The Spymaster’s Prize: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 2)

There were wiser actions Cass could think of than marching up to a violent king’s bride and demanding his weapons be returned, but none of those wiser things gave him clues as to how he was supposed to recover his blades and leave.

“Your Highness,” he called as he approached the group of guards that stood with her, examining the door to her quarters as if they might find clues more solid than those that left him with a knife’s edge pricking at his throat.

The guards glanced around, confused. Only Thea turned.

Her similarity to Elia shouldn’t have surprised him, yet he found himself studying her face for what had to be the dozenth time. They could have been sisters instead of merely cousins, though he found Thea’s countenance more serene. Elia was spirited; there was fire somewhere beneath her sweetness. His eyes narrowed as he caught himself and chased the woman out of his head. She wasn’t that sweet, besides. She’d all but accused him of attacking the future queen.

“You are welcome to call me by name.” Thea waved the guards aside and stepped forward to greet him. “I know my situation leaves titles a bit difficult.”

And names would make them too familiar. He opted to avoid calling her anything at all. “Your guards took my belongings.”

“No one should have swords in the palace but us,” one of the guards put in. The man who had taken his sword. He didn’t hold it any longer. How had they already stowed it somewhere?

“Then keep the sword and give me my knife. There’s a bowl of pears in my room and nothing to cut them with. One knife is no different than another.” It was a weak argument, and Cass saw the man’s lip curl.

Thea, however, nodded. “A fair request, I’d say. We trusted him to cut his own food at the king’s table, so why not his own?”

“You would arm him, my lady?” The man who spoke was not the only one displeased by her statement, judging by the weight of their stares.

“You have swords, axes, and pole arms at your disposal. Are you so threatened by a man with a knife?” She turned to the man Cass assumed was the on-duty captain and held out her hand. “His knife, please.”

“Your ladyship—” the guard protested.

She shook her head. “Don’t make more enemies for me than I already have. His knife. Please.”

“I have no interest in being your enemy,” Cass said.

“Nor I, yours.” Thea smiled as the captain conceded and laid the hilt of the confiscated knife in her palm. She turned the blade so she held it by the tip and offered the hilt to Cass. “Enjoy your pears.”

He doubted he would. All the same, it wouldn’t do to seem ungrateful. “Thank you.” He returned the knife to its sheath, tucked away at the back of his belt, where it wasn’t readily visible beneath his cloak. If he had to abandon the sword Vinson had loaned him, he would, though he’d regret seeing it come out of his pay.

A small, calculating spark lit in her eyes. “Shall I tell the guards to expect you to sneak out again tonight, or will you be polite enough to wait a few hours?”

“You can tell them to expect me to pace for a few hours while I settle my nerves.” He allowed himself to glance at the guards. The whole cluster of them watched his every move, like vultures waiting for an ailing animal to die. Curse it, he’d never liked dealing with guards. All the more reason to enjoy the work that kept him out of the way, out of their path, and granted him freedom from eyes. “Good night,” he added gruffly.

Thea’s smile grew too knowing. “Good night.”

She held his eyes as he backed away. There was a lot to find in that gaze; expectation, secrecy, curiosity, and interest combined with something he thought was hope, though he couldn’t fathom what it was for. Hope he would prove himself an enemy after all? That he wouldn’t? He turned, freeing himself from the jumble of questions, and made for his room.

He touched a hand to the empty scabbard, considering his next move. A pear might not be a bad idea. Fruit had proven hard to come by in the winter months here, a place so unlike his home. Nylmeres—or at least, the coast—was so much warmer, bathed by sun and balmy winds from the broad sea. He would have preferred a good fig to the tart-sweet variety of pears brought in from Ranor, the wet and chilly territory to the north. But figs never survived the trip across the mountains, and pears were easy to transport in the winter. And that, he decided as he let himself back into his room, was a pointless thought excursion he’d allowed himself to indulge in to avoid making a decision.

The sooner he escaped the palace, the better. With the whole place on high alert, it wasn’t going to happen. Curse it all, why had this happened tonight? Cass set his jaw and leaned back against his door after he locked it. The poking and prodding he’d endured had been humiliating, but nothing compared to the knowledge that he’d failed.

Failed to leave the palace when he could. Failed to keep his distance from problems that weren’t his. And over what, a pair of pretty eyes? Pink, freckled cheeks and hair that shone like copper in the sun? He shut his eyes and growled. Chivalry. That was what had done this.

“You’ve always worked alone,” he muttered to himself as he pushed off the door and trudged to the table where the stupid pears waited. “It’s not getting to you now.”

Not that denial ever helped. He snagged a pear from the bowl and turned to lean against the table’s edge as he drew his knife. Half of him expected someone would be along to check on him any minute, hoping to catch him in some deed they could label nefarious. Well, he wouldn’t give them the pleasure. He’d eat his cursed pear, just as he’d said, and then he’d figure out his departure from the palace.

Frustration still simmered beneath his skin, making it prickle hot across the backs of his shoulders and his neck. Worst of all was that he would have made his escape just fine, if he hadn’t hesitated at the sight of someone in the hallway. A servant or guard, he’d thought at first. Now, he doubted that was the case. He should have investigated. He should have tried to follow. Instead, he’d backed up and waited until he was sure the hall was clear, then tried to make his break.

“Which was still smarter,” he mumbled as he cut a slice of fruit and slipped it into his mouth. He would have liked it sweeter. The apple Elia had prepared for their pancakes sprang to mind. That had been sweet. Good. A man could grow fat off cooking like that.

Which you can’t do, he reminded himself sternly.

He’d finish his work. He’d go home, return to the Nylmerian coast. Then he could think of such things. That was all he needed, wasn’t it? One last job to fulfill his obligations. Then he could do as he pleased. Choose a spot on family land. Build a cabin of his own. And if that cabin had space for a woman, well…

Cass growled and thunked his knife down on the table. Frustration swelled until it itched, and he scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

The last leg of a journey was always the hardest. He was close now, almost done, almost out from underneath his obligations. He’d do what was needed, scrape together what was wanted, and free himself of bad decisions once and for all. For now, he had to bide his time. There would be no tracking in a blizzard, anyway. He was good, but he wasn’t a hound.

Now there was something the crown could give them. A dog to find a trace of where those men had gone. Kentoria’s hounds were famous. They could take the dog out to Vinson’s place, give it Peretor’s scent, and the dog would lead them to where Cass needed to be. He’d do what he needed, and then Elia…

He could have cursed.

That woman.

That woman again.

Curse it all, couldn’t she stay out of his mind?

“You’re a professional,” he growled at himself. “Act like it.”

Ah. His hand grew still on the back of his neck. Perhaps that would win them over faster. If he was trapped in the palace with the guards’ eyes on him, why not? It was a show of goodwill, even if he truly felt none for the people who now held him captive.

“Everyone always wants you to find something, anyway,” he muttered as he took up his knife again. Instead of cutting another piece of pear, he found a cloth, wiped it clean, and returned it to its sheath.

He might as well give them what they wanted.

With his partially-eaten pear in one hand—a deliberate choice, something to make him seem less threatening—he unlocked the door and slipped into the hall. It was brighter now, and crowded. The lamps lining the walls had been lit and servants milled about, lighting the rest while the guards checked empty guest rooms. Cass assumed they’d already checked his while he had his confrontation with the captain, but he had no possessions beyond what was in his pockets, so he left the door unlocked lest they think he have something to hide.

Voices filled every corridor, speculation thick in their words. He’d put himself right in the middle of it by making an appearance, but he reminded himself he was probably already there. He’d been so close to escape. Why had he stopped? He wouldn’t hesitate again, that was for sure, though action came with its own risks.

There was a possibility the figure he’d seen in the halls had been a servant headed somewhere. But it could have been someone else, too. Capturing a stranger in the palace halls came with attention. Acknowledgment. Neither of which were things Cass wanted, but all he had to do was find something to point the guardsmen in another direction, get their eyes off him, and free him to make an escape. He bit into his pear and regretted that it was still firm. He liked them better overripe, when they softened and the juice ran thick.

More than one guard watched as he started down the hall, headed in the same direction he’d tried to go before he was stopped. They were suspicious. He couldn’t blame them. But he slowed his pace and tried to make it look as if he were only up to a midnight wander, eating his pear as he went.

The path he’d planned on taking was darker than the rest, not yet attended by serving staff. He headed that way, painfully aware of how difficult it was for him to look casual. He had a predatory way about him, accented by his broad shoulders and tall stature. His footsteps were quiet; silence was valuable in the woods when one had to hunt for sustenance. Given the way he moved so soundlessly down the hall, there was little surprise when a guard began to tail him. A waste of time and resources for the guard, when they were supposed to be looking for a dangerous criminal.

He slowed down on purpose, wasting more time, looking back and forth at every corner to imply he was unsure where he was headed. His sense of direction was too good for that, and after a few twists and turns, he’d lost the guard but knew exactly where he was.

Close to an exit. A path to the garden he’d heard waited behind the palace. Somewhere it would be easy to scale fruit trees and leap to the walls for an escape. A place he could use to his advantage if they refused to let him out.

He rounded a corner and a shadow surged toward him in the dark.

Cass spat a curse and flung his pear at it.

A blade flashed to deflect it and the fruit bounced aside.

He snatched his knife from its sheath and met the shadow head on.

Their blades clashed and for a moment, Cass did not know who was attacking and who was defending. The shadow flowed fast, cloak rippling like a veil of fog as he spun and struck from a new angle. He was fast, skilled, and Cass barely avoided two quick stabs.

He answered with his own, the jab fast and precise. It caught the cloak and fabric ripped. His opponent struck for his head and he ducked to the side to come in low.

The stranger parried, the motion so fluid and familiar that it set off warning bells in his head. Instinctively, he jerked back, narrowly escaping a rapid strike that could have split his guts.

Cursing the lack of his sword, Cass retreated a step, feinted, then lunged in fast.

The shadow twirled and Cass froze, his blade a hair’s breadth from a gap between the man’s ribs. A second dagger hovered at his throat, wielded in his enemy’s other hand.

A lamp flared farther up the hall, spilling light across the two of them. Neither one flinched, both weapons poised to kill.

“Over here!” a guard roared, and a thunder of footsteps followed. “We found—ah…”

“Cassian,” the gray-eyed man in the dark cloak said, his tone so jovial that it grated his nerves like steel on stone.

Cass gritted his teeth. “You.”