Page 8 of Kingdom of Crowns and Daggers

As soon as the door is shut and I know it is just Orion and me, I hurry over to the wardrobe and start pulling out different clothing. I will need something that will help me blend in, ideally dark and dirty. Unfortunately, a king doesn’t have much need for garments like that.

My guard and best friend looks at me like I have lost my mind. “Your Majesty, what?—”

“Orion, we need to go,” I tell him, rushing to the other side of the room as I search my chest of drawers, still not finding anything of use.

I have all the money in the kingdom, and yet I do not have an outfit.

“Go?” His voice is sharp, and when I turn around, I see his hands hovering over his weapons, as though he is looking for a threat. “What do you mean?”

I finally let my true smile pull at my lips.

“There is someone we need to find. Someone who can help us win this war.”

Chapter

Six

ALYX

Staring up at the stone ceiling, I frown at the small hole there. It hasn’t always been there—it only happened recently and was thanks to someone deciding that they wanted to be the top assassin in the Daggers. They thought they would gain that spot by taking me out, foolish male. I always sleep lightly. I presented his head to Crux’s people the very next day as proof of my victory.

It turns out that assassins are the targets of other assassins more often than you would think. None of Crux’s lot would dare take out a hit on me, not when they know they have no hope in completing it alive. We have a code. Even the underworld has rules. We don’t hunt our own, not unless they have broken that code. Besides, Crux would kill them if they so much as looked at me wrong. He’s very protective, that best friend of mine.

Nope, these are foreign assassins from other lands trying to take me out. The worst thing is, I have no idea who keeps putting out the hit because they all keep killing themselves with the cyanide pills clenched between their back teeth before I can interrogate them.

One hard bite down and they are dead.

Although, before one died, he decided to take a chunk out of my ceiling with a wayward dagger. If anything, I’m more annoyed by the damage than the attempt on my life. In this line of work, you’d be a fool to expect a long, comfortable life.

Looking around my room, I don’t bother to hold back the small, smug smile that tugs at my lips. My life might not end up being long, but it’s pretty damn comfortable. For someone living in the Lowers, I have it good. Although it’s set in the tunnels under the city, I managed to make it homey and warm. The room has a lock from one of the best locksmiths in the city, giving me some semblance of security. Sure, it wouldn’t keep Crux out, but no one else would even dare to try. My double bed takes up about a third of the space, while the rest of the room is richly furnished with polished wooden furniture and a couch made with exotic fabrics that cost more than double what the average worker in the Lowers would earn in a year. The stone walls have been covered in paintings and stolen tapestries, the curved walls reaching the peak where my stolen chandelier hangs.

Sure, there aren’t windows, but after years of living here, I’m used to being underground. I’ve worked my ass off for this, and I enjoy every exuberant moment of it.

The sun has risen, and I can feel my eyes drooping, tired from another night of stalking the city. As I lie back on my bed and stare at that damn hole, my eyes getting heavier by the second, my mind begins to wander. While it meanders through the events of last night, I keep getting stuck on one particular image—crystal-clear blue eyes staring up at me with shock and awe.

Why I keep coming back to this, I don’t know, and it’s driving me crazy. What do I care about some haughty noble who moronically walked into the wrong side of the city? The only reason I helped him in the first place was because I was bored and he intrigued me. It’s as simple as that. The. Only. Fucking. Reason.

Then why does the image of that damn noble’s eyes keep coming back to me? Every time I try not to think of them, there they are again just a second later, taunting me.

I finally realise that this isn’t going to work, so I give in and let myself think of the stumbler. He was handsome, from what I saw of his face, in a polished way you don’t see much of in the city. Even if it wasn’t for his poor excuse of a disguise, which did nothing to hide his wealth, a child could tell he wasn’t from our part of the city. He didn’t carry the hardened expression and distrust like the rest of us do. This kingdom would eat him up and spit him out. Only the tough survive. There’s no such thing as kindness here.

There was something about him though. I can’t put my finger on it, but he carried a naïve sense of trust that drew me to him. Stumblers rarely come into the city, not the Lowers at least, and certainly not during the night, yet there he was, blindly stumbling into one of the roughest areas. Did he think he wasn’t in danger?

Snorting at the thought, I shake my head and let my eyes close. I need to get some sleep. I’m exhausted, and I have a job tomorrow. Forcing myself to relax into the mattress, I take a deep breath and allow fatigue to wash over me, pulling me into a deep sleep.

The last thing I think of are the noble’s blue eyes.

I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep for, but I don’t think it’s been long since my head is still thick with the fuzziness of sleep. My whole body protests at the very thought of getting up, aching from a night of fighting. Why am I even awake?

The bed shifts slightly, finally pulling me from my slumber, my body stiffening for a moment as I realise I’m no longer alone in my room. I force myself to relax into the mattress as various scenarios run through my mind. The best time to assassinate an assassin is when they are at their most vulnerable, and no one is more vulnerable than when they are asleep. By pretending to sleep, I gain a handful of precious seconds to make my plan. I’d been sleeping on my front, so I must have rolled over at some point, and my arms are wrapped around my pillow. As gently as I can, I slide a dagger from the hidden pocket in the mattress, conveniently placed under my pillow. Many people think I’m mad for sleeping with a dagger, but I’ve not survived this long without a reason. I’m always prepared.

Wrapping my fist around the hilt, I prepare to spring up, attempting to work out the position of the stranger crawling up my bed. Any second now, they’ll practically be straddling me—a position that, while not impossible to get out of, will put me at a further disadvantage.

If I’m going to act, it has to be now.

I spring into action, twisting like a pinwheel and raising my dagger in an upward motion. It’s only in that moment that I realise who is climbing into my bed—Crux.

Gasping, I attempt to yank my arm away, but my aim was too true and is still heading straight for his jugular.

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