Page 6 of The Dragon King's Assassin

Chapter Four

The King was right. No one stopped to question why I was walking the halls of the Royal Palace. The servants drew back from me with wide eyes and the Palace Guard glared. I'd hoped that King Tarocvar would cover up who I was and protect me from some of the negativity I'd doubtless receive from his people. But with that one word, he'd made sure they all knew I had tried to kill him, making a mockery of the King's Guard, if not the entire Palace Guard, and destroying the sense of security everyone else had been enjoying. In short, I wasn't going to make any friends there.

When I stopped by the kitchens as instructed, one of the kitchen boys rapidly grabbed a fresh custard bun and shoved it in my hands before rushing to the other side of the room. The cook wouldn't even look at me. But the custard bun was delicious, far better than I'd expected to get, and I was content with that. I took my wins where I found them. I was alive and eating better than I had in weeks; that was enough to put a smile on my face.

And it was a good thing that I enjoyed myself while I could, because that contentment didn't last.

If there were an assassin's motto, it would be to expect and prepare for anything. That motto, more than any skill I possessed, saw me through the next few minutes. When someone came rushing out of a doorway I had just passed, I wasn't surprised. I had, in fact, caught a whisper of movement when I walked by the dark room. Dark despite the hour of the day. The movement and strange lack of light were enough to inspire me to slip on a lightning glove and quickly activate it with a few rubs against my thigh. A silent spark let me know it was ready for use. Just in time.

As soon as the knight's hand landed on my shoulder, I spun toward him, going into a crouch to slam the flat of my gloved hand into his belly. Light exploded between us, crackling tendrils crawling over the man as he went flying backward. His two friends gaped at their fallen comrade's twitching body before coming at me together. I didn't wait for them to reach me but instead picked one and ran for him, dodging the blow the other sent my way as I passed by.

Going low again—it's a good tactic with a taller opponent—I used my momentum to drop into a slide, my feet arrowing into the space between my target's boots, bashing them apart as I shot between his legs. And while I was down there, I grazed his balls with my gloved hand.

He grabbed his sparking balls and toppled over, knocking into a pedestal to bring a massive, empty vase—what the fuck is the purpose of a vase that you don't put flowers in?—to the ground with him. The vase shattered with an impressive amount of noise, but the knight's screams were even louder.

I came to a stop beside a servant girl who had flattened herself against the wall. She gaped at me as I jackknifed to my feet. I didn't bother to say anything witty to her or even wink; an assassin knows better than to get cocky in the middle of a fight. Instead, I ran for my final opponent, recharging the glove along the way.

But this one had gotten wise to my charged glove and my tendency to go low. I noted the downward arc of his hand and knew he was going for my wrist. Since he was a dragon-shifter, he'd likely break my bones with one blow. But again, expecting anything saved me. In a fight, I'm rarely the biggest, baddest opponent, but I knew my strengths and how to use them. I was smart, observant, and really fucking fast.

I switched my trajectory just before I reached the knight and jumped onto a long, narrow table set along the wall. My landing dislodged a stone head on a stand (I think it's called a bust, though I can't imagine why), launching it at the knight—a man who I recognized from the night before as a member of the disbanded King's Guard. The bust headbutted the ex-guard, and as he reeled back, I kicked him in the chest. He fell to the ground. I landed atop him and pushed off with my gloved hand. I would have slapped him just for the fun of it, but I couldn't use the glove while in contact with him or I'd be fried too.

Panting, I took a quick look up and down the hallway. A few servants were peering out of doorways, but there were no more knights to be seen. Discharging the remaining lightning with a sharp flick of my hand, I started to run. My assassination plan hadn't included entering any part of the palace beyond the King's bedchambers, but I had prepared for it just in case. The palace map had cost me more than I'd wanted to spend, but it had been worth every penny. Because even though this was my first time inside the Royal Palace, I knew exactly where I was and exactly how to get out in the fastest way possible.

My boots silently hit the marble floor as I fell into an easy lope, conserving my energy in case I should need it. Although I was fleeing the palace, I am ever the observer, and I cataloged the fine art and furnishings that spotted the hallways as well as the craftsmanship of everything from the gilded moldings to the elaborate doorframes topped with carvings of lounging dragons and, of all things, flowers. The prosperity of the Dragon Court of Racul was well known, but now I'd seen it firsthand.

And, as the poor often do, I found fault with the wealthy.

All that space and luxury used by so few. All those expensive trinkets and elaborate gardens admired only by the members of the Dragon King's Court, nobles handpicked by the King himself. And none of them, except the King, of course, were even Dragons. The Dragons of Racul didn't live in the Royal Palace. Dragons, unlike some of the other shapeshifting races, aren't pack people. Oh, they'll band together to defend the kingdom and, especially, their king, but they don't do well living together. Too many alpha types.

So the only Dragons in the Royal Palace, again, other than the King, were the knights—sons of noble Dragon Houses, sent to serve the King for a required number of years as a tribute. Those knights I'd just laid out, the ones I'd gotten fired the night before, would be going home to their prestigious families in shame. Another thing Dragons don't tolerate well.

Which meant that if I kept to the main halls, I'd probably be attacked again. The King's Guard had consisted of eight knights and only three had attacked me. Five more to go.

I ducked into a room. It turned out to be some kind of music room, with a piano in one corner and a harp beside the fireplace. I didn't give a shit about the instruments; the only thing that interested me was the window. I opened the dual panes, slipped out, and shut them behind me. With a glance, I oriented myself to the grounds, then dashed to the cover of some trees. The wall I'd scaled to enter the grounds the night before was only a few yards away. Hopefully, no one had discovered my climbing gear.

The continued silence behind me was a good sign. It meant the other dismissed knights were still lying in wait for me instead of searching. Perhaps the palace servants were helping them, bringing word of my whereabouts. Whatever the case, they'd be waiting a while. Because there was my rig, hooked right where I'd left it. My luck was holding.

I climbed the wall, pulled my rope up after me, unhooked the gear, and shimmied down the other side. In a few minutes, I was lost in the morning crowd that filled the busy streets of Mhavenna. I pulled up my hood, hunched to hide my face, and headed home.

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