Page 32 of A Kingdom of Lies

Perhaps it was the grogginess, but it took a moment to register what was happening. Instinct had my hand reaching for my waist, but the golden-handled dagger was nowhere to be found. In the back of my mind I conjured a picture of it, forgotten on the tavern’s floor of King’s Head.

As discarded as Erix had become in my life.

I scanned the room for Gyah, but the lack of her presence was abundantly clear even without the need to check. I was alone, with Duncan. There was a hideous quiet among the darkening room which only added to the fear I felt with the man looming over me.

“What have you done to her?” I accused, arms shaking as I held myself up.

“Which one?” he replied curtly, simple words that made my anxiety spike even further.

“Gyah.”

“Ah, the one who looks as though she wants to pick the skin from my very bones.” Duncan kicked off from the wall, taking confident steps towards me. “I gave her the opportunity to see your friend. At first I thought she’d refuse, leaving you and all. But she had no problems leaving you alone. Never seen someone move so quickly out of a place.”

His words were meant to hurt me, but I already knew Gyah’s displeasure in me. I smiled anyway, glad that she was with Althea, hoping they would find their chance and escape. With or without me, they had to leave.

“Is something amusing you?” Duncan tilted his head, narrowing his stare until his scar pulled into a deep crease beneath his eye.

“Just wondering what a man like you is doing stalking me like a creep whilst I slept?” I questioned, thrusting my jibe at him in response. “Do you like looking at helpless men in your free time?”

“Stalking? Ha, hardly. And I never once believed you to be helpless,” Duncan replied, taking slow steps around the base of the bed to its side. I felt the need to draw in my legs, but didn’t want to show signs that his presence caused me discomfort. “I was going to wake youeventually, I promise.”

“What do you want, Hunter?”

“The question is, what do you want… Robin Icethorn?” Duncan’s cherry-red lips pulled into a tight line, his scar tightening down his face. It wasn’t an ugly mark, but one that gave his aura of danger more of an allure. “Would you care to indulge me?”

“Do I owe you a conversation?”

He shook his head. “Well no, but I just ensured your friend is going to survive. So, out of common curtesy, I think some answers would be justified.”

I took a deep inhale, wanting nothing more than to escape his gaze, whilst being pinned beneath it like a butterfly to a corkboard. “Ask away then, as you said, it’s the least I can do for your incredible hospitality.”

“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

I smiled. “It’s certainly not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes, taking his time to run them across every visible inch of me. “What makes a man beg for the attention of the very people who would wish to see his innards spilled freely across the ground? I’ve never known someone of your kind wishing for an audience with the Hand, a person who supplies coin to encourage your capture and, in most cases, eventual death.”

“Are you the mysterious Hand I ask after, Duncan?”

Duncan released a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “Do you think I would be staying in the likes of this hovel if I was?”

“Then the reason I request an audience is not your concern.”

Nor do I want it anymore, but I kept that to myself.

I was coming to realise that Duncan had the ability of switching from calm to feral in a blink of an eye. I had no time to gasp before his weight was on the bed and his hand was gripping my chin, stopping me from uttering a word.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for a person who enjoys a game. Let me be the first to tell you, Robin, I hate games. You’ll learn, sooner rather than later, or not at all. But for now, if I ask a question, I damn well require an answer.”

His grip on me relaxed and he rocked backwards. My jaw ached from his strength, the skin tender where his finger left an imprint. He must’ve marked me, because suddenly Duncan reacted with what I could only describe as regret. I was surprised when an apology didn’t fall out of his slacked mouth.

“Touch me like that again,” I warned, sheets balled in my fists, anger fuelled by the pain. “I’ll make you regret ever laying your fucking eyes on me.”

Silence thrummed between us, as taut as a rope. It was Duncan who broke it. Again, not with an apology, but his tone had softened, his fingers flexing at his sides.

“Let us try again, shall we?” he said. “What is it you require from the Hand?”

“An army,” I seethed, teeth gritted so tight that my jaw ached.

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