Page 72 of Poisoned Kingdom
After our last encounter, I expected . . . more. That he’d left me unmolested for five days was strangely disappointing. Those were dangerous sentiments to have, so I pushed them to the back of my mind and merged back into the swirl of colour and noise, heading for the Chapter House.
Above me, stars shimmered in the sky, an early warning of the autumn equinox’s bite. The air wasn’t freezing yet, but sharp enough to make me pull my cloak close. Fae lanterns swayed between buildings, their glow shining beside torchlight, casting gold across the cobbles where music and laughter had replaced the midday shouts of merchants. Truso never slept and was rarely quiet.
Shadows stirred behind me—figures lingering in dim alcoves or perched on rooftops, watching as I walked. The dagger in my grip offered some comfort, but it was the pinch of sleeper’s ash in my other hand that truly steadied me.
Blood thrummed in my ears, a rhythm of warning I refused to ignore. Instead of shoving the fear down, I used it to my advantage. The Brotherhood might be on the verge of conflict, but whoever was tailing me wouldn’t strike without provocation.
I paused before a jewellery shop, pretending to admire the delicate trinkets in its window.
‘If you think this will intimidate me, you arsehole, you’re sadly mistaken,’ I muttered under my breath, my thoughts drifting to Jagon while I scanned the reflections behind me. Unfortunately, all I could see was my determined expression.
In a way, I should be grateful to my former master. I’d been feeling suffocated in the dwarven kingdom for some time but had been too stubborn to admit it and leave. Now, the lost daughter had found her way home, mature enough that fear of him no longer controlled my choices.
I was nearly at the Brotherhood’s mansion when I realised something was wrong. The unease I’d carried since leaving Lily’shad thickened into something heavier and now felt oppressive. The men following me were no longer hiding, sending me a clear warning.
I stopped several metres away from the building’s front door. The stone walls towered over me, the pale light of the rising moon creating a stark contrast to the dark granite. But tonight, the usually dark windows were all lit, and there were no guards—almost as if Boyan had left the welcome mat out . . .
I glanced around, listening to the sounds of the night and trying to sense which direction the attack would come from.
And it would come—I felt it in my gut, anticipation building with each breath. The faintest rustling behind me was the only sign of what was to come, but before I could react, someone covered my mouth and pulled me into a dark corner.
‘Not so fast, sweetheart. You can’t be that stupid. Jagon told us to give you time and plenty of hints to change your mind, but this is taking too long.’
The rough whisper made me flinch, but I refused to go quietly and bit the dirty hand as hard as I could.
‘Fuckingbitch,’ the man who’d grabbed me grunted, shaking his hand while I spun, spitting out the foul taste of his blood. ‘Last chance,’ he said, pulling out a knife and twirling it between his fingers. ‘Get the fuck away from here or—’
‘Or what?’ I scoffed, bringing my fist up to my lips and blowing hard. My attacker gasped as the shimmering white powder coated his face. My grin widened as his breathing turned into a choking cough, and he stumbled to his knees with wide, bulging eyes.
‘That’s what I thought. Goodnight, dumbass.’
His head collided with the wall before hitting the ground, and I winced. ‘Gods, why are the stupid ones always filthy?’ I muttered, wiping my mouth.
I turned, about to leave the alley when something landed on my shoulder. My dagger swept up as I turned, only to halt as a hand caught my wrist in a harsh, unforgiving grip. My eyes focused on the familiar mask, and I gulped when I recognised the wolf staring back at me.
‘Stop. You’re still being followed,’ he whispered into my ear as he pressed me to the wall, blocking my view and immobilising me under his body. ‘Three more men are about to ambush you.’
I raised my foot and stomped on his instep to get him to move, enjoying the vicious snarl he made before he shifted so that I could breathe again.
‘Do you have a death wish, youidiot?’ I whispered, the fear that I had almost killed the king—again—loosening my tongue. His amused huff made me slam my hand on his chest. ‘What if I’d stabbed you? Would you blame me for that, too? You can’t keep following me if you want me to be your spy,’ I hissed.
He was still close, his chin resting on my head, and despite the fur that covered his mask, I felt him smile before he pulled back, hand resting on the wall behind me.
‘Of course, I’d blame you, especially since I wasn’t here for you. Still, I just saved you, so the words, “Thank you, my wonderful protector,” might be in order,’ he said with such arrogance that I rolled my eyes.
‘You want me tothankyou? How about, were you born stupid, or did your mother drop you on your head?’ I said, empowered by the informality of our discussion. Somehow, hidden behind the mask, Reynard became more of a man and less of a king . . . and I found that I liked it way more than I should.
My bemused expression was reflected in the wolf’s red eyes as Reynard’s body shook with silent laughter.
‘How do you do that, my little Viper? Why am I drawn to the fire in your eyes?’ he said eventually, leaning in closer as his finger traced my earlobe.
My confusion turned to shock at his words, and even more so when I pressed back against his caress, my breath catching in my throat.
‘What are . . . Look, you need to back away. I have somewhere to be. Maybe you should be more worried about how dangerous I can be. Did that scar not teach you that lesson?’ I snapped, but he only laughed harder.
‘Ah yes, my eye. You still haven’t paid the price for that—and you’ve grown bolder, maybe a little too bold. I may be forced to lock you away again . . . Though I doubt I’ll be able to let you go this time.’
He definitely landed on his head,I thought. His whole attitude baffled me. This wasn’t the time or place for . . . whatever this was, even if he’d disguised himself. Observers weren’t stupid. He might have worn a mask, but his massive, muscular body and commanding presence were a dead giveaway. Sooner or later, someone would connect the dots, unless . . .
