Page 68 of Wild Flame

“This is important to you, no?” he asked. And when I nodded, he concluded, “So we will do both.”

“But can we do that?”

His familiar smirk returned. “I am the king, siren, and you will soon be my queen. If I say something is so, it is so.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Like so many times since I had come to this kingdom, I once again found myself tossing and turning in the covers of this ridiculously comfortable bed. I couldn’t sleep. And this time, it wasn’t due to the heat. I was blaming the stupid nightgown I wore.

Ever since the betrothal announcement a week ago, Astrid had loved dressing me in the things, oohing and aahing about how beautiful they all were when they had first been delivered to the room. And though I was grateful for the lighter, more airy Zehvitian fabrics, I was not a fan of the provocative, revealing styles. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought dressing me like this was my maid’s way of trying to entice my would-be groom. Though no matter how many outrageous outfits I was dressed in, nothing more scandalous than sleeping was happening in that bed.

Not that Malik had pushed the matter. He had been a perfect gentleman, lying beside me every night, only insisting on holding me close as he drifted off. And that was only on the nights that he came to bed with me. He had been working late, ashe was tonight, catching up on everything that no doubt needed his attention since the celebrations, funeral, and coronation.

I rolled over and my eyes fell on the small collection of plants outside the window, moonlight reflecting off their many leaves. And that in turn made me think of the palace gardens and everything we had done in that gazebo.

Agh! No. I wasn’t thinking about that. Not again. I refused to think about that man and how he made me feel, or the rage I still felt towards him after arranging all this behind my back with my father without even consulting me.

No. I wasn’t going down that spiral again.

Sighing, I finally gave up on sleep, climbed out of bed and padded over to the terrace doors. Forgoing the slippers that sat there waiting for my use and deciding I would much rather feel the warm stone and cool grass under my bare feet, I stepped out into the night. The private courtyard was quiet and still, save for the hum of insects and the lap of water off the reflecting pool at its center. Taking a seat at the edge of the pool, I gazed down into the dark water. The scent of the flowers and plants that surrounded me filled my lungs as I tried to calm my racing mind.

It worked for about half a second before my mind was again dwelling on the situation I now inexplicably found myself in. I was betrothed to the King of Zehvi. I would be his queen.

I should have been on a ship right now bound for Halmar enduring Hilde’s disapproval as we headed back to Nevgard, my parents, and Silvanus. I had to admit that part did not sound too appealing, but I would get to see Helene and Nova. I would finally be able to escape this heat and see the ocean again.

Instead, no one was heading home. All the delegates and everyone visiting for the coronation had been invited to stay on at the palace until the Marking Ceremony in a week’s time.

Though I had to admit I would have missed Zara terribly, and exploring the city, and I would even miss—

Something flickered out of the corner of my eye. A quick movement in the reflection of the pool.

I reacted on instinct and dove to the side, barely avoiding the knife intended for me. I rolled and came up on my feet, my nightgown tangling around my legs. The assailant was dressed all in black, face covered, his uniform not unlike my own climbing suit. Male—if I had to guess, due to his size, but I could discern nothing else.

I took all this in in the split second before he renewed his attack, the knife in his hand glinting as he moved. He made to swipe across my belly and I jumped back. I blocked his next strike with my crossed arms. I was going to be bruised later if I survived this. I kicked out at his knee, but he evaded the blow. We traded a series of strikes, my attacker’s movements swift, sure, and silent.

This man had been sent by The Order—by Silvanus—to kill me. I was sure of it. This was my punishment for failing, for not following his orders and killing Zara.

Zara.

A chill went down my spine. I had no doubt this assassin had been ordered to go after Zara the moment he was finished with me. Unless he’d gone after her first.

Taking advantage of my momentary distraction, he got in past my guard and jabbed downward toward my leg. I moved. I heard fabric rip but felt no pain. He had missed me, but barely. Had I just been cursing this nightgown moments ago? Now I was more than thankful for the silky flowing material.

Catching his wrist before he could pull it back, I wrenched it to the side. He hissed in pain and let out a curse. His tone was low and barely discernable, but distinctly Halmarish. I yanked the knife from his hand, but before I could use it, he staggered back, holding his wrist.

I weighed the stolen knife in my hand, knowing I had to be careful. The blade would be poisoned.

Another figure clad in black materialized out of the darkness at the edge of the courtyard. This attacker had a slightly smaller build and approached from my other side. I backed up, keeping the pool behind me.

The second attacker held a dagger as well as he dashed forward. I dropped down, avoiding his initial strike, before sweeping his legs out from under him.

I would have followed it up with a slice from my dagger, but I only had a moment to turn as my first attacker charged me. Correcting my stance, I bent slightly at the knees. I was used to fighting people bigger than me. Everyone was bigger than me. I bent forward just as he reached me and, using his momentum, rolled him up over my shoulder. He hit the water behind me with a loud splash.

Not bothering to look back, I twisted to avoid the jab from my second attacker, who had now risen to his feet. I blocked his strike, then slid in close under his arm and stabbed upward. My blade sank into flesh. The man gasped and staggered back as I jerked away. My blade went with him, sticking out from his gut.

His dark eyes, which I could barely make out in the slit in his mask, appeared utterly shocked as he stared down at the knife, then back up at me. Then his eyes drooped, and he fell forward. He twitched on the ground for a moment—white foam spilling from his mouth—before going still.

I leaned down to grab my knife just as a cold, wet hand fisted my hair and hauled me backward, dragging me to the ground.

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