Page 6 of Path of the Dark
2
The Girl Will Be There
ELIAS OF ANTHOR unfastened his leather vest as he gazed out of his bed chamber window.
A smile stretched across his face and, for the first time in hours, his shoulders relaxed. It was hard not to feel smug.
That went surprisingly well.
If he was honest, Elias hadn’t thought he’d make it this far.His sharp tongue and arrogance had nearly bested him this afternoon. He’d promised himself he’d be humble, but he’d broken his vow as soon as he’d opened his mouth. For a few moments back in the throne room, he’d thought Nathan would reject his overtures of peace. He’d readied himself to be thrown into the dungeons.
But, instead of imprisoning him, Nathan had given him fine lodgings. Elias’s men—all five of them—shared a larger, simpler chamber at the end of the hall.
Elias’s self-satisfied smile faded.
That didn’t mean the King of Rithmar trusted him. He’d laughed and bantered, but suspicion had gleamed in his eyes the entire time. He’d also stationed guards outside Elias’s door.
The room was a large, luxurious space, dominated by a four-poster bed. It held a sweeping view of the Rith Vale. A dark carpet of conifers covered the slopes of the surrounding mountains and the velvet patchwork of the river valley below. The setting sun gilded the forests, highlighting every detail.
It was a lovely view, yet Elias shared Santino’s opinion of this city.
For all its beauty, he found it cold.
Elias loosed a breath and let his vest fall to the floor. The King’s Guard had relieved him and his men of their weapons—yet they hadn’t discovered the slender blade hidden in Elias’s boot. The boots had been artfully made, with silver fluting at the back; only, one of those decorations was the handle of a long dagger made of Anthor steel.
Elias needed a weapon on him at all times if he was to complete his task.
Shedding the rest of his clothes, Elias walked over to where an iron tub—filled with steaming water—sat at the foot of his bed, and stepped into it.
Lowering himself into the tub, he let out a long sigh as the hot water seeped into his travel-sore muscles. He leaned back against the rim of the bath and closed his eyes. For a few moments he just enjoyed the heat of the water soaking into his limbs.
The girl will be there.Elias’s eyes snapped open. Santino’s whispered voice returned to him then, interrupting his reverie. The pair had shared a few words in the hallway before parting ways earlier.This could be your chance.
The king was holding a ball this evening, in honor of his wife’s birthday, and he’d invited Elias to attend. It seemed an opportunity too good to miss.
“We’ll see,” Elias had murmured back. “I’d prefer to kill herwithoutan audience.”
He could whip out his knife and slash the girl’s throat in the middle of the throne room, but that would be the end of Elias of Anthor. There was only one way in or out of that hall—he’d observed earlier—and The King’s Guard would be covering the exit.
Elias frowned. His father might want otherwise, but he intended to live through this. One day he’d return home to see the dark silhouette of Mirrar Rock Palace towering overhead, outlined against a hard blue sky. One day he’d be free of all of this.
But not until he finished the job.
Elias had let Princess Ninia of Thûn slip through his fingers. After losing her in The Forest of the Fallen, he’d returned to Veldoras—where his father currently resided—empty-handed, and with news that the girl was a powerful, if untrained, enchanter.
But Reoul of Anthor wasn’t a man to accept failure.
The peace negotiations were a ruse, a way to engender trust while Elias maneuvered himself into position.
Until he managed to kill the heiress to the Thûn throne.
Ryana climbed the marble steps to the palace, cursing the yards of heavy fabric that kept catching around her legs. She hadn’t worn a dress in years.
“Shadows take this gown,” she muttered. “It keeps trying to trip me up.”
The ball gown, made of lilac damask, rustled as she moved. The tight corset around her torso made it hard to breathe. A low fitted bodice showed off her full cleavage, and the dress had a nipped-in waist, with layers of skirts beneath.
“Gowns have a habit of doing that,” Mira replied from next to her, casting Ryana a wry grin. “You have to walk differently. You can’t stride out like you usually do … instead take small, mincing steps.”
