Page 66 of Nightingale

“But none of that matters. I want to knowwhyyou are here.” His harshness on the single word implied that there was noroom to refuse his demanding question.

Predator,his senses chimed.

Threat,his stomach hissed.

Peril,his heart thrummed.

“Are you not happy to see yourlastPrincess here, unharmed? Untouched?” Rian couldn’t help the sarcastic smirk that rose. He supposed that she wasn’tuntouched,since he’d had his hands all over her several times now,insideher on the journey.

“Besides the fact that I will always expect the death of one of my leaders, regardless of their gender, I amalwayshappy to see them safe and sound. But it does not change the fact thatyou,Prince Rian Moordian, of Carylim, who is known for slaughtering my people and my rulers in cold blood, have been the one to guide her back to our borders. I suspect foul play, or something akin to it.”

“I’m surprised that you didn’t use my two middle names.” He snorted in amusement, swinging his legs out from the blanket and placing them flat against the swept dirt floor. There was no carpet, there was no wood, there was nothing but the rough-hewn earth. As if this tent had been erected simply for him, in a quick manner.

Rian wouldn’t put it past them.

They wouldn’t have put him in just any area, not when there were hundreds upon hundreds of war tents stuck on their side of the border. He could have easily slipped out of any of them, which meant that he was most likely stationed somewhere towards the front of the line. Near wherever Vrea was, if he had to guess. And since there was only one man inside the tent, even if he was twice Rian’s size in both sheer body mass and what appeared to be height, then this man was someone close to the royal family.

Especially with the nature of his questions.

“I do not know your middle names.” He responded gruffly.“Therefore I could not use them.”

Rian stretched, wincing at the slight ripple of pain. The guard seemed to find enjoyment in that.

“I’ll tell you what.” He began and stood, forcing the man to move back three, large paces. “I’ll tell you my middle names, and in return, you can tell me one of yours.”

The man carefully eyed him up and down, taking in the lack of shoes and shirt, the simple pair of trousers that were certainly not his, and the bandage around his upper half.

“My name is Captain Amir Mikale, of Queen Casta Greenvasses’ army.” He introduced himself after deeming it appropriate to finally fill Rian in. He held himself high as he said it, pride clear in his rumbling voice. As if serving the Niroulian leader was one of the highest honours.

For him, it probably was.

“Nice to meet you, Amir.” Rian swept into an improper bow that caused Amir to grimace. “Now, for my end of the deal. Next time you try to impose your massive self on me, or attempt to threaten me without so much as a word, use my full name. Fifth Prince of Carylim, and fourth in line to the throne, Rian Cillian Ezra Moordian.”

Amir lifted a thick brow and frowned. “Four names seems excessive. I do not even have three.”

“Blame my father. He thought it would extend our titles, make us sound even more regal and fit to lead the country, nay, the realm.” He didn’t back down, and wouldn’t cower. His father wouldn’t, and nor would he. “If you think mine are bad, just wait till you hear my siblings. Castil’s is particularly mouthy.”

Amir lifted a massive brow. “Oh?”

Rian spread his hands out.

“Castil Davien Theon Moordian.” He chuckled and groaned as a ripple of heated pain tore through him. “Again, blame my father.”

“Trust me, little Prince,” He came closer, a hair’s width away. “I blame him formanythings.”

Rian didn’t falter, even with the slight growl that toyed in his chest-deep baritone. “I’m sure you do.”

They stood there for a minute or two, staring at the other in some sort of contest of wills. Rian grew tired of the plain-to-see intimidation act and sighed loudly.

“Where is Vrea?”

“ThePrincessis with the men, making the rounds. She will come to see you shortly. But do not get your pretty head in a twist, she was alerted the moment you woke.” He flashed his teeth, which stood out in stark comparison to his dark skin.

“Ah, you think I’m pretty. I’m flattered,Captain,but you’re not my type.” Rian took a closer inspection, finding the Niroulian fighting leathers in a charcoal grey, mixed with dangles along his arms. There was a black ring around his bicep, tapped in ink that matched the three dots under his left eye. There was other ink around him, images that Rian couldn’t quite make out with the way the armour fit around him splendidly. A warrior, honed from perfection, carved from stone.

His father would have killed to have him on his side if he knew about the sheer strength locked away in the powerful mass. If he couldn’t have him on his side, then he would try to put him down before the man could have been used against him.

“I was not insinuating any romantic engagement. I am happy enough with my wife.” Amir rumbled. There was a short sword attached horizontally at his back, peeking out with the gold, circular handle and a broadsword at his left hip. Two nasty, curved daggers were placed at his chest, right against his pectorals.

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