Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,3
pinning the fabric to the ground and trapping the prince.
A gauntleted fist struck Niko’s jaw. He flailed backward, his face a riot of pain. He tried to catch a breath to steady himself, but his body was submerged in molasses, his thoughts too slow. A second fist landed in his gut. He buckled around it, stumbling to a knee, and spat bile.
“Stop!” Vasili’s shrill bark pierced the chaos.
The tears in Niko’s eyes burned. He wildly swung the sword and hit something that felt like it should have been another man. Cold steel pressed against his neck, freezing him.
“Stop, damn you! Obey your fucking prince!”
“No half elf is a prince of Loreen,” a guard growled.
Niko, on his knees, lifted his head and met the guard’s glare. They could be the same age and wore the same ragged lines around the eyes. A flicker of liquid dark swam across the man’s irises. There and gone again. Or perhaps Niko’s battered mind had hallucinated it. The guard grinned.
“Release him,” Vasili barked.
The guard’s grin grew, but whatever thought went through his head in that moment was his last. The small, shining blade flew from Niko’s right—from Vasili—and plunged into the guard’s throat. Niko watched, numbed, as the guard stumbled back, dropped his sword, and clutched at the dagger sticking out from his neck in the hope he could yank it free. If he did that, he’d bleed out in seconds.
The guard dropped, but then the other two sprang into motion. Both lunged for Vasili.
With a desperate burst of speed, Niko launched off his back foot, swung the sword, and managed to block the first deadly swing. That one had intended on taking Vasili’s head.
Momentum drove him into the second guard, and they both tumbled to the ground. Niko scrambled on top, wrapped the fingers of his left hand around his neck, and drove his thumb up under his chin. The old, familiar, blood-chilling need to kill tore out all reasonable thought until there was just one driving desire left. His enemy would die.
Vasili’s cry shattered Niko’s blind rage. He tore his fingers free of the gasping guard’s throat and scanned the grass for Vasili.
He lay on his back, the guard looming over him. Vasili could have brought a leg up, could have kneed the guard or kicked his weight-bearing leg out, or scrabbled backward, but he did none of those things. He lay still, frozen. Rapid, shallow breaths sawed out of him. The guard leered, savoring his moment.
Niko rose unnoticed. He pressed the tip of his sword up under the man’s palace armor, against his lower back, over the right kidney.
The guard tensed.
“Toss your sword.”
He tossed the sword aside.
One guard was dead. Another lay gasping in the grass. And now the third was disarmed. Their chances of escape weren’t going to get any better.
Niko slowly circled around to face the guard. He kept his blade aimed at the man’s middle and offered his left hand to Vasili.
The prince didn’t move. Didn’t look. Didn’t see. Wherever he was in his head, it wasn’t here.
“Vasili,” Niko snapped.
He blinked, startled out of his fear, saw Niko’s hand, and grabbed it. Niko hauled him to his feet and backed through the grass, away from the guard, keeping his sword up. “Run.”
Vasili ran, the guard lunged for his sword, and Niko whirled, sprinting after Vasili’s rippling cloak.
Nowhere in the palace was safe. Once again, they had to flee, and fast.
“The stables,” Vasili called back.
Niko chased after him. The stables were a terrible idea. “The first place… they’ll look,” he panted, but Vasili was too damned fast and already strides ahead. Niko dashed into the cobbled stable yard behind Vasili to find the stalls empty. The horses had been set free, saving them from the flames.
Vasili turned on his heel and stalked by Niko, boots striking the cobbles. He flicked his hood back up. “He’ll be in the fields.” He coughed and staggered but righted himself and marched on as though nothing had happened, as though his home wasn’t burning and the ash of his life wasn’t slipping through his fingers.
It took a moment for Niko to realize who “he” was. “Wait.” He grabbed the prince’s arm without thinking and received a scathing glare that scorched as hot as the fire. Niko let go, but the prince’s glare only darkened.
“This is madness,” Niko wheezed, throat as dry as sand. “We could spend hours looking for Adamo. Find another damn horse.”