Page 9 of The Assassin's Dancer
I’m so dead. I’m so dead. I’m so dea?—
A hard wall crashes into my face, and I yelp. Completely out of breath, I almost collapse onto the ground before two strong hands grip the back of my waist and steady me.
“Got you,” a different, much silkier voice says. It vibrates through the firm wall I crashed into.
No. Not a wall. A chest. A very warm, very pleasant-smelling man’s chest that I’m now being heldverysecurely against.
Lifting my chin, I catch the light stubble and sharp jawline of a tall, beautiful stranger. Two green eyes blink curiously at me, while his near-black hair almost blends in with the inky sky above.
Judging by the broadness of his shoulders and the confident way his hands hold the small of my back, he’s older than I am. Maybe thirty. And he’s smiling too, but only slightly, and in a dangerous sort of way.
Like a cat who’s just spotted a mouse.
“Randall…” the stranger speaks again. This time, he’s not talking to me. His forest-green eyes are fixed on the panting man just inches away from my back. “Aren’t you a little old to be running through the streets chasing after pretty girls?” he says. His tone is dark and so full of warning, it makes my breath hitch.
“S-sorry, sir,” I hear my pursuer stutter. “Won’t happen again.”
The stranger nods. “See that it doesn’t, Randall.” He tips his chin. There’s quiet, until eventually I hear slow receding footsteps as Randy returns to his tavern.
“I do apologise for that.” The stranger turns back to me “But you know, you really ought to have an escort. This is not a safe place, especially for a young lady on her own.”
Cheeks burning, I step out of his hold. He’s right. This is absolutely not a safe place – and yet here I am, practically embracing a stranger.
Quickly, I clear my throat. This dimly lit street might not be safe, but right now, neither is Father’s palace with Prince Hugo wandering around. I need to find the Scorpion and stop wasting any more time. The moon is already far too high in the sky.
“Thank you for stopping him and, um, saving me.” I dip my head, avoiding his stare. “I’ll be on my way now.”
The man cocks his head. “Did you not hear what I just said?” he laughs. “You need an escort. Let me take you where you need to be.” Before I can refuse, he moves closer and wraps my arm around his. The smell of leather and crushed pine fills my nose. “I’m assuming you’re one of Lady Carp’s new girls. The whorehouse isn’t far from here. I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you.” I smile, not really listening as my thoughts are swept away in a cloud of leather and pine. His arm is so firm too – not squidgy like most princes. I almost want to run my fingers?—
Wait. Whorehouse?
“What?” I scoff, yanking my arm away. “I am not a whore!” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you would think that! I am a pri—” My teeth clamp down on my tongue.
Do not reveal to a complete stranger that you are a princess, Ami!
“It doesn’t matter.” I scowl. “I’m not a whore. I just came here looking for someone.”
The stranger laughs then runs a hand through his thick waves. “Forgive me,” he chuckles. “It’s just rare to see a woman outside of a whorehouse in Night Alley, and the ones you do find are usually looking for the nearest one that will take them.”
I shudder. Glancing around, I can see he’s right. There’s less people in the street now, but I can still see through the windows of the taverns, and each one is filled with rowdy, swaying men. Not a single woman in sight. And here I am – practically alone without even a cloak for protection.
This is all so foolish. I need to just go home.
“Who are you looking for?” the man asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“I…” The words catch in my throat. I really should be leaving, but then again, I suppose there’s no harm in seeing if the person I came here for is close by. “I’m looking for someone called the Scorpion.”
“The Scorpion?” The stranger’s brow shoots up. He studies me for a moment before folding his arms. “What business could you possibly have with someone like that?”
“That’s between me and the Scorpion,” I huff. “But it doesn’t matter now. I should be going anyway, I?—”
“He’s selective with his targets, you know,” he cuts me off, his green eyes narrowing, “and very expensive.”
Swallowing, my stomach dips as his burning gaze lowers to my simple travelling gown. The dress is made of thin, lightweight fabric, but the longer he stares, the more it starts to feel like wool – all hot and uncomfortable against my skin.
“I can pay,” I tell him, desperate to hear anything other than the heartbeat in my ears. “And I can’t say much about the target, but he’d deserve whatever it is that the Scorpion can do to him.”And more.My fists clench. “Do you know where I might find him?”
