Page 105 of The King's Menagerie

"The Jackal!" the man said excitedly. "I never thought I'd be so honored. Gee is going to be so angry he got sick." He laughed and bowed. "I am Jorin. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Master Jackal. I will do my best to keep up with you."

"Berkant is fine, please. Jackal is what everyone else liked calling me," Berkant said with a smile. "I look forward to sparring with you."

"Let's go through some warm-ups, and then we'll show you the key points of the performance," Litta replied.

Berkant bowed his head in acknowledgement, then moved to the south corner after Torin moved to the north. Though he'd mostly done sparring matches his entire career, actual fights where nothing was planned ahead of time, he'd done his share of performance or exhibition matches.

They were just about to begin when Litta looked to the doorway, then abruptly lifted a hand in a signal to halt. Droppinghis starting position, Berkant turned to see who their sudden visitor was.

His stomach flipped. A royal concubine. So it was true. He was heart-achingly beautiful; it was no wonder this was the man to garner the king's attention after he'd gone so long without taking any concubines. His skin was flawless, gleaming ever so faintly with a hint of golden dust. The dark hair was cut unfashionably short, stopping at his chin. Was it as soft as it looked? He wore a heavy choker of gold and rubies at his throat, and more rubies adorned his nipples and belly button.

The concubine moved with the grace of someone born to the life, so he must have been a noble or similar before accepting his new role.

Nothing remotely like a guard turned fighter turned hired muscle—and now turned informant to avoid a prison sentence. Berkant certainly did not have such lovely hair or beautiful skin, and he moved like a fighter, always ready for the next round of trouble.

The realization he could never measure up to such a person shouldn't cut so deep, shouldn't leave him reeling with hurt, but it did anyway. Why? It wasn't as though he had aspirations to become a royal concubine. The idea was laughable.

He had wanted Shafiq toseehim though, just for a moment, and this breathtaking concubine was a hard reminder that all he'd see was the fight. Just like everyone else.

"Lord Nadir, an honor to have you visit us," Litta said. "How may I serve you?"

"Mistress Litta, always a pleasure. His Majesty was hoping you could arrange a simple performance by the dancers tonight for an unexpected guest. It need not be too elaborate or long, simply enough to satisfy obligations as host."

"Of course, I'll put the troupe right on it," Litta replied.

"Your efforts, and theirs, are deeply appreciated." Lord Nadir bowed slightly in reply to Litta's deeper bow, and turned his eyes to Berkant as he rose. "You must be Master Berkant."

"I am, my lord."

"It's an honor to finally have a face to put to all the tales I've heard of you." Nadir's eyes sparkled, like they held some secret treasure within their depths. "What brings you all the way here?"

Litta replied, "Gee fell sick, and Master Berkant has agreed to replace him."

Nadir smiled in a way Berkant did not understand remotely. "I see. That will please His Majesty greatly. Good day to you all." He turned and left as quietly as he had arrived, and Berkant tore his eyes away before he was caught staring inappropriately at the man only the king was allowed to touch.

Forcing his mind back to where it belonged, he resumed his opening stance, and this time Litta called the start.

Jorin was a highly skilled fighter, but right from the start it was clear to them both that Berkant had to hold back in order not to dominate the match. If this was a fight match, rather than exhibition, he would have taken it in moments.

Litta put them through their paces, until even Berkant was feeling exhausted.

"Marvelous," she said as she finally called a halt. "Tomorrow we'll go over the routine itself; I do not anticipate you struggling with it, Master Berkant."

Jorin laughed. "Please, if anything all of this is too easy for him. I haven't been this tired after a day of practice in years. Thank you for going easy on me."

"A couple more years and you'll have to go easy on me," Berkant said with a smile. "Thank you for the sparring, Master Jorin. This is the most fun I've had in a long time."

Jorin returned the smile, and Berkant dared to hope that perhaps he was making a friend. All the friends he'd thought he'd had before vanished when he'd fallen into grief, walked away from his fame and glory.

Bidding them good day, he headed off back to his room, where he lingered in the hot bath water to soothe a day of well-earned aches. As a distant bell tolled, warning the dinner hour was approaching, he finally climbed out of the bath, pulled on a dressing robe, and returned to his room to dress.

He drew up short when he saw there was a package on his bed. A small, rectangular item wrapped in a silken sash. Tucked into it was a beautiful white and purple orchid, a rare and costly flower. Heart suddenly drumming in his chest, his throat, Berkant sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the package.

Who in the world would leave him such a beautiful, costly gift?

They wouldn't. It made far more sense that it had been delivered to the wrong room. Except this entire hall was sort-of prisoners like himself. The chances of a mistaken delivery must be ridiculously low. Which brought him right back to the original question: Who in the world would sendhimsomething like this?

Heart pounding in his ears, he pulled the beautiful orchid free and set it aside, then undid the knot on the sash. It was a work of art itself, the sort of sash meant to secure the pants he'd be wearing for the fight. Ashel would probably make one from the same fabric they'd chosen, or perhaps from scraps he could spare from a contrasting fabric. This though… this could have been made with his pants in mind. It was black, with red and gold flowers scattered across it, like they'd been deposited by the wind.

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