Page 211 of Royal Rebel

“No,” Liam argued mildly. “I improvised.”

Desfan stepped away from them, moving to kneel beside Fang. His men were all dead around him, and blood drenched his abdomen. Sweat streaked his face, and his breathing was ragged.

His eyes flicked to Desfan. “Find—her,” he pleaded. “Promise me.”

Desfan grasped the man’s blood-slick hand and squeezed. “I will,” he promised.

Fang gulped, blood trickling from his mouth now. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Tell her—I’m sorry.”

The moment Desfan whispered he would, Fang stilled, his eyes glazing in death.

Chapter 50

Imara

“Ihatethis,”Razansaid.

Imara looked up from her cards. “We can play a different game.”

The Mortisian woman sighed. “I don’t hate Assassins, I hatewaiting. Shouldn’t they have returned by now? It’s been hours.”

Imara’s stomach pitched, but she strived to ignore her growing unease. “Desfan said it could take hours to make the arrests, recover Fang’s daughter, and everything else. I’m sure they’re fine.”

Razan made an impatient sound in her throat. She tossed the cards on the low table between them. “I need something more challenging than Assassins if I’m going to take my mind off things. And perhaps something stronger than wine.”

Imara glanced at the bottle on the table, which they’d nearly emptied. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. But if you’re looking for a more challenging game, I have a Zennorian strategy game called Yerret.” She’d bought it the day she and Grayson had gone to the market in the city. The game had reminded her of home, and she’d been unable to walk past without buying it.

“The more challenging the better,” Razan said. She sighed. “I thought I worried about Karim before, but now . . .”

“Now that you know he loves you, it’s harder,” Imara said softly, a pang in her heart as she thought of Desfan. Of what he’d admitted, and what she had not—couldnot—admit.

“Yes,” Razan said. “It is harder. I don’t know how, because it was already so difficult, but . . .” She shook her head, her loose dark hair shifting beside her oval face. “I need that game. Yert?”

“Yerret.” Imara reached for her cane, but Razan waved her down. “I’ll get it.”

“I can call for Hanna,” Imara offered. She felt a little guilt about doing so, though. It was the middle of the night, and she’d dismissed Hanna two hours ago so the poor girl could sleep. Her maid had only left on the condition that Imara call for her when she was ready for bed, and she hated to interrupt her for something as trivial as fetching a game.

“No need for that,” Razan said quickly, already standing. “Just tell me where it is.”

“The bedroom. In the bottom drawer of the dresser. It’s a leather pouch full of small, half-sphere glass pieces.”

Razan stood and crossed the sitting room, moving for the bedroom. When she disappeared inside, Imara took a moment to close her eyes and utter one of those prayers she’d promised Desfan. He couldn’t be hers, but she needed him safe.

Please.

The memory of him sheathing his daggers and preparing for this fight made her lungs feel tight. He’d given her a reassuring smile, but there was an intense edge to Desfan these days. She truly didn’t know if it had arisen the moment he’d told her he loved her, or if it had been triggered by Skyer’s arrival. Perhaps it was both.

He’d certainly wanted her to avoid Skyer, that much was clear. Luckily, that had been easy enough tonight; he’d been invited to a night of drinking and conversation with Sers Sifa and Anoush, along with Grandeur.

She knew she couldn’t avoid Skyer forever. He was going to be her husband, after all. But at the moment, any time she had free of him, she cherished. Her father had promised that—in time—an arranged marriage could offer warmth and security. Maybe even love. She prayed that was so. Because if nothing changed between her and Skyer, her future would be miserable.

In the bedroom, she heard the low drag of a drawer opening, followed by rustling as Razan no doubt rooted through Imara’s things.

Pulling herself from her depressing thoughts, Imara reached for the bottle of wine. It wasn’t emptyyet.

She poured some in her glass and took a long sip. Then she frowned and looked to the darkness that pooled in the open bedroom door. She couldn’t hear anything, and it was too dark to see anything. Lamps were lit in the sitting room, but Razan hadn’t taken a light into the bedroom. She’d probably thought she’d see well enough from the borrowed light of the other room.

“Is it not there?” Imara called out gently, moderating her voice so as not to wake Hanna in her small bedroom.

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