Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,34

as he scanned the constant flow of strangers. Anyone could be a threat. In Trenlake, all the faces were familiar, and those who weren’t were instantly watched as outsiders. Here, there were too many people to know or recognize.

“You’ll get used to it,” Yasir assured. “Ah, here’s the illusive man. By Aura, he makes a fine piece of work.”

The pale-blond-haired man striding toward them demanded every head in the courtyard turn his way. A dark purple satin shirt—the kind that billowed at the waist and cuffs—complemented his lighter coloring. A red sash held up slim-fitting black linen trousers. His boots were laced all the way to his knees, silver hooks gleaming. But the real transformation had taken place in his face. He wore a hint of a smile, like it wouldn’t take much to summon a laugh. A lace patch covered his right eye, drawing attention to it rather than hiding it, and a trio of small golden hoops hung from one ear. His hair, partially tied, lay in smooth waves over the opposite shoulder.

The startling transformation rerouted all the thoughts in Niko’s head to exactly what it’d feel like to take him out of those beautiful clothes one careful satin layer at a time. His body eagerly responded, cock swiftly hardening and pulse so thick he could taste it.

“Lycus?” Yasir grinned knowingly.

He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

The man laughed. “Never mind.”

Vasili pulled out a chair and poured his new sensual transformation into it. The delightful scent of rosewater tickled Niko’s tongue, and heat swelled between his legs, making him fidget awkwardly.

“Lycus,” Vasili greeted, tone light, “Yasir.”

Gods, he looked like he was made for the vibrant streets of Seran, and Niko should probably say something, anything, but he’d forgotten how words worked, and if he didn’t pull his mind out of the gutter, where it had firmly lodged itself on seeing Vasili wrapped in exotic clothing, then he was about to look like a fool.

“Give Lycus a minute to adjust,” Yasir chuckled, earning a glare from Niko.

“I see you had fun while I was left worrying,” Niko grumbled, reaching for the wine.

“You were concerned?” Vasili’s brow arched.

Niko gulped the wine down without taking a breath. Any reply he gave, Vasili would no doubt use against him later.

“You needn’t have been,” Vasili said. “I’ve left you fresh clothes in your room.”

He spluttered the wine. “You purchased me clothes?”

Vasili gestured at Nikolas’s filthy attire as though that was reply enough.

Yasir had a sly, knowing look on his face. Gods. This felt like a trap. All of it. The city. The wine. The clothes. The prince being very… Vasili. A trap he had no hope of escaping.

Vasili slid his attention to Yasir. As they discussed more permanent lodgings, Niko’s gaze snagged on how the artificial light caught in Vasili’s earrings. Niko hadn’t even known the prince had piercings. Not that he should have. And what did it matter anyway? There were more important things to focus on—like the beast’s attack—than how his dark purple shirt, with its wide lace-lined collar, gaped open and inviting at the neck. A neck that demanded the lightest of kisses.

Niko poured himself more wine. He should probably eat something before drinking more, but Vasili and Yasir were deep in conversation about a woman Yasir knew who owned several houses. One, a townhouse, she could rent to them. Yasir even suggested Niko’s talents as a blacksmith were sought after in Seran, where metalsmithing was rare. This was important information Niko should have been soaking up, but those damned earrings kept twinkling, and the way Vasili ran his fingers through his hair, deliberately sweeping it back to reveal the decorated eye-patch instead of hiding it, or how he stroked his wine glass, distracted him.

Niko swallowed hard.

The kiss in the field might not have been an angry, one-off encounter, and the kiss on the beach, well, that had clearly meant something too, before Vasili had knocked some sense into him. If Niko couldn’t stop thinking about how the prince’s soft lips had tasted so sweet and yielding and how he desperately ached to feel all of his tense, icy body yield beneath him, then he was going to make a fool of himself.

Seran would have pleasure-houses. Clearly, he was in dire need of a release. Maybe then he’d stop thinking of how easily Vasili’s shirt laces would spill open under his fingers.

“Doesn’t it, Lycus?” Vasili asked.

“Yes.” He had no idea what he’d agreed to. There was a warmth in Vasili’s face that