Without the presence of magic to slow him down, Valek disarmed the King within a few moves. Valek pushed him against the wall, pressing the edge of one blade on the King’s neck, and the other blade poked into his royal stomach just below the breastbone.
Panic reddened the King’s face. “I can pay you ten times what your client offered.”
“Not interested.”
“I’ll make you a general.”
“No.”
“My daughter! You can marry her and become a prince.”
“Aren’t you a swell dad. Sorry, but I’ve met your brat of a daughter. That would be worse than death.”
“I’ll give you anything.”
“Good. After you die, I want you to explain to my three brothers why your soldiers murdered them in your name.” Valek stabbed his knife up into the King’s heart.
The King’s magic exploded, propelling Valek back. The King of Ixia stumbled forward clutching the hilt of the knife. He gasped, “My blood...will...stain...your hands...forever.” And collapsed.
Valek knelt next to the King and watched the life fade from his gaze. He listened for that last shuddering breath. And once the man died, Valek endured a tumult of emotions. Joy, relief and satisfaction spun around his racing heart. The euphoria rushed to his head. He sat back on his heels, overcome for a moment.
Now he could live his life. If he lived through the takeover, he’d be able to serve the Commander and purge Ixia of the King’s rot.
But first, he needed to finish the job and eradicate the roots. Valek stood. All the aches and pains from the fight flared to life, demanding attention. He inspected the stab wound near his left hip bone. Blood oozed from the puncture. It hurt like crazy. At least it wasn’t gushing and he could still move.
Focusing on the positive, he climbed out the window. Not much time left for him to visit the King’s two children, three nephews, one sister-in-law and one brother before the King’s corpse was discovered. While Valek had enjoyed thrusting his knife into the King’s heart, he didn’t relish this task.
He spidered from one royal’s window to the next, easing the panes open and ghosting through bedrooms. Using the same poison he’d fed to Queen Jewel, Valek dripped five drops of My Love into their mouths, or their noses if they slept with their lips clamped shut. If they startled awake, he held his hand over their mouths for a few seconds. The fast-acting poison did the rest.
By the time he finished, the noises from the hallways had increased to panic levels with doors slamming, boots pounding and screams mixing with shouts of alarm. Despite exhaustion settling into all his muscles, Valek slipped out the prince’s window and returned to his rooms. The outer door gaped open. Someone had searched them, and his skirts and few possessions were strewn on the floor. He secured the door.
Valek debated changing into Valma’s nightgown to continue the ruse, but by this point either the Commander’s forces would be successful or not, and in both cases Valma was no longer needed.
Instead, he peeled his blood-soaked sneak suit from his battered body, wincing as the dried patches ripped from his skin and the silky material tugged at the deeper cuts on his arms. He sponged off the gore. Red and purple bruises bloomed around the stab wound in his hip. He’d deal with that later.
Donning a pair of pants, Valek locked the bedroom door and collapsed into bed.
He slept for... He had no idea how long. But way too soon, a loud crash jolted him from oblivion. In a blink of two very bleary eyes, four big, well-armed goons surrounded his bed. Cuts, bruises, blood spatters, disheveled hair and ripped tunics all evidence these men had been in a fight. But whose side?
“Is this him?” Bruiser One asked Bruiser Two.
“Yup.”
“Grab him,” Bruiser One ordered the others.
Too tired to resist, Valek allowed them to haul him from the bed. But once he was on his feet, he yanked his arms from Bruiser Three and Bruiser Four. “No need to carry me.” He spread his hands. “I’m unarmed.”
Bruiser One studied him. “Are you sure this is the guy who assassinated the King and his family? He looks—”
“Hold that insult,” Valek interrupted. “If you value your life.”
The man snorted.
“Come on. We’re to report back to the throne room,” Bruiser Two said.
They peered at Valek. He longed to return to his bed, but their postures said they weren’t leaving without him. “Who are you reporting to?”
“The Commander.”
Good news. “Then give me a minute to change.”
After Valek dressed, the four bruisers escorted him to the throne room. He mulled over reasons why they acted as if he were the enemy. They could be recent recruits who had once been loyal to the King’s family. While many citizens of Ixia hated the King, they wouldn’t automatically be supporters of the Commander. He’d have to win their trust and loyalty. And Valek would be required to do the same with the soldiers. The idea would be more palatable once he was fully rested.
The throne room buzzed with activity. Servants ripped the tapestries from the walls, tearing the fabric with knives. Groups of guards herded prisoners toward the Commander, who sat on the throne—a large garish chair made from gold. The overstuffed white cushion was reportedly sewn from snow-cat hide. Ambrose talked to the captives. When he finished, most of them knelt on one knee—probably swearing loyalty, while the others were taken away.
Valek approached with the bruisers by his side. The Commander’s gaze flashed with joy. Giddy with his triumph, Ambrose jumped to his feet and hugged Valek for the first and only time.