Page 4 of The Dragon King's Assassin

Chapter Three

After I took care of the hook, I set a chair in front of the bedroom door, locked the balcony doors, and then stretched out in front of them. It wasn't the first time I'd slept on the floor, but it was the first time that I was unsuccessful at it. I lay on my back, listening to the Dragon King breathe as I tried to settle my stomach and heart. Neither seemed to understand that we had survived the King's wrath. As for King Tarocvar, sleeping in the same room as an assassin—an assassin who had just tried to kill him—didn't bother him in the least. He was so confident in his superiority and my obedience that it didn't occur to him to worry.

I, however, was worried enough for both of us.

What had my dick gotten me into this time? To be fair, if King Tarocvar hadn't noticed my erection, he probably would have killed me. So, I guess my dick saved my life. That alone was mind-blowing. But then the King accepted my offer and now I was sleeping on the floor of his bedroom, basically enslaved to him until I figured out who had hired me. If I could figure it out. And if he freed me after I did. He hadn't exactly been clear about that. And I wasn't about to wake him up and ask.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but exhaustion eventually took over. I woke to the sound of chair legs scraping over wood. Pulling a dagger from my vest, I shot up and dashed across the room to the hallway door. Even though the fire had burned down to embers, sunlight seeped through the windows, so there was no missing the boot that wedged between the door and the jamb, pushing the chair out of the way before kicking the door open. Silently, I lifted my knife and slid behind the man who entered the room. Then I noticed that he was carrying a tray laden with food. Not too many assassins use breakfast trays as their weapon of choice.

“Sire, are you awake?” the man called softly. “I have your breakfast.”

“I am, and I believe you'll have to announce yourself in the future, Reginald. You were seconds away from a very violent introduction to my new assassin.”

“Your new what?” The man looked over his shoulder, saw me, and let out a startled yip. Luckily, his grip tightened on the tray instead of loosening. “Who the blazes are you?”

“Locrian,” I said as I sheathed my knife. “Did you see this food prepared?”

“Did I what?” The man scowled at me, then carried the tray to the bed, flicked its legs down, and set it across the King's lap. “He's your assassin, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, newly hired. He'll need . . .” He looked at me. “What will you need?”

“A place to keep some things. That's all.”

“How big does this place need to be?” The King started cutting into his breakfast, the sheet bunching at his waist and baring his chest. It was ten times as glorious in the sunlight. “Lock?”

“Yes?”

“How much space do you need? An entire room, or will a chest do?”

“A chest?” My gaze went right back to the smooth, hard curves of his pectorals.

The King's lips twitched; they were firm too. “A wooden chest. Would that be enough space for you to keep your things in?”

“I . . . don't need a chest; I have one.”

“Very well. Fetch my assassin a sleeping pallet with linens and pillows and the like.”

“A pallet, Your Majesty?”

“Must I explain every word that leaves my lips?”

“No, Your Majesty!” Reginald bowed and hurried out.

“Hey, hold on!” I called after him.

He paused in the hallway.

“You didn't answer my question. Did you see this food prepared?”

“No, of course, not,” he huffed and hurried away, muttering under his breath about crazy assassins.

“Damn it.” I hurried to the King. “Don't eat that, Your Majesty.”

The King lifted a brow.

“It could be poisoned.” I waved at the bite of steak on his fork. “May I?”

“You want me to share my breakfast with you?” He looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed.

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