adjoining walls. Kelir took position on the other side. Here the moonlight did not reach them. Only the faintest glow spilled into the vestibule below.
The Rugusian soldiers likely expected that any Parsatheans guarding Maddek and his bride would stand watch in this small chamber. The most danger and uncertainty the soldiers faced here, not knowing how many warriors waited beyond the closed door.
They came as Maddek would have sent his warriors through—in a silent rush of four soldiers, swords at ready, in a sweeping burst that covered each corner of the vestibule. Finding it empty, they hurried to the bedchamber door and took new defensive positions at either side of it.
All wore leather armor instead of metal plates. None wore helms, which would have gleamed in the moonlight. A gray-haired man looked to be captain of the others. He’d led the other three into the vestibule and now knelt by the bedchamber door, his gaze scanning that room—and was bold enough to peer past the frame of the door to check whether any Parsatheans stood against the nearest wall.
Sly nudges passed between the other soldiers when Toric’s grunts quickened, as if nearing release. The soldiers stilled to attention again when the captain held up a fist, then splayed his fingers.
Two more soldiers swept silently into the vestibule. Bazir boldly strode in after them, carrying a sword and wearing no armor. Instead he was dressed as if coming from the prince’s dinner, though that was long over.
Only the top of Bazir’s head was visible, but Maddek could easily picture his enraging smirk. Confident they all must have been that no Parsathean guards waited inside the bedchamber, for the captain allowed Bazir through the door first. Sheathing his sword and arming himself with a crossbow, the captain and three other soldiers flanked him—leaving two in the vestibule to halt any Parsatheans who might come down the corridor.