Page 61 of Poisoned Empire

“Who have you elected as the winner?”

“I believe I have met the conditions for victory, Your Royal Highness. I have held onto my vote and gained two others.”

Selene grinned her thief’s grin, holding out three purple orbs for inspection. When he stepped down to take them from her, a burden lifted from him. Thank the forgotten gods—she’d won. When she placed them in his hands, however, a new problem arose. Selene pulled him down, ostensibly to kiss his cheek, but what she hissed in his ear was anything but amorous.

“You’ll pay for tossing me to the wolves like that, Belli.”

There had never been a more important battle, nor one Marduk felt less prepared for. Truly, the invitation had slipped out of his mouth. Today he dressed simply, but as one fit to accompany a domina in his box at the Hippodrome; a lightly embroidered silk tunic with his military stripes, a sturdy leather belt sporting the gold decorative buckle denoting his rank, and fine leather boots that had been polished to gleaming. He’d even checked that the short hair around his horns wasn’t curling oddly.

Now that Iliana was returning his affections, he found himself stricken with nerves. Her every smile stripped intelligent thought from his mind, the thousand questions he wanted to ask disappearing before they could reach his tongue. The sight of her covered in grease and grit made his heart race as much as the icy blue silks and dazzling gems did. Shy and bold, beautiful and brilliant—and everything he’d never dreamed he could have. He prayed that today, he could tell her just how serious his intentions were.

They toured the market erected outside the Hippodrome, her hand placed properly on his arm. No more than pleasant small talk had been exchanged as they looked for treats to share while watching the games. He could feel himself losing momentum.

“Was there anything you wished to see before we enter?”

“Is there anyone selling enchanted weapons?” Her eyes glittered with excitement.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. Sometimes he forgot how much more could be had in Nadioch, how much grander it was than the backwaters she’d been forced to hide out in. Or how much had cropped up the last few months, especially now that it teemed with nobles here for the bride show.

“There are a few worth seeing.”

As they wove through the crush of stalls and customers, Marduk spotted a man tailing them. Though dressed in fine silks, there was something in his bearing that struck Marduk as off. His footsteps were like those of a blade master—sure, balanced, all while he kept them unerringly in his line of sight. He could be one of the praetor’s. Nicephorus had been quite emphatic that Marduk ought not to entangle himself with a woman of low social standing and questionable judgement. Had the praetor gone so far as to send a minder, or was Marduk’s paranoia well-founded?

“You’ve gone quiet. Is something the matter?”

“We’re being tailed. I’m not sure of the man’s motive.”

Iliana stilled. He bit back a curse. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off. But when she looked up at him, all he saw was determination.

“The blade up your sleeve. Hand it to me discreetly. If you throw it, best that it hit the mark in this crowd.”

He slipped it into his palm and placed it under hers as it rested on his arm. He could feel the heat as she remade it between their palms. It amazed him still, this woman’s power.

“My necklace is made of a sturdy metal coated with silver. I can change its shape if need be.”

“You never cease to amaze. There’s a crush ahead. Perhaps we can lose him in it.”

“Unless there are a great many men of your stature in the capital, I doubt it,” Iliana quipped, giving him a wide, convincing smile.

Marduk laughed, but his smile was savage. Threaten him, or put Iliana in harm’s way, and the malefactor would pay in blood.

“He’s gotten close. Allow me to deal with him, Domina.”

“Shall we turn and face him?”

“On three, but stay behind me. One. Two. Three.”

His movements were practiced and smooth as he turned to face their pursuer, pulling Iliana behind him. One of her hands gripped the back of his tunic while the other swung up to her necklace.

“State your business, cur, or I’ll have your head!” he growled.

He noticed the eyes first. Deadened. Determined. Unfazed by the attention of those around him. It was the look of a man whose only task was that of ending lives and he didn’t care who knew it. Not one of the praetor’s men. When his gaze slid over to Iliana, Marduk lunged, dagger in hand. He was not strategos for nothing. He sank his blade into the man’s neck and tore it through flesh. It felt easy—too easy.

Instead of the spray of blood he expected, it was as though the man’s image dissolved. Iliana’s shriek alerted him. As he turned, white hot pain exploded in his gut. The attacker stood before him, unharmed, holding the hilt of the long blade currently residing in his midsection. Too late, he realised the mage’s gift—teleportation.

“Filthy animals should know their place,” the assassin whispered, twisting his sword.

“I concur.”

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