Page 105 of The Dragon King's Assassin

What really pissed me off was that no one came running at the sound of the disturbance. A patrol should have at least checked on Taroc from the garden but even as I crept around the palace wall, no one appeared. I made it all the way to the east wing unseen, and the further I got, the more annoyed I became.

The fact of the matter was, I should never have made it onto the palace grounds. Not ever. These were fucking Dragons with heightened senses and military training. It was bad enough that I had made it past them once, but for me to breach their defenses several times, after I'd specifically pointed out the weaknesses that I had made use of, was fucking stupid. And it wasn't only me who had gotten past them. I'd told them again and again what to do to secure the palace, and they had appeared to listen to me. Yet, there I was. It was beginning to feel purposeful. As if someone were deliberately making things easier on us assassins.

I stared up at a dark window. “Fuck, could it be him?”

Unlike the rest of the soldiers, the Captain slept in the palace—one of the perks of being in charge. In charge of all those patrols who never caught anyone and the lookouts who didn't see anything. In charge of capping the walls and changing the locks. Fuck, if it was the Captain behind all of this, it would explain a lot. The way he'd looked at me as he escorted me out of the palace, that smirk on his face, had been nagging at my mind. There was something in his eyes. Or maybe a lack of something.

“Motherfucker, if it's you, I'm going to take great pleasure in revealing your treachery to Taroc.”

After strapping on my climbing claws, I scaled the wall, just another shadow in the night. I reached Vettan's window and peered inside. The Captain wasn't there. The fucker was probably off trying to look busy while doing absolutely nothing. I used the tip of a claw to try the window and found that not only did it have an old, worthless lock, but that lock wasn't engaged. The fucking window was open.

“What an arrogant asshole,” I muttered as I eased it open and slithered inside.

I slipped off the claws, slid them into a pocket, and searched the room. It didn't take long. The Captain had a large room but very little in it. A bed, a side table with a lamp, a worktable with a few weapons laid out for cleaning, and that was it. There was a bathroom and dressing room attached but neither held any secrets. No false bottoms in his dresser drawers, no hidden safes. Not even a book. The man was utterly boring.

I went back to the bedroom and glared at the single piece of personality in the place—a painting of the Captain with another man. It didn't look romantic. In fact, the other man bore a family resemblance to the Captain. I was betting it was a brother or father. It could even be his grandfather. It was impossible to tell with immortals.

A click came as the door handle turned.

I didn't have enough time to put my claws on and with very few options, I dove under the bed. Yes, I know, it's the dumbest hiding place of all, but the Captain didn't have a reason to search his room for assassins. I mean, the man hadn't even changed the lock on his window; he wasn't worried about intruders. I suppose that was a sign in his favor. If he were behind the assassination attempts, he would have at least protected himself, wouldn't he? I mean, a fresh lock on his window, while every other window was ignored would have been damning evidence. But he'd left himself just as vulnerable. Fuck.

Scooting back against the wall as far as I could, I slowed my breathing to an inaudible level. The lights came on and two men walked in.

“Shut the door,” Vettan said.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” I recognized the voice as belonging to Hersk, one of the knights.

“It's that fucking assassin! The King is pining for him.”

“For a human?” Hersk said the word in a tone one might use to describe a cockroach.

“I tried to warn him. That bastard assassin is as lowborn as they come, and the lowborn are never loyal. They smile and bow and say the right things while inside, they plot against you.”

“At least he's gone now.”

Vettan grunted. “Fucking thief. Even knowing that he was scum, I was still surprised when he stole from the King. That fucking piece of shit. I'll bet he's known all along who hired him and just kept it to himself, waiting for a chance to share it with the King and look like a hero.”

Well, shit, my theory was looking less and less likely.

“You don't think it was Crushei who hired him?”

“No. I did at first, but now, I'm not so sure. He hasn't wavered, not once. A guilty man always wavers.”

“Then what do we do? If Crushei isn't the one who hired the assassins, then that person is still out there. We need to guard the King, but how do we do that when he's in a rage?”

“The man who brokered the assassins is dead. Hopefully, that will give us enough time to find our enemy before he finds another assassin to do his dirty work.”

“Fucking coward,” Hersk hissed.

“Indeed. He must be from one of the other races; a Dragon would never hire someone to kill for him. If for no other reason than he'd want the satisfaction of doing it himself.”

“It's a human. Only a human would think that a human assassin could kill a Dragon.”

Vettan made a mirthless laugh. “True. Unless the broker didn't tell his client that the assassin was human.”

“I didn't think of that. You're right. With something so shady, they probably weren't allowed to know anything about the assassin.”

“Probably not. This means we can't exclude the other races.”

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