Page 13 of Path of the Dark
Gael slowed and came to a stop. “Reoul and I have a meeting,” he said with a smile. “Let me pass.”
The guard’s swarthy features tightened. “The king has no appointments at this hour.” He cast a look at his companion. “Take hold of him.”
The second guard stepped forward, one gauntleted hand moving to grab Gael’s arm.
Shifting out of his way, Gael swung his right hand out in an arc—gathering the Dark in a brutal sweep. The shadows drew around him and reared up to do his bidding. Two dark coils spiraled up, fastening around the guards’ necks.
The guards dropped their spears and collapsed against the wall, eyes bulging, choking, as they tried to pull the strangling, dark fingers from around their necks.
Gael flexed his fingers, and the men’s struggles grew more frantic. Leaving his servants to finish their task, Gael let himself in to the king’s apartments.
He stepped into the solar, a sparsely decorated, masculine space dominated by a huge hearth at one end. The fire burned low now, nothing more than glowing embers. A single sconce flickered upon the wall.
Gael crossed the floor, walking upon a thick rug toward the door on the far side of the room.
The king’s bed chamber awaited.
Gael yanked open the door, stepped inside—and abruptly halted.
The king had company.
A lean, sharp-featured man with long dark hair streaked with grey lay naked on his back, while a woman energetically rode him, her pert breasts bouncing.
The woman, golden skinned and lithe with a mane of dark curls spilling down her back, was distractingly lovely—an Anthor beauty if ever Gael saw one.
For a moment Gael stood there, taken aback by the scene he’d interrupted.
Then Reoul of Anthor saw him.
The king’s face, which had been slack with pleasure, twisted. He gave a yell and lunged for the dagger that lay upon the table next to his bed. His lover twisted, her dark eyes growing huge when she saw the intruder.
The woman let out a hiss, and not bothering to cover her nakedness, swung her right arm in an arc.
Gael caught a glimpse of the glowing eight-pointed star on her palm.
An Enchanter of the Light.
He gathered the Dark once more and flung it at the woman. It lifted her off the king, flung her across the room, and pinned her against the wall. Meanwhile, the king had rolled into a crouch. He glared at Gael, the dagger clutched in his fist.
Although the man must have been nearing sixty winters, he held himself with the grace and strength of a man half his age. Even naked and caught off-guard, Reoul was dangerous.
Gael beckoned the Dark closer, letting it boil around him. Against the wall the naked woman continued to struggle, her gaze wild. She let out a string of Anthor gutter curses, which Gael ignored.
His gaze was on the king, and he smiled. “Greetings, Your Highness … sorry for the poor timing.”
The king snarled, his own gaze feral. “What’s this … a smiling assassin?” Reoul’s lean body curled, ready to spring.
Gael’s smile widened. The man before him was utterly fearless. “My name’s Gael,” he replied. “I too hail from Anthor.”
“I don’t care what you’re called or where you’re from, shit-weasel,” Reoul growled.
Gael swallowed a laugh. He gave a bow, ignoring the murderous look on the king’s face. “I’m not here to kill you, sire … but to serve.”
Dressed in a crimson silk robe, Reoul of Anthor leaned up against the stone window sill and toyed with the blade he’d drawn earlier.
The dagger’s name wasReaper, and he’d had it since he was sixteen. He wasn’t about to sheath it, not with an intruder standing a few feet away.
In the corner of the room, Reoul’s consort perched uncomfortably upon a chaise longue. A silk robe belted tightly at the waist now hid Saskia’s nakedness, although her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in wild curls.
